But see the harvest maiden Queen,
Borne lightly laughing o'er the green,
With blushing cheek and sparkling eye
She waves her treasured prize on high;
Admiring rustics strive in vain
Approving smile or glance to gain,
For her dear Sandy's coming soon

Far o'er the moor, 'neath that bright moon,
With her through yellow fields to stray,
And fix their happy bridal-day.

The fields are swept, the barns are filled,

In long straight rows, huge stacks are piled,

In graceful forms they rise on high
Beneath the farmer's keen gray eye,
Who with artistic skill and care
Must have them built to taper fair.

Old grandame's fowls are clucking heard
Rejoicing in the rich barn-yard,
And happy groups of peasants come
To welcome jocund harvest-home.

The board is heaped with ample cheer,
And all are linked in friendship dear,
And on one level all are raised,
And all are pleased, and all are praised;
Till roused by pipes and fiddles sweet
The happy groups start to their feet,

And dance, and skip, and cleek, and reel,
And bob, and bound, and whirl, and wheel,
Till floors and windows shake and clatter,
And distance whispers, "What's the matter?"

Hail, rural mirth and rustic glee!
Hail, honest pure simplicity!
With lively dance, and joyous song,
Your jocund merriment prolong;
And while your bosoms grateful glow
To Him whose bounties round you flow,
And while your thoughts are raised to Heaven,
Be't yours to give as He has given,
Whose sun and moon illume yon dome,
Who gives yon gen'rous harvest-home.

THE SNAWY KIRKYARD.

A' Nature lay dead, save the cauld whistlin' blast That chilled the bleak earth to the core as it passed,

And heaved in high ridges the thick chokin' drift That cam' in wreathed swirls frae the white

marled lift,

While a sigh heaved his breast, for my faithcr lang dead.

He nursed me, he schooled me,-bow can I regard

But wi' warm-gushing heart-tears, a Snawy Kirkyard.

In soothing sad sorrow, in calming mad mirth, His breath, like the south wind, strewed balm on the earth,

And weary souls laden wi' grief aft were driven To seek comfort frae him, wha aye led them to Heaven.

O! sweet were the seeds sown, and rich was the braird

That sprang frae that stock in the Snawy Kirkyard.

As we warsled richt sair ower the drear muirland lea,

And our feet skyted back on the road freezing hard,

As we wended our way to the Snawy Kirkyard.

And my locks, ance sae gowden, are silvery now, And tho' I hae neither high station nor power,

I hae health for my portion, and truth for my dower,

And my hand hath been open, my heart hath been free,

To dry up the tear-draps frae sorrow's dull e'e, And mony puir bodies my awmrie hae shared, 'Twas my counsel frae him in the Suawy Kirkyard.

FALLING LEAVES.

Pale symbols of our mortal end,

Ye meet me on my way,
Where thrushes coo, and streamlets wend,
As if it still were May.

Your merry dance with wind and light,
Your bridal green is gone;

Ye come like farewells to the sight-
Ye fall as from a throne.

Crisp leaves of brown, and red, and yellow,
Ye can but fade away;

Ye ne'er will rise to meet your fellow
Upon the fresh green spray.

But friends in Christ though fallen now,
And in the churchyard sleeping,
Will blossom yet on Life's spring bough,
And glory end their weeping.

Adown the stream I see you going,
Here spattered with the foam,
And there, on waters scarcely flowing,
Ye rest as if at home.

A dream comes over me in calm
Of trees that never fade,

Of leaves that shed a healing balm,
Of skies that never shade.

Our days are dropping like the leaves-
Our tree will soon be bare!

For shorter are our summer eves,
And colder is the air.

But yet the orchard fruit grows mellow;
As down the leaves are winging-
Crisp leaves of brown, and red, and yellow,
I hear the reapers singing!

What, then, of all our leaves bereft,

When reaping angels come,

If autumn's golden fruit be left-Their joyous harvest-home!

THE FEEDING SHOWER. The feeding shower comes brattlin' doun, The south wind sughs wi' kindly soun',

The soil, a' gizen'd sair before,
Is filled wi' moisture to the core;
Ducks daidlin' in the dubs are seen,
The cawin' corbies crowd the green,
Their beaks are sharp when rain-cluds lower-
They batten in the feeding shower.

