OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/The Fancy Feäir

THE FANCY FEÄIR AT MAÏDEN NEWTON.
The Frome, wi’ ever-water’d brink, Do run where shelvèn hills do zink Wi’ housen all a-cluster’d roun’ The parish tow’rs below the down. ​An’ now, vor woonce, at leäst, ov all The pleäcen where the stream do vall, There’s woone that zome to-day mid vind, Wi’ things a-suited to their mind.  An’ that’s out where the Fancy Feäir  Is on at Maïden Newton.
An’ vo’k, a-smarten’d up, wull hop Out here, as ev’ry traïn do stop, Vrom up the line, a longish ride, An’ down along the river-zide. An’ zome do beät, wi’ heels an’ tooes, The leänes an’ paths, in nimble shoes, An’ bring, bezides, a biggish knot, Ov all their childern that can trot,  A-vlockèn where the Fancy Feäir  Is here at Maïden Newton.
If you should goo, to-day, avore A Chilfrome house or Downfrome door, Or Frampton’s park-zide row, or look Drough quiet Wraxall’s slopy nook, Or elbow-streeted Catt’stock, down By Castlehill’s cwold-winded crown, An’ zee if vo’k be all at hwome, You’d vind em out—they be a-come  Out hither, where the Fancy Feäir  Is on at Maïden Newton.
Come, young men, come, an’ here you’ll vind A gift to please a maïden’s mind; Come, husbands, here be gifts to please Your wives, an’ meäke em smile vor days; Come, so’s, an’ buy at Fancy Feäir A keepseäke vor your friends elsewhere; ​You can’t but stop an’ spend a cwein Wi’ leädies that ha’ goods so fine;  An’ all to meäke, vor childern’s seäke,  The School at Maïden Newton.
# Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/The Girt Woak Tree that's in the Dell

THE GIRT WOAK TREE THAT’S IN THE DELL.
The girt woak tree that’s in the dell! There’s noo tree I do love so well; Vor times an’ times when I wer young, I there’ve a-climb’d, an’ there’ve a-zwung, An’ pick’d the eäcorns green, a-shed In wrestlèn storms vrom his broad head. An’ down below’s the cloty brook Where I did vish with line an’ hook. An’ beät, in plaÿsome dips and zwims, The foamy stream, wi’ white-skinn’d lim’s. An’ there my mother nimbly shot Her knittèn-needles, as she zot At evenèn down below the wide Woak’s head, wi’ father at her zide. An’ I’ve a-plaÿed wi’ many a bwoy, That’s now a man an’ gone awoy;  Zoo I do like noo tree so well  ’S the girt woak tree that’s in the dell.
An’ there, in leäter years, I roved Wi’ thik poor maïd I fondly lov’d,— The maïd too feäir to die so soon,— When evenèn twilight, or the moon, Cast light enough ’ithin the pleäce To show the smiles upon her feäce, Wi’ eyes so clear ’s the glassy pool. An’ lips an’ cheäks so soft as wool. There han’ in han’, wi’ bosoms warm, Wi’ love that burn’d but thought noo harm, Below the wide-bough’d tree we past The happy hours that went too vast; An’ though she’ll never be my wife. She’s still my leäden star o’ life. ​She’s gone: an’ she ’ve a-left to me Her mem’ry in the girt woak tree;  Zoo I do love noo tree so well  ’S the girt woak tree that’s in the dell.
An’ oh! mid never ax nor hook Be brought to spweil his steätely look; Nor ever roun’ his ribby zides Mid cattle rub ther heäiry hides; Nor pigs rout up his turf, but keep His lwonesome sheäde vor harmless sheep; An’ let en grow, an’ let en spread, An’ let en live when I be dead. But oh! if men should come an’ vell
The girt woak tree that’s in the dell, An’ build his planks ’ithin the zide O’ zome girt ship to plough the tide, Then, life or death! I’d goo to sea, A saïlèn wi’ the girt woak tree: An’ I upon his planks would stand. An’ die a-fightèn vor the land,— The land so dear,—the land so free,— The land that bore the girt woak tree;  Vor I do love noo tree so well  ’S the girt woak tree that’s in the dell.
# Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/The Guide Post

