God Bless these Poor Wimmen that's Childer
God bless these poor wimmen that's childer!
Shuz whether they're rich or they're poor,
Thur's nob'dy con tell whot a woman
Wi' little 'uns has to endure;
The times that hoo's wakken i' th'neet-time,
Attendin' thur wailin' and pain,
Un' smoothin' thur pillow of sickness,
Would crack ony patient mon's brain.
God bless these poor wimmen that's childer!
Heaw patient they are i' distress!
An infant that God has afflicted
Does ever a woman love less?
Not hur! The sick creatur' hoo watches,
Wi' caution ten-fowd in hur ee,
Hoo'll never lose seet on't a minute,
For fear it should happen to dee.
God bless these poor wimmen that's childer!
Aw deem it a very fine treat
To sit eawt o' seet, un' be watchin'
A woman gi' th'childer some meat;
Heaw pleasant un' smilin' her nature,
Hur face is surrounded wi' joy,
Hoo's dealing o th'childer a fist full,
Un' plenty on table t' put by.
God bless these poor wimmen that's childer!
Aw know that they'n mony a fort,
But chaps has no 'kashun to chuckle,
Men's blemishes are not so short:
Then have a kind word for these wimmen,
If t'maddest un' vilest o' men
Wurn just made i' wimmen a fortneet,
They'd never beat wimmen agen.
God bless these poor wimmen that's childer!
These smoothers of sorrow and death,
These angels of softness and mercy,
That comfort so long as they've breath;
These magical charmers of manhood,
These wreathers of love and delight,
These fairies that never desert us,
God bless 'um aw say, wi' yo'r might!
Other poems by this author:
Love;
Heaw Quare is this Loife;
Help one Another;
A Lad about Whoam.