Furth frae their stalks the ears o' grain
Peep sleely, lapping up the rain,
Ilk gowan opes its crimson mou',
And nods, and winks, till droukit fou,
And butter-cups are whomled ower,
Brim-laden wi' the feeding shower.

The drowsy sun, as dozed wi' sleep,
Doun through the lift begins to peep,
And, slantin' wide in glist'nin' streams,
The light on bright new verdure gleams,
And Nature, grateful, owns His power
Wha sends the genial feeding shower.

LAY UP TREASURES IN HEAVEN.

Why treasures hoard that rust and rot,
Or gold that thieves may steal?
Why are those priceless gems forgot
That bear God's holy seal?
Strive ye to gain the Christian's share,
And store in heaven your prize;
For if your dearest treasure's there,
There will your wishes rise.

On food and raiment wherefore spend
Your life in careworn thought,
While food for an immortal mind
Remains by you unsought?
Your Father feeds the fowls of air,
Who neither reap nor sow;

The lilies spin not, yet how fair The gentle lilies grow!

And if God feed the sparrow small,
And clothe the fading flower,
Will He not clothe and feed you all,
Poor children of an hour?

For present wants then take no thought,

But fix your hearts above;

And He, whose blood your souls hath bought, Shall give you light and love.

WIFIE, COME HAME.

Wifie, come hame,
My couthie wee dame!

O but ye're far awa,
Wifie, come hame!

Come wi' the young bloom o' morn on thy broo, Come wi' the lown star o' love in thine e'e, Come wi' the red cherries ripe on thy mou',

A' glist wi' balm, like the dew on the lea. Come wi' the gowd tassels fringin' thy hair, Come wi' thy rose-cheeks a' dimpled wi' glee, Come wi' thy wee step, and wifie-like air, O quickly come, and shed blessings on me!

Wifie, come hame,

My couthie wee dame!

O my heart wearies sair,
Wifie, come hame!

Come wi' our love pledge, our dear little dawtie,
Clasping my neck round, an' clamb'rin' my

knee;

Come let me nestle and press the wee pettic,
Gazing on ilka sweet feature o' thee:

O but the house is a cauld hame without ye,
Lanely and eerie's the life that I dree;
O come awa', an' I'll dance round about ye,
Ye'll ne'er again win frae my arms till I dce.

NAEBODY'S BAIRN.

She was Naebody's Bairn, she was Nacbody's Bairn,

She had mickle to thole, she had mickle to learn,

Afore a kind word or kind look she could earn, For naebody cared about Naebody's Bairn.

Tho' faither or mither ne'er owned her ava, Tho' reared by the fremmit for fee unco sma', She grew in the shade like a young lady-fern; For Nature was bounteous to Naebody's Bairn.

Tho' toited by some, and tho' lightlied by mair, She never compleened, tho' her young heart was sair;

And warm virgin tears that might melted cauld airn

Whiles glist in the blue e'e o' Naebody's Bairn.

Though nane cheered her childhood, an' nane hailed her birth,

Heaven sent her an angel to gladden the earth; And when the earth doomed her in laigh nook

to dern,

Heaven couldna but tak again "Naebody's Bairn."

She cam'smiling sweetly as young mornin' daw, Like loun simmer gloamin' she faded awa, And lo! how serenely that lone e'enin' starn Shines on the green sward that haps Nacbody's Bairn!

A STIEVE HEART AND A STURDY STEP.

Ne'er trow the day will lour throughout, although the dawn be dark;

Ne'er dream ye're doomed to drag through life, though hard your early wark: The morning gray and misty aften brings a golden day-

A stieve heart and a sturdy step will climb the steepest brae.

A wee bit jutting boulder whiles will help ye ower the wa',

So ne'er despise the willing gift, although it may be sma';

The birdie, e'er he flecs, is proud to hap alang the spray

A stieve heart and a sturdy step will climb the steepest brae.

The road to happiness is aft wi' sorrows thickly strewn;

The waur to win the mair we prize ilk comfort that we own;

And peace and freedom aft are gained by bluidy battle fray

A stieve heart and a sturdy step will climb the steepest brae.

Then if the prize ye seek be high, and if your

aim be pure, Press onward ever hopeful, still be patient to endure;