THE GUIDE POST.
Why thik wold post so long kept out, Upon the knap, his eärms astrout, A-zendèn on the weary veet By where the dree cross roads do meet; An’ I’ve a-come so much thik woy, Wi’ happy heart, a man or bwoy, That I’d a-meäde, at last, a’móst A friend o’ thik wold guidèn post.
An’ there, wi’ woone white eärm he show’d, Down over bridge, the Leyton road; Wi’ woone, the leäne a-leädèn roun’ By Bradlinch Hill, an’ on to town; An’ wi’ the last, the way to turn Drough common down to Rushiburn,— The road I lik’d to goo the mwost Ov all upon the guidèn post.
The Leyton road ha’ lofty ranks Ov elem trees upon his banks; The woone athirt the hill do show Us miles o’ hedgy meäds below; An’ he to Rushiburn is wide Wi’ strips o’ green along his zide, An’ ouer brown-ruf’d house a-móst In zight o’ thik wold guidèn post.
An’ when the haÿ-meäkers did zwarm O’ zummer evenèns out vrom farm, The merry maïdens an’ the chaps, A-peärtèn there wi’ jokes an’ slaps, ​Did goo, zome woone way off, an’ zome Another, all a-zingèn hwome; Vor vew o’m had to goo, at mwost, A mile beyond the guidèn post.
Poor Nanny Brown, woone darkish night, When he’d a-been a-païnted white, Wer frighten’d, near the gravel pits, So dead’s a hammer into fits, A-thinkèn ’twer the ghost she know’d Did come an’ haunt the Leyton road; Though, after all, poor Nanny’s ghost Turn’d out to be the guidèn post.
# Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/The Heäre

THE HEARE.
(Dree o’m a-ta’ken o’t.)
(1) There be the greyhounds! lo’k! an’ there’s the heäre! (2) What houn’s, the squier’s, Thomas? where, then, where? ​(1) Why, out in Ash Hill, near the barn, behind   Thik tree. (3) The pollard? (1) Pollard! no, b’ye blind? (2) There, I do zee em over-right thik cow. (3) The red woone? (1) No, a mile beyand her now. (3) Oh! there’s the heäre, a-meäkèn for the drong. (2) My goodness! How the dogs do zweep along,   A-pokèn out their pweinted noses’ tips. (3) He can’t allow hizzelf much time vor slips! (1) They’ll hab’en, after all, I’ll bet a crown. (2) Done vor a crown. They woon’t! He’s gwäin to groun’. (3) He is! (1) He idden! (3) Ah! ’tis well his tooes   Ha’ got noo corns, inside o’ hobnaïl shoes. (1) He’s geäme a-runnèn too. Why, he do mwore   Than eärn his life. (3) His life wer his avore. (1) There, now the dogs wull turn en. (2) No! He’s right. (1) He idden! (2) Ees he is! (3) He’s out o’ zight. (1) Aye, aye. His mettle wull be well a-tried   Agwaïn down Verny Hill, o’ tother zide.   They’ll have en there. (3) O no! a vew good hops   Wull teäke en on to Knapton Lower Copse. (2) An’ that’s a meesh that he’ve a-took avore. (3) Ees, that’s his hwome. (1) He’ll never reach his door. (2) He wull. (1) He woon’t. (3) Now, hark, d’ye heär em now? (2) O! here’s a bwoy a-come athirt the brow   O’ Knapton Hill. We’ll ax en. (1) Here, my bwoy!   Can’st tell us where’s the heäre? (4) He’s got awoy. (2) Ees, got awoy, in coo’se, I never zeed   A heäre a-scotèn on wi’ half his speed, (1) Why, there, the dogs be wold, an’ half a-done.   They can’t catch anything wi’ lags to run. (2) Vrom vu’st to last they had but little chance   O’ catchèn o’n. (3) They had a perty dance. (1) No, catch en, no! I little thought they would;   He know’d his road too well to Knapton Wood. (3) No! no! I wish the squier would let me feäre   On rabbits till his hounds do catch thik heäre.
# Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/The Hollow Woak

