WHEN weakness now do strive wi’ might

In struggles ov an e'thly trial, earthly

Might mid overcome the right, may

An’ truth be turn'd by might's denial;

Withstanders we ha’ mwost to feär,

If selfishness do wring us here,

Be souls a-holdèn in their hand,

The might an’ riches o’ the land.

But when the wicked, now so strong,

Shall stan’ vor judgment, peäle as ashes,

By the souls that rued their wrong,

Wi’ tears a-hangèn on their lashes—

Then withstanders they shall deäre

The leäst ov all to meet wi’ there,

Mid be the helpless souls that now

Below their wrongvul might mid bow.

Sweet childern o’ the dead, bereft

Ov all their goods by guile an’ forgèn;

Souls o’ driven sleäves that left

Their weäry limbs a-mark'd by scourgèn;

They that God ha’ call'd to die

Vor truth ageän the worold's lie,

An’ they that groan'd an’ cried in vaïn,

A-bound by foes’ unrighteous chaïn.

The maïd that selfish craft led on

To sin, an’ left wi’ hope a-blighted;

Starvèn workmen, thin an’ wan,

Wi’ hopeless leäbour ill requited;

Souls a-wrong'd, an’ call'd to vill

Wi’ dread, the men that us'd em ill.

When might shall yield to right as pliant

As a dwarf avore a giant.

When there, at last, the good shall glow

In starbright bodies lik’ their Seäviour,

Vor all their flesh noo mwore mid show, may

The marks o’ man's unkind beheäviour:

Wi’ speechless tongue, an’ burnèn cheak,

The strong shall bow avore the weäk,

An’ vind that helplessness, wi’ right,

Is strong beyond all e'thly might.