The day that's all our own to spend
Wi' God an' wi' an e'thly friend.
The worold's girt vo'k, wi' the best
O' worldly goods mid be a-blest;
But Zunday is the poor man's peärt,
To seäve his soul an' cheer his heart.
THE MEAD A-MOW'D.
When sheädes do vall into ev'ry hollow,
An' reach vrom trees half athirt the groun';