THE HOLLOW WOAK.
The woaken tree, so hollow now,  To souls ov other times wer sound, An’ reach’d on ev’ry zide a bough  Above their heads, a-gather’d round,  But zome light veet  That here did meet In friendship sweet, vor rest or jaÿ, Shall be a-miss’d another Maÿ.
My childern here, in plaÿvul pride  Did zit ’ithin his wooden walls, A-mentèn steätely vo’k inside  O’ castle towers an’ lofty halls.  But now the vloor  An’ mossy door ​That woonce they wore would be too small To teäke em in, so big an’ tall.
Theäse year do show, wi’ snow-white cloud,  An’ deäsies in a sprinkled bed, An’ green-bough birds a-whislèn loud,  The looks o’ zummer days a-vled;  An’ grass do grow,  An’ men do mow, An’ all do show the wold times’ feäce Wi’ new things in the wold things’ pleäce.
# Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/The Farmer's Woldest Dā'ter

THE FARMER’S WOLDEST DĀ’TER.
No, no! I ben’t a-runnèn down The pretty maïden’s o’ the town,  Nor wishèn o’m noo harm; But she that I would marry vu’st, To sheäre my good luck or my crust,  ’S a-bred up at a farm. In town, a maïd do zee mwore life,  An’ I don’t under-reäte her; But ten to woone the sprackest wife  ’S a farmer’s woldest dā’ter.
Vor she do veed, wi’ tender ceäre, The little woones, an’ peärt their heäir,  An’ keep em neat an’ pirty; An’ keep the saucy little chaps O’ bwoys in trim wi’ dreats an’ slaps,  When they be wild an’ dirty. Zoo if you’d have a bus’lèn wife,  An’ childern well look’d after, The maïd to help ye all drough life  ’S a farmer’s woldest dā’ter.
An’ she can iorn up an’ vwold A book o’ clothes wi’ young or wold,  An’ zalt an’ roll the butter; An’ meäke brown bread, an’ elder wine, An’ zalt down meat in pans o’ brine,  An’ do what you can put her. Zoo if you’ve wherewi’, an’ would vind  A wife wo’th lookèn ā’ter, Goo an’ get a farmer in the mind  To gi’e ye his woldest dā’ter.
​Her heart’s so innocent an’ kind, She idden thoughtless, but do mind  Her mother an’ her duty; An’ livèn blushes, that do spread Upon her healthy feäce o’ red,  Do heighten all her beauty; So quick’s a bird, so neat’s a cat,  So cheerful in her neätur, The best o’ maïdens to come at  ’S a farmer’s woldest dā’ter.
# Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/The Giants in Treädes

THE GIANTS IN TREÄDES.
Gramfer’s Feäble.
(How the steam engine come about.)
Vier, Aïr, E’th, Water, wer a-meäde Good workers, each o’m in his treäde, An’ Aïr an’ Water, wer a-match  Vor woone another in a mill; The giant Water at a hatch,  An’ Aïr on the windmill hill. Zoo then, when Water had a-meäde Zome money, Aïr begrudg’d his treäde, An’ come by, unaweäres woone night,  An’ vound en at his own mill-head, An’ cast upon en, iron-tight, ​ An icy cwoat so stiff as lead. An’ there he wer so good as dead Vor grindèn any corn vor bread. Then Water cried to Vier, “Alack!  Look, here be I, so stiff’s a log, Thik fellor Aïr do keep me back  Vrom grindèn. I can’t wag a cog. If I, dear Vier, did ever souse Your nimble body on a house, When you wer on your merry pranks Wi’ thatch or refters, beams or planks, Vorgi’e me, do, in pity’s neäme, Vor ’twerden I that wer to bleäme, I never wagg’d, though I be’nt cringèn, Till men did dreve me wi’ their engine. Do zet me free vrom theäse cwold jacket, Vor I myzelf shall never crack it.” “Well come,” cried Vier, “My vo’k ha’ meäde An engine that ’ull work your treäde. If E’th is only in the mood, While I do work, to gi’e me food, I’ll help ye, an’ I’ll meäke your skill A match vor Mister Aïr’s wold mill.” “What food,” cried E’th, “ ’ull suit your bwoard?” “Oh! trust me, I ben’t over nice,” Cried Vier, “an’ I can eat a slice Ov any thing you can avword.” “I’ve lots,” cried E’th, “ov coal an’ wood.” “Ah! that’s the stuff,” cried Vier, “that’s good.” Zoo Vier at woonce to Water cried, “Here, Water, here, you get inside O’ theäse girt bwoiler. Then I’ll show How I can help ye down below, An’ when my work shall woonce begin You’ll be a thousand times so strong, An’ be a thousand times so long ​An’ big as when you vu’st got in. An’ I wull meäke, as sure as death, Thik fellor Aïr to vind me breath, An’ you shall grind, an’ pull, an’ dreve, An’ zaw, an’ drash, an’ pump, an’ heave, An’ get vrom Aïr, in time, I’ll lay A pound, the drevèn ships at sea.” An’ zoo ’tis good to zee that might Wull help a man a-wrong’d, to right.
# Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/The Hedger

