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IS THERE, FOR HONEST POVERTY.

IS THERE, FOR HONEST POVERTY. - Burns.

Is there, for honest poverty,

That hangs his head, and a' that?
The coward-slave, we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a' that!
For a' that, and a' that,

Our toil 's obscure, and a' that; The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The man 's the gowd for a' that!

What tho' on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin gray, and a' that;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
A man's a man, for a' that!

For a' that, and a' that,

Their tinsel show, and a' that,
The honest man, though e'er sae poor,
Is king o' men for a' that!

Ye see yon birkie, ca’d a lord,

Wha struts, and stares, and a' that;
Though hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof for a' that!
For a' that, and a' that,

His riband, star, and a' that,
The man of independent mind,

He looks and laughs at a' that!

A king can mak' a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and a' that;
But an honest man 's aboon his might,
Guid faith he mauna fa' that!

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THE GREENWOOD SHRIFT.

For a' that, and a' that,
Their dignities, and a' that,
The pith o' sense and pride o' worth
Are higher ranks than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may,-
As come it will for a' that,

That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,
May bear the gree, and a' that!
For a' that, and a' that,

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It 's comin' yet, for a' that,
That man to man, the warld o’er,
Shall brothers be for a' that!

THE GREENWOOD SHRIFT.- Blackwood's Magazine.

OUTSTRETCHED beneath the leafy shade

Of Windsor Forest's deepest glade

A dying woman lay;

Three little children round her stood,
And there went up from the
A woful wail that day.

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"O mother!" was the mingled cry,
"O mother! mother! do not die

And leave us all alone."

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My blessed babes!" she tried to say,
But the faint accents died away
In a low sobbing moan.

And then life struggled hard with death,
And fast and strong she drew her breath,
And up she raised her head;

THE GREENWOOD SHRIFT.

And peering through the deep wood's maze
With a long, sharp, unearthly gaze,

"Will he not come?" she said.

Just then, the parting boughs between,
A little maid's light form was seen,
All breathless with her speed ;
And following close, a man came on
(A portly man to look upon),
Who led a panting steed.

"Mother!" the little maiden cried,
Or e'er she reached the woman's side,
And kissed her clay-cold cheek,
"I have not idled in the town,
But long went wandering up and down,
The minister to seek.

"They told me here, they told me there,
I think they mocked me everywhere;
And when I found his home,

And begged him on my bended knee
To bring his book, and come with me,
Mother! he would not come.

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“I told him how you dying lay, And could not go in peace away Without the minister;

I begged him, for dear Christ his sake,
But O!- my heart was fit to break,-
Mother! he would not stir.

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"So, though my tears were blinding me, I ran back fast as fast could be,

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To come again to you;

And here close by this squire I met,
Who asked (so mild !) what made me fret;
And when I told him true,

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THE GREENWOOD SHRIFT.

"I will go with you, child,' he said,
'God sends me to this dying bed.'

Mother, he's here, hard by."
While thus the little maiden spoke,
The man, his back against an oak,
Looked on with glistening eye.

The bridle on his neck flung free,
With quivering flank and trembling knee,
Pressed close his bonny bay;
A statelier man, a statelier steed,
Never on greensward paced, I rede,
Than those stood there that day.

So while the little maiden spoke
The man, his back against an oak,

Looked on with glistening eye
And folded arms; and in his look,
Something that, like a sermon book,
Preached," All is vanity."

But when the dying woman's face
Turned toward him with a wishful gaze,
He stepped to where she lay ;
And kneeling down, bent over her,
Saying, "I am a minister, -
My sister! let us pray.'

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And well, withouten book or stole
(God's words were printed on his soul),
Into the dying ear

He breathed, as 't were an angel's strain,
The things that unto life pertain,

And death's dark shadows clear.

THE GREENWOOD SHRIFT.

He spoke of sinners' lost estate,
In Christ renewed, regenerate, -
Of God's most blest decree,
That not a single soul should die
Who turns repentant with the cry,
"Be merciful to me!"

He spoke of trouble, pain, and toil,
Endured but for a little while

In patience, faith, and love,-
Sure, in God's own good time, to be
Exchanged for an eternity
Of happiness above..

Then, as the spirit ebbed away,
He raised his hands and eyes, to pray
That peaceful it might pass;
And then the orphans' sobs alone
Were heard, as they knelt every one
Close round on the green grass.

Such was the sight their wondering eyes
Beheld, in heart-struck, mute surprise,
Who reined their coursers back,
Just as they found the long astray,.
Who, in the heat of chase that day,

Had wandered from their track.

Back each man reined his pawing steed,
And lighted down, as if agreed,

In silence at his side;

And there, uncovered all, they stood;
It was a wholesome sight, and good,
That day for mortal pride.

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