With canting prayers.

Yes; he whose life's short span appears
Mixed up with joyous smiles and tears;
So interwove with doubts and fears
His harp did ring;
And made the world to ope' its ears
And hear him sing.

'Twas his to walk the lonely glen,
Betimes to shun the haunts of men,
Searching for his magic pen--
Poetic fire;
And far beyond the human ken
He strung the lyre.

And well old Scotland may be proud
To hear her Burns proclaimed aloud,
For to her sons the world hath bowed
Through Burns's name--
All races of the world are proud
Of Burns's fame.

Trip to Malsis Hall.

The day wor fine, the sun did shine,
No signs o' rain to fall,
When t'North Beck hands, i' jovial bands,
Did visit Malsis Hall.

Up by the hill o' North Beck Mill,
Both owd an' young did meet;
To march I trow, i' two-by-two,
Procession dahn the street.

An' Marriner's Band, wi' music grand,
Struck up wi' all ther might;
Then one an' all, both great an' small,
March'd on wi' great delight.

The girls an' boys, wi' jovial noise,
The fife an' drum did play;
For ivvery one wod hev some fun
On this eventful day.

Owd Joan o' Sall's wi' all his pals,
March'd on wi' all ther ease:
Just for a lark, some did remark,
"There goes some prime owd cheese!"

T'Exl' Heead chaps wi' their girt caps,
An' coits nut quite i' t'fashion;
Wi' arms ding-dong, they strut along,
An' put a famous dash on.

Tom Wilkins dress'd up in his best,
T'owd wife put on her fall,
Fer they wor bent, what com or went,
To dine at Malsis Hall.

Ther wor Tommy Twist among the list,
Wi' his magenta snaht;
He's often said sin he gat wed,
T'owd lass sud hev an aght.

Among the lot wor owd Sam Butt,
As fine as owd Lord Digby;
An' owd Queer Doos, wi' his streit shoes,
An' wi' him Joseph Rigby.

There's Jimmy Gill, o' Castle Hill,--
That gentleman wi' t'stick,--
There's Will an' Sam, an' young John Lamb,
An' Ben an' Earby Dick.

I scorn to lie--the reason why
It is a shame awm sure!
But among the job wor owd Joe Hob,
Behold! a perfect kewer.

I'd quite forgot, among the lot,
There too wor Pally Pickles,
Wi' crinoline shoo walks so fine,
Shoo's like a cat i' prickles.

Bud to mi tale--aw mussant fail
I' owt on this occasion--
Wi' heead erect, an' girt respect,
We march to Keighley Station.

Nah--all reight fain