THE HEDGER.
Upon the hedge theäse bank did bear,  Wi’ lwonesome thought untwold in words, I woonce did work, wi’ noo sound there  But my own strokes, an’ chirpèn birds; As down the west the zun went wan, An’ days brought on our Zunday’s rest, When sounds o’ cheemèn bells did vill The aïr, an’ hook an’ axe wer still.
Along the wold town-path vo’k went,  An’ met unknown, or friend wi’ friend, The maïd her busy mother zent,  The mother wi’ noo maïd to zend; An’ in the light the gleäzier’s glass, As he did pass, wer dazzlèn bright, Or woone went by wi’ down-cast head, A wrapp’d in blackness vor the dead.
​An’ then the bank, wi’ risèn back,  That’s now a-most a-troddèn down, Bore thorns wi’ rind o’ sheeny black,  An’ meäple stems o’ ribby brown; An’ in the lewth o’ theäse tree heads, Wer primrwose beds a-sprung in blooth, An’ here a geäte, a-slammèn to, Did let the slow-wheel’d plough roll drough.
Ov all that then went by, but vew  Be now a-left behine’, to beät The mornèn flow’rs or evenèn dew,  Or slam the woakèn vive-bar’d geäte; But woone, my wife, so litty-stepp’d, That have a-kept my path o’ life, Wi’ her vew errands on the road, Where woonce she bore her mother’s lwoad.
# Poems (Pizey)

POEMS.
BY
SUSANNA PIZEY.
LONDON:
Printed for the Authoress,
AND SOLD BY
J. RACKHAM, BURY ST. EDMUNDS.
1817.
PREFACE.
It is presumed there are few writers, even of superior ability, who have not experienced some anxiety and apprehension, when about to submit to the world their early efforts in literary composition; it may therefore be inferred that a young and humble candidate for public favor, must have her full share in these feelings. Encouraged ​however by the kind patronage of some individuals, whose rank and talents entitle them to her highest respect and deference, and who perused her little work in manuscript, she has, at their desire, ventured to offer it for wider circulation; and although she cannot expect from unprejudiced readers, the same indulgence as from the partiality of friends, she hopes at least for so much as her youth and inexperience may entitle her to.
It may not be improper to acquaint the public that many of the following effusions have been produced by circumstances in which the writer has been personally interested; and at the time she composed them, having no view to their publication, she could be influenced only by a desire to express her feelings and sentiments in as ​natural a manner as the impressions under which she wrote enabled her to do.—If, then, the cause of Religion and Morality are served but in a small degree by this production, she will have reason to rejoice in having contributed to so desirable an end.
CONTENTS
LIST
OF
SUBSCRIBERS.
The Rev. Henry Hasted, Bury—2 copies
A.
Miss Allen
B.
R. B. Bachelor, Esq.
Richard Barker, Esq.
Mrs. Barker
Mrs. Bayley, Hart Street, Bloomsbhury
Mrs. Brickwood, London—2 copies
Miss Brickwood
Miss C. Brickwood
Miss Brooks, Horningsheath
Miss S. Brooks
Miss Brown, Hackney
Miss M. Brown
Miss Margaret Brown
C. Blomfield, Esq. Bury—1 copies
L.
Mrs. Leathes, Bury
Miss Leathes
Miss Leatherdale, Aldburgh, Norfolk
M.
Mrs. J. Maulkin
Mrs. R. Maulkin
Miss M. Maulkin
Mrs. Mingay
M. Moody, Esq. London
Rev. John Moore
Henry Moore, Esq. London—4 copies
Mrs. Moore
Mrs. Maekintosh
Mr. James Mickleburgh, Thanet House, Margate
N.
Rev. C. Nealds, Wicklewood
Miss Nayler, Thetford
Miss E. Nayler, Bury
Miss F. Newson
O.
Miss Owen, Bocking
P.
Mrs. Paul—2 copies
Miss M. Price, Hammersmith
T. Priest, Esq. Wymondbam
Mr. Potter, London
R.
Mrs. Rivett, Bury
Miss Rackham
​Mrs. J. Ridley
Mrs. Roberts, Notley Lodge
John Richardson, Esq. Pentonville—2 copies
Mr. S. Robinson, London
Lieut. Col. Rushbrooke, Rushbrooke Hall
S.
Mrs. Sidey
Miss Sidey
Mrs. Syer, Keddington
J. Sergeant, Esq. Bocking
Miss Snell, Bulmer
Mr. Symonds, Bury
Mr. Sampson, London
Miss Sampson
T.
Mrs. Tilbrook, Bury
Mrs. Thomas
Miss Topple
A. Todd, Esq. Acton Hall
Mrs. Todd
W.
Mrs. Wakeham, Bocking—2 copies
Miss Wright, Ipswich
Y.
Miss Yarrington, Swaffham.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Presidential Radio Address - 28 September 2002

