SUNDAY.

Now six laborious days are gone,
The Sabbath-bells are tolling,

With many a spirit-thrilling tone,
To pray'rs and praises knolling.

With gladden'd eyes the village see
The welcome season dawning,

Put on their Sunday-clothes with glee,
And hail the sacred morning..

Each blooming lass is proud to wear

Her newest gown and bonnet,

While dames of three-score whisper near, And moralize upon it.

Jocund of heart they seem, in sooth,

Stout Will now 'squires his Nannie, Bald sev❜nty takes the arm of youth, The prattler leads his grannie.

Oh, 'tis methinks, a pleasant sight,
When neighbours thus are meeting,
When ev'ry countenance is bright,
And smiles with smiles are greeting.

Thrice welcome is the day of rest,
To them a cheerful season;
Devotion fills each glowing breast,
But 'tis the fruit of reason.

And as they leave the house of pray'r,
The solemn service ended,

They to their humble homes repair,
With hearts and morals mended.

And when at home each breast dilates
With joys that have no measure,
And each his ev'ning consecrates
To calm domestic pleasure.

TO MY DOG.

O TRAY! for many a weary mile

We've travell'd on together,

Content with fortune's frown or smile, Life's fair or squally weather.

And often has affliction made

The bonds of friendship sever;

But thou, poor Tray, it must be said, Wert faithful to me ever.

The world has mock'd my tatter'd dress,
When spent was my last shilling,
But to thy master, in distress,

Thou still wert kind and willing.

The very brother of my heart

With scornful tongue has chided,

Forgot to act a brother's part,
And all my woes derided.

But thou, poor Tray, with anxious zeal, If e'er I seem'd in trouble,

My anguish as thine own didst feel,

And each attention double.

In poverty I found thee true,

As when my hopes were smiling, And as each sad misfortune grew, Wert thou its force beguiling.