‘Tain’t What It Yuster Be

When I go home in summer time,

     Down to the slow ol’ town,

Where father, mother, Bill an’ John

Still kiner hang aroun’,

I ask ‘em how they’re gittin’ long,

     How farmin’ is an’ he,

Father, he shakes his head an’ says:

“‘Tain’t what it yuster be.”

An’ arter rovin’ roun’ the place,

     With John down threw the lots;

An’ out aroun’ the cider mill,

     An’ all threw dear ol’ spots,

I ask ‘em how the fishin’ is

     Down on the pon’, an’ he,

He says, “altho’ it’s purty good,

Tain’t what it yuster be.”

On Sunday we go off to church,

     To hear the Scriptur’ read;

An’ there I meet the village boys,

     An’ then ol’ Deacon Stedd;

“Seems good,” says I, “to come ter church,

     An’ hear Salvation’s free;”

He looks the young folks o’er an’ sighs:

“‘Tain’t what it yuster be.”

They ask how long I’m goin’ ter stay,

     An’ what my judgment is,

About their comin’ inter town

     Tew run a bizzernezz.

An’ ‘em, I tell ‘em word fer word

     Jes’ what wuz tol’ ter me:

“Thet tho’ it’s better’n ‘tis’ ter hum,

‘Tain’t what it yuster be.”

An’ so it is in ev’ry place,

     I hear the same ol’ plea;

Thet nuthin’ now is quite ez good

     Ez what it yuster be.

But out uv all these derfrunt things

     The thought comes hum to me;

Are we the same, who make each change,

     Ez what we yuster be?

Feb. 14, ‘94

Boston Courier,  

May 27, ‘94

Copied in “Judge”