Weekly radio address delivered on September 28, 2002.
THE PRESIDENT: Good morning. On Thursday, I met with Democratic and Republican members of Congress to discuss the threat posed by the Iraqi regime. The security of our country is the commitment of both political parties, and the responsibility of both the President and the Congress. We are united in our determination to confront this urgent threat to America.
We're moving toward a strong resolution authorizing the use of force, if necessary, to defend our national security interests against the threat posed by Saddam Hussein. And by passing this resolution we will send a clear message to the world community and to the Iraqi regime the demands of the United Nations Security Council must be followed: the Iraqi dictator must be disarmed. These requirements will be met, or they will be enforced.
The danger to our country is grave and it is growing. The Iraqi regime possesses biological and chemical weapons, is rebuilding the facilities to make more and, according to the British government, could launch a biological or chemical attack in as little as 45 minutes after the order is given. The regime has long-standing and continuing ties to terrorist groups, and there are al Qaeda terrorists inside Iraq. This regime is seeking a nuclear bomb, and with fissile material could build one within a year.
Iraq has already used weapons of mass death against another country and against its own citizens. The Iraqi regime practices the rape of women as a method of intimidation, and the torture of dissenters and their children. And for more than a decade, that regime has answered Security Council resolutions with defiance and bad faith and deception.
We know that the Iraqi regime is led by a dangerous and brutal man. We know he is actively seeking the destructive technologies to match his hatred. And we know that he must be stopped. The dangers we face will only worsen from month to month and year to year. To ignore these threats is to encourage them -- and when they have fully materialized, it may be too late to protect ourselves and our allies. By then, the Iraqi dictator will have had the means to terrorize and dominate the region, and each passing day could be the one on which the Iraqi regime gives anthrax or VX nerve gas or someday a nuclear weapon to a terrorist group.
We refuse to live in this future of fear. We are determined to build a future of security and peace for ourselves and for the world. The members of Congress from both political parties with whom I met this week are committed to American leadership for the good of all nations. The resolution we are producing will be an instrument of that leadership.
I appreciate the spirit in which members of Congress are considering this vital issue. We're making progress, we are nearing agreement, and soon we will speak with one voice.
Thank you for listening.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it is a work of the United States federal government (see 17 U.S.C. 105).
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Poems (Toke)/As when the sunbeams, their bright noontide past

