our head,
But coulden tell, as now we can,
Where each would goo to tweil a man.
O jays a-lost, an' jays a-vound,
How Providence do bring things round!

Where woonce along the sky o' blue
The zun went roun' his longsome bow,
An' brighten'd, to my soul, the view
About our little farm below.
There I did play the merry geaeme,
Wi' childern ev'ry holitide,
But coulden tell the vaice or neaeme
That time would vind to be my bride.
O hwome a-left, O wife a-vound,
How Providence do bring things round!

An' when I took my manhood's pleaece,
A husband to a wife's true vow,
I never thought by neaeme or feaece
O' childern that be round me now.
An' now they all do grow vrom small,
Drough life's feaeir sheaepes to big an' tall,
I still be blind to God's good plan,
To pleaece em out as wife, or man.
O thread o' love by God unwound,
How He in time do bring things round;

ZUMMER THOUGHTS IN WINTER TIME.

Well, aye, last evenen, as I shook
My locks ov hay by Leecombe brook.
The yollow zun did weakly glance
Upon the winter meaed askance,
A-casten out my narrow sheaede
Athirt the brook, an' on the meaed.
The while ageaen my lwonesome ears
Did russle weatherbeaeten spears,
Below the withy's leafless head
That overhung the river's bed;
I there did think o' days that dried
The new-mow'd grass o' zummer-tide,
When white-sleev'd mowers' whetted bleaedes
Rung sh'ill along the green-bough'd gleaedes,
An' maidens gay, wi' playsome chaps,
A-zot wi' dinners in their laps,
Did talk wi' merry words that rung
Around the ring, vrom tongue to tongue;
An' welcome, when the leaves ha' died,
Be zummer thoughts in winter-tide.

I'M OUT O' DOOR.

I'm out, when, in the Winter's blast,
The zun, a-runnen lowly round,
Do mark the sheaedes the hedge do cast
At noon, in hoarvrost, on the ground,
I'm out when snow's a-lyen white
In keen-air'd vields that I do pass,
An' moonbeams, vrom above, do smite
On ice an' sleeper's window-glass.
I'm out o' door,
When win' do zweep,
By hangen steep,
Or hollow deep,
At Lindenore.

O welcome is the lewth a-vound
By rustlen copse, or ivied bank,
Or by the hay-rick, weather-brown'd
By barken-grass, a-springen rank;
Or where the waggon, vrom the team
A-freed, is well a-housed vrom wet,