old psalms ovver agean;
An tho' old crackt voices dooant saand varry sweet,
He knows varry weel what we mean.

Soa cheer up, old lass,
Altho' we've grown grey,
An we havn't mich brass,
Still awr hearts can be gay;
For we've health an contentment, an soa we can say,
'At we're gradely weel off after all.

Is it Reight?

Awm noa radical, liberal nor toory,
Awm a plain spokken, hard-workin man;
Aw cooart nawther fame, wealth nor glory,
But try to do th' best 'at aw can.
But when them who hold lofty positions,
Are unmindful of all but thersen,--
An aw know under what hard conditions,
Thaasands struggle to prove thersen men,
It sets me a thinkin an thinkin,
Ther's summat 'at wants setting reight;
An wol th' wealthy all seem to be winkin,
Leeavin poor fowk to wonder an wait,--
Is it cappin to find one's hooap sickens?
Or at workers should join in a strike?
When they see at distress daily thickens,
Till despairin turns into dislike?
Is it strange they should feel discontented,
An repine at ther comfortless lot,
When they see lux'ry rife in the mansion,
An starvation at th' door ov the cot?
Is it reight 'at theas hard-handed workers
Should wear aght ther life day bi day,
An find 'at th' reward for ther labors
Is ten per cent knockt off ther pay?
But we're tell'd 'at we owt to be thankful
If we've plenty to ait an to drink;
An its sinful to question one's betters,--
We wor sent here to work, net to think.
Then lets try to appear quite contented,
For this maathful o' summat to ait;
Its for what us poor fowk wor invented,--
But awm blowed if aw think at its reight.

A Yorksher Bite.

Bless all them bonny lasses,
I' Yorksher born an bred!
Ther beauty nooan surpasses,
Complete i'th' heart an th' heead.
An th' lads,--tho aw've seen monny lands,
Ther equal aw ne'er met;
For honest hearts an willin hands,
They nivver can be bet.
Aw nivver hold mi heead soa heigh,
Or feel sich true delight,
As when fowk point me aght an say,
"Thear gooas a Yorksher Bite."

Lily's Gooan.

"Well, Robert! what's th' matter! nah mun,
Aw see 'at ther's summat nooan sweet;
Thi een luk as red as a sun--
Aw saw that across th' width of a street;
Aw hope 'at yor Lily's noa war--
Surelee--th' little thing is'nt deead?
Tha wod roor, aw think, if tha dar--
What means ta bi shakin thi heead?
Well, aw see