October 6, 1859.
# Poems (Toke)/Christmas

Christmas, 1850.
# Poems (Toke)/An April snow storm

Godinton, April 14, 1838,
# Poems (Toke)/Balaam

October, 1832,
# Poems (Toke)/And can I better close these pages, fraught

July 4, 1848,
# Poems (Toke)/An equinoctial day

September 24, 1836.
# Poems (Toke)/Autumn

Glasslough, October 22, 1836.
# Poems (Toke)/Birthday hymn

September 2, 1852.
# Poems (Toke)/Birthday sonnet

October 6, 1842.
# Poems (Toke)/Birthday verses

October 6, 1340,
# Presidential Radio Address - 2 February 1991

Weekly radio address delivered on February 2, 1991.
THE PRESIDENT: At this moment, America, the finest, most loving nation on Earth, is at war, at war against the oldest enemy of the human spirit: evil that threatens world peace.
At this moment, men and women of courage and endurance stand on the harsh desert and sail the seas of the Gulf. By their presence they're bearing witness to the fact that the triumph of the moral order is the vision that compels us. At this moment, those of us here at home are thinking of them and of the future of our world. I recall Abraham Lincoln and his anguish during the Civil War. He turned to prayer, saying: "I've been driven many times to my knees by the overwhelming conviction that I have nowhere else to go."
So many of us, compelled by a deep need for God's wisdom in all we do, turn to prayer. We pray for God's protection in all we undertake, for God's love to fill all hearts, and for God's peace to be the moral North Star that guides us. So, I have proclaimed Sunday, February 3d, National Day of Prayer. In this moment of crisis, may Americans of every creed turn to our greatest power and unite together in prayer.
Let us pray for the safety of the troops, these men and women who have put their lives and dreams on hold because they understand the threat our world faces.
Let us pray for those who make the supreme sacrifice. In our terrible grief, we pray that they leave the fields of battle for finer fields where there is no danger, only tranquillity; where there is no fear, only peace; and where there is no evil, only the love of the greatest Father of all.
Let us pray for those who are held prisoner, that God will protect these, his special children, and will enlighten the minds and soften the hearts of their captors.
Let us pray for the families of those who serve. Let us reach out to them with caring, to make them part of a greater family filled with love and support.
Let us pray for the innocents caught up in this war, all of them, wherever they may be. And let us remember deep in our hearts the value of all human life, everywhere in the world.
Let us pray for our nation. We ask God to bless us, to help us, and to guide us through whatever dark nights may still lay ahead.
And above all, let us pray for peace, "peace…which passeth all understanding."
On this National Day of Prayer and always, may God bless the United States of America.
Note: This address was recorded January 31 in the Oval Office at the White House and was released by the Office of the Press Secretary on February 2. The proclamation is listed in Appendix E at the end of this volume.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it is a work of the United States federal government (see 17 U.S.C. 105).
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Poems for Children Sigourney/Good Night

Good Night.
Father, good night.—You say 't is best
That children go to early rest,
Good night, good night:—may Heaven repay
My parents love to me, this day.
Sisters and brothers,—here's my kiss,— Sweet sleep be yours and dreams of bliss,
Friends one and all, with smile so bright,
And little baby dear,—good night.
Good night, good night, ye stars that keep
Your silent watch, while children sleep,
Sweet birds, that in your quiet nest,
Fold your soft wings to gentle rest,
Fair trees, beneath whose spreading shade
I, with my little mates have play'd,
And flowing brook, and flowrets bright,
And all ye pleasant things, good night.
Mother! I turn to you the last,
See, see, your hand in mine is fast,
Please come with me, and hear me say
My prayer to Him who gave the day,
Yes,—see me on my pillow laid,
And then, in midnight's darkest shade,
My dreams your tender smile shall wear,
As if an Angel hover'd there.
# Poems for Children Sigourney/I must not teaze my Mother

I must not teaze my Mother.
I must not teaze my Mother;
 For she is very kind,
And every thing she says to me,
 I must directly mind;
For when I was a baby,
 Her care both night and day,
While I was helpless and afraid,
 I never can repay.
I must not teaze my Mother;
 And when she likes to read,
Or has the head-ache, I will step
 Most silently indeed;
I must not choose a noisy play,
 Nor trifling troubles tell,
But sit down quiet by her side,
 And try to make her well.
I must not teaze my Mother;
 I've heard dear father say,
When I was in my cradle sick,
 She nurs'd me night and day.
And now she listens to my wants,
 She gives me clothes and food,
And cheers me with a loving smile,
 While trying to be good.
I must not teaze my Mother;
 She loves me all the day,
And she has patience with my faults,
 And teaches me to pray;
How much I'll strive to please her,
 She every hour shall see,
For should she go away, or die,
 What would become of me?