Sometimes he will follow his master to church;
  Tho’ his piety’s weak, I must say with a sigh,
Perhaps he’s as good as some other ones there
  Whose piety seems to be all in their eye.

He’s full of strange antics—­most little dogs are—­
  And tho’ he’s forlorn, he can mischief descry;
Indeed—­I’m strongly impress’d with the fact—­
  It eternally lurks in his beautiful eye.

His hair is the queerest that dog ever wore;
  Tho’ kind to his master, of strangers he’s shy;
He is wise in his way; deeply learned in dog lore;
  Intelligence beams from his beautiful eye.

He’s patient and faithful, affectionate too;
  My love for his virtues time’s lapse will defy;
I’m sure, if you knew him, you’d love him, like me,
  This dog with the mild and the beautiful eye.

IF YOU DON’T BELIEVE IT, TRY IT.

’Tis better far to wear away
  In honest strong endeavor,
Than idly rust in slow decay
  And work and labor never;
By honest toil to earn your bread,
  Or wherewithal to buy it;
’Tis very well, and truly said—­
  If you don’t believe it, try it.

Ye idle loafers in the streets,
  The honest workman spurning,
Know this—­a living to be sweet
  Is better for the earning. 
To loaf and lounge and lie about,
  On others’ toil to riot,
Is only practiced by a lout;
  No honest man will try it.

Oh! him that earns his daily bread! 
  Despise and spurn him never,
A thousand blessings on his head
  ’Tis he that feeds you ever. 
Should others work no more than you
  Quite spare would be your diet,
Your gills would turn a livid hue
  If they would stop and try it.

Then go to work with hands or head,
  You’ll surely profit by it;
And strive to earn some honest bread—­
  You can, if you will try it.

Ye sweeter ones of gentler sex,
  Who tread the pavement hourly,
I do not wish your hearts to vex,
  Then pray don’t take it sourly—­
Methinks sometimes ’tis no disgrace
  Tho’ seldom you are nigh it,
To be at home, your proper place,—­
  If you don’t believe it, try it. 
Are there no duties there to do? 
  If so “be up and doing!”
No clothes to mend, that you could sew,
  No beer that’s worth the brewing? 
Then stay at home, sometimes, at least,
  My counsel, don’t defy it,
A little rest’s as good’s a feast,
  If you don’t believe it, try it.

’Tis easy quite to do the right,
  And in it there is beauty,
What e’er you do, do with your might,
  But always do your duty. 
Be true unto yourself, and then—­
  Wise counsel—­don’t decry it,
You can’t be false to other men—­
  If you don’t believe it, try it.

BYE AND BYE.

Shadowy, dreamy phantoms ever rising
  Up before wild Fancy’s eyes,
With their untold and beauteous splendor,
  Make us present things despise.