s drough outside,--
Not cut off short, but bound all round
Wi' lead, to keep en seaefe an' sound.

Back when the builders vu'st begun
The church,--as still the teaele do run,--
A man work'd wi' em; no man knew
Who 'twer, nor whither he did goo.
He wer as harmless as a chile,
An' work'd 'ithout a frown or smile,
Till any woaths or strife did rise
To overcast his sparklen eyes:

An' then he'd call their minds vrom strife,
To think upon another life.
He wer so strong, that all alwone
He lifted beams an' blocks o' stwone,
That others, with the girtest pains,
Could hardly wag wi' bars an' chains;
An' yet he never used to stay
O' Zaturdays, to teaeke his pay.

Woone day the men wer out o' heart,
To have a beam a-cut too short;
An' in the evenen, when they shut
Off work, they left en where 'twer put;
An' while dumb night went softly by
Towards the vi'ry western sky,
A-lullen birds, an' shutten up
The deaeisy an' the butter cup,
They went to lay their heavy heads
An' weary bwones upon their beds.

An' when the dewy mornen broke,
An' show'd the worold, fresh awoke,
Their godly work ageaen, they vound
The beam they left upon the ground
A-put in pleaece, where still do bide,
An' long enough to reach outzide.
But he unknown to tother men
Wer never there at work ageaen:
Zoo whether he mid be a man
Or angel, wi' a helpen han',
Or whether all o't wer a dream,
They didden deaere to cut the beam.

THE VAICES THAT BE GONE.

When evenen sheaedes o' trees do hide
A body by the hedge's zide,
An' twitt'ren birds, wi' playsome flight,
Do vlee to roost at comen night,
Then I do saunter out o' zight
In orcha'd, where the pleaece woonce rung
Wi' laughs a-laugh'd an' zongs a-zung
By vaices that be gone.

There's still the tree that bore our swing,
An' others where the birds did zing;
But long-leav'd docks do overgrow
The groun' we trampled heaere below,
Wi' merry skippens to an' fro
Bezide the banks, where Jim did zit
A-playen o' the clarinit
To vaices that be gone.

How mother, when we us'd to stun
Her head wi' all our naisy fun,
Did wish us all a-gone vrom hwome:
An' now that zome be dead, an' zome
A-gone, an' all the pleaece is dum',
How she do wish, wi' useless tears,
To have ageaen about her ears
The vaices that be gone.

Vor all the maidens an'