28 An ïf God pits claes on tha gress ïn tha fiel that's here theday an throwed ïntae tha fire themorra, dae you dooters no unnèrstan that he'll luk eftèr you anaa?.
“You fowk ir faithless an aisie led,” Jesus saed. “Hoo lang wull A be wi ye afore yis believe? Hoo lang dae A hae tae pit up wi ye? Brïng tha wee lad here tae me.”
He saed, “Acause yer faith ïs sae waik. A tell ye tha truith, ïf yis hae faith as smaa as a mustèrt seed even, yis'll say tae thïs muntin, ‘Shïft frae here tae thair,’ an ït'll shïft! Naethin wull be impoassible fer ye.”
An ïf that ïs tha wye God pits claes on tha gress o tha fiel, that's here theday an throwed ïntae tha fire themorra, dae you dooters no unnèrstan that he'll luk eftèr you anaa?
“Whar ïs yer faith?” he axt thaim. An the' wur feart, an the' wunnèrt, an the' saed tae yin anither, “Whut kine o a man ïs thïs, that can mak e'en tha wun an tha waves dae as he bïds thaim!”