My dear, my native soil! For whom my warmest wish to Heav'n is sent, Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content!
Affliction's sons are brothers in distress; A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss!
Love's first snow-drop, virgin kiss.
Gin a body meet a body Coming thro' the rye, Gin a body kiss a body— Need a body cry?
'T is sweeter for thee despairing Than aught in the world beside,-Jessy!
Good Lord, what is man! for as simple he looks, Do but try to develop his books and his crooks, With his depths and his shallows, his good and his evil, All in all, he's a problem must puzzle the devil.