When wintry weather's all a-done, An' brooks do sparkle in the zun, An' nâisy-buildèn rooks do vlee Wi' sticks toward their elem tree; When birds do zing, an' we can zee Upon the boughs the buds o' spring,—Then I'm as happy as a king, A-vield wi' health an' zunsheen. Vor then the cowslip's hangèn flow'r A-wetted in the zunny show'r, Do grow wi' vi'lets, sweet o' smell, Bezide the wood-screen'd grægle's bell; Where drushes' aggs, wi' sky-blue shell, Do lie in mossy nest among The thorns, while they do zing their zong At evenèn in the zunsheen. An' God do meäke his win' to blow An' raïn to vall vor high an' low, An' bid his mornèn zun to rise Vor all alike, an' groun' an' skies Ha' colors vor the poor man's eyes: An' in our trials He is near, To hear our mwoan an' zee our tear, An' turn our clouds to zunsheen. An' many times when I do vind Things all goo wrong, an' vo'k unkind, To zee the happy veedèn herds, An' hear the zingèn o' the birds, Do soothe my sorrow mwore than words; Vor I do zee that 'tis our sin Do meäke woone's soul so dark 'ithin, When God would gi'e woone zunsheen.