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Owd fowk called him "awr Benny,"
Young fowk, "mi uncle Ben,"--
An th' childer, "gronfather," or "dad,"
Or what best pleased thersen.
A gleam o' joy coom o'er his face
When he heeard ther patterin feet,
For he loved to laik wi th' little bairns
An he did the thing 'at's reet.
He nivver turned poor fowk away
Uncared for throo his door;
He ne'er forgate ther wor a day
When he hissen wor poor;
An monny a face has turned to Heaven,
All glistenin wi' weet,
An prayed for blessins on owd Ben,
For he did the thing 'at's reet.
He knew his lease wor ommost spent,
He'd sooin be called away;
Yet he wor happy an content,
An waited th' comin day.
But one dark neet he shut his e'en,
An slept soa calm an sweet,
When mornin coom, th' world held one less,
'At did the thing 'at's reet.

A Hawporth.

Whear is thi Daddy, doy? Whear is thi mam?
What are ta cryin for, poor little lamb?
Dry up thi peepies, pet, wipe thi wet face;
Tears o' thy little cheeks seem aght o' place.


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