'k, a-comen in at door,
Do softly tread the long-ail'd vloor
Below the pillar'd arches' height,
Wi' bells a-pealen,
Vo'k a-kneelen,
Hearts a-healen, wi' the love
An' peaece a-zent em vrom above.

An' there, wi' mild an' thoughtvul feaece,
Wi' downcast eyes, an' vaices dum',
The wold an' young do slowly come,
An' teaeke in stillness each his pleaece,
A-zinken slowly,
Kneelen lowly,
Seeken holy thoughts alwone,
In pray'r avore their Meaeker's throne.

An' there be sons in youthvul pride,
An' fathers weak wi' years an' pain,
An' daughters in their mother's train.
The tall wi' smaller at their zide;
Heads in murnen
Never turnen,
Cheaeks a-burnen, wi' the het
O' youth, an' eyes noo tears do wet.

There friends do settle, zide by zide,
The knower speechless to the known;
Their vaice is there vor God alwone
To flesh an' blood their tongues be tied.
Grief a-wringen,
Jay a-zingen,
Pray'r a-bringen welcome rest
So softly to the troubled breast.

WOONE RULE.

An' while I zot, wi' thoughtvul mind,
Up where the lwonesome Coombs do wind,
An' watch'd the little gully slide
So crooked to the river-zide;
I thought how wrong the Stour did zeem
To roll along his ramblen stream,
A-runnen wide the left o' south,
To vind his mouth, the right-hand zide.

But though his stream do teaeke, at mill.
An' eastward bend by Newton Hill,
An' goo to lay his welcome boon
O' daily water round Hammoon,
An' then wind off ageaen, to run
By Blanvord, to the noonday zun,
'Tis only bound by woone rule all,
An' that's to vall down steepest ground.

An' zoo, I thought, as we do bend
Our way drough life, to reach our end,
Our God ha' gi'ed us, vrom our youth,
Woone rule to be our guide--His truth.
An' zoo wi' that, though we mid teaeke
Wide rambles vor our callens' seaeke,
What is, is best, we needen fear,
An' we shall steer to happy rest.

GOOD MEAeSTER COLLINS.

Aye, Meaester Collins wer a-blest
Wi' greaece, an' now's a-gone to rest;
An' though his heart did beaet so meek
'S a little child's, when he did speak,
The godly wisdom ov his tongue
Wer dew o' greaece to wold an' young.

'Twer woonce, upon a zummer's tide,
I zot at Brookwell by his zide,
Avore the leaeke, upon the rocks,
Above the water's idle shocks,
As little playsome weae