Wi' spreaden eaerms that wheel'd to guide
Us each in turn to tother zide.
An' vu'st ov all the train he took
My wife, wi' winsome gait an' look;
An' then zent on my little maid,
A-skippen onward, overjay'd
To reach ageaen the pleaece o' pride,
Her comely mother's left han' zide.
An' then, a-wheelen roun', he took
On me, 'ithin his third white nook.
An' in the fourth, a-sheaeken wild,
He zent us on our giddy child.
But eesterday he guided slow
My downcast Jenny, vull o' woe,
An' then my little maid in black,
A-walken softly on her track;
An' after he'd a-turn'd ageaen,
To let me goo along the leaene,
He had noo little bwoy to vill
His last white eaerms, an' they stood still.

THE BETTER VOR ZEEN O' YOU.

'Twer good what Meaester Collins spoke
O' spite to two poor spitevul vo'k,
When woone twold tother o' the two
"I be never the better vor zeen o' you."
If soul to soul, as Christians should,
Would always try to do zome good,
"How vew," he cried, "would zee our feaece
A-brighten'd up wi' smiles o' greaece,
An' tell us, or could tell us true,
I be never the better vor zeen o' you."

A man mus' be in evil ceaese
To live 'ithin a land o' greaece,
Wi' nothen that a soul can read
O' goodness in his word or deed;
To still a breast a-heav'd wi' sighs,
Or dry the tears o' weepen eyes;
To stay a vist that spite ha' wrung,
Or cool the het ov anger's tongue:
Or bless, or help, or gi'e, or lend;
Or to the friendless stand a friend,
An' zoo that all could tell en true,
"I be never the better vor zeen o' you."

Oh! no, mid all o's try to spend
Our passen time to zome good end,
An' zoo vrom day to day teaeke heed,
By mind, an' han', by word or deed;
To lessen evil, and increase
The growth o' righteousness an' peaece,
A-speaken words o' loven-kindness,
Openen the eyes o' blindness;
Helpen helpless striver's weakness,
Cheeren hopeless grievers' meekness,
Meaeken friends at every meeten,
Veel the happier vor their greeten;
Zoo that vew could tell us true,
"I be never the better vor zeen o' you."
No, let us even try to win
Zome little good vrom sons o' sin,
An' let their evils warn us back
Vrom teaeken on their hopeless track,
Where we mid zee so clear's the zun
That harm a-done is harm a-won,
An' we mid cry an' tell em true,
"I be even the better vor zeen o' you."

PITY.