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I

THE

PLOW-BOY'S

DREAM.

AM a Plow-boy stout and strong,
As ever drove a team;

And three years since a-sleep in bed
I had a dreadful dream:

And, as that dream has done me good,
I've got it up in rhyme:

That other boys may read and sing
My dream, when they have time.

Methought I drove my master's team,
With Dobbin, Ball, and Star:
Before a stiff and handy plough,
As all my master's are:

But found the ground was bak'd so hard,
And more like brick than clay,
I could not cut my furrow clean,
Nor would my beasts obey.

The more I whipt, and lash'd, and swore,
The less my cattle stirr'd;

Dobbin laid down, and Ball, and Star,
They kick'd and snorted hard:

When

When lo! above me a bright youth
Did seem to hang in air,

With purple wings and golden wand,
As angels painted are.

• Give over, cruel wretch,' he cry'd,
Nor thus thy beasts abuse;

Think, if the ground was not too hard,
Would they their work refuse?

Besides, I heard thee curse and swear,
As if dumb beasts could know
What all thy oaths and curses meant,
Or better for them go.

But tho' they know not, there is One,
Who knows thy sins full well,
And what shall be thy after doom,
Another shall thee tell.'

No more he said, but light as air
He vanish'd from my sight;
And with him went the sun's bright beams,
And all was dark midnight.

The thunder roar'd from under ground,
The earth it seem'd to gape;

Blue flames broke forth, and in those flames
A dire gigantic shape.

• Soon shall I call thee mine,' it cry'd,

With voice so dread and deep,

That quiv'ring like an aspen

I waken'd from my sleep.

leaf

And

And tho' I found it but a dream,
It left upon my mind,

That dread of sin, that fear of God,
Which all should wish to find;

For since that hour I've never dar'd
To use my cattle ill,

And ever fear'd to curse and swear,
And hope to do so still.

Now ponder well, ye Plow-boys all,
The dream that I have told;
And if it works such change in you,
'Tis worth its weight in gold;

For should you think it falfe or true,
It matters not one pin,

If you but deeds of mercy shew,
And keep your souls from sin.

M.

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47

THE

GRAVESTONE;

BEING AN ACCOUNT

(Supposed to be written on a Gravestone),

Of a Wife who buried both her Children on one Day, and who, from that time, became a very devout Christian.

WITH A SUITABLE

Address to Those who may be Attending à

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Funeral.

ERE rests in peace a christian wife
Safe from the cares and ills of life; ·
Taught by kind Heaven's afflicting rod,
She well had learnt her way to GOD.
Once a gay girl, she trod the green,
The foremost in the festive scene;
'Twas then she follow'd all her will,
And wedded William of the hill:
No heart had he for prayer and praise;
No thought of God's most holy ways,
Of worldly gains he lov'd to speak,
In worldly cares he spent his week:
E'en Sunday pass'd unheeded by,
And both forgot that they must die.

While

While thus by Satan quite beguil'd, The God of Mercy smote her child; Bereft of one sweet infant dear, She shed the mother's mournful tear; A second next she tried to save, Then bore the second to the grave; Both on one day the parent led To silent mansions of the dead. There, while she wept her childrens' fate, She learnt to feel her mortal state; Stood pondering all her errors past, As if that day had been her last. And as she held the mournful bier, Dropt for herself a secret tear.

Once she believ'd her sins were few,
But this one moment clear'd her view;
Then first she felt a Saviour's need,
A sinner in thought, word, and deed!
Of her own worth she ceas'd to dream,
For Christ's redemption was her theme.
Henceforth her ways were order'd right,
She" walk'd by faith, and not by sight;"
She read God's word, believ'd it true,
And strove to practice what she knew.

Her husband saw the mighty change,
And thought at first her humour strange;
Deem'd his own worldly ways the best-
But soon his error stood confest.
Ceas'd is the noise, the jarring strife,
For now how humble is the wife!

He

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