THE WORTHY RECTOR.

Sec changes now there diz tyek place In ivry life and station, Things noo is a' turn'd upside doon, For little or ne occasion,— Yen meets wi' acts yen luik'd not for, That drives yen into sorrow: We hev a case in point to meet In this wor canny borro— Singing, fal, lal, &c. Last Cursmas time whe wad ha'e thowt That wor awd priest wad leave us, And cause sec dowly thowts to cum, Se very much to grieve us? We sartly thowt we had him fix'd, And fassen'd here till death, sors; Unless he had been prebendized By Dean-and-Chapter breeth, sors. His toils an' labours noo we'll loss:— His sarmons for to syev us Will all be chang'd, an' varry suin, For wor new Rector's, Davis. Aw oney hope an' pray we'll not Forget our late Protector,— For thorty yeers he's led our "train," An' been wor sowl Director. For warks an' deeds amang the poor, For charity an' boonties, His match, aw think, ye'll not weel find In this or other coonties: He's fed the hungry, heal'd the sick, Wivoot yor grete display, sors; He wiv his wealth did gyude by stealth— Lang life to him! aw say, sors. Yeers creeps upon us a' my frinds, And he'll suin be an ould un; And his move frae here, though its not far, Aw'm sure ye'll think a bowld-un. Aw trust, at times, we'll see his fyece At church and parish dinners; For he's a man that loves the saints, Yet hates not the poor sinners. This plate we've gi'en him here to-day, Wiv a' its shining glister,— The yen tureen was made by Reid, The other made by Lister,— Lang may he live to see them shine, Like bright and true reflectors, Reminding priests how laymen prize Upreet, kind-hearted Rectors. Noo, fare ye weel, maw canny man, Yor wife an' a' yor childer; The score ye hev wad frighten some— Their senses quite bewilder. Lang may ye live a happy life, When ye frae Gyetside sivver: There's hundreds here will pray to God To bless ye noo and ivvur.