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SUNDAY  TALK  IN  TH E  HORSE  SHEDS.
                                         [Old fJray cram en b   on the   to >iii iNfite,]
                         ■y ^ rM SN ’T so modi  that  the S Lin day  harness  never seems to fit,
                            X     That the collar is  tighten1  the check-rein  draws on this queer
                                          new-fangled bit,
                         Nor yet that  the pasture  looks  greener,  somehow,  this  sort  of  a  half­
                                 rest  day,
                         That galls  me  most,  Old  Roan,  but the things  I  hear the people  say.

                          My  shoulders  aclle,  ;ul'  my  knees  are  stiff, an’  it  makes  me want to
                                 fight
                         When  I  hear  'em  sing,  " O  Day  of  Res" [  O Day  of  Joy an’  Light !"
                          For  we startled  late,  an'  to  get  here soon  we had  to trot our best;
                         “ Wetcome ff—now hear  ’em— “ delightful  morn,  sweet day  of  sacred
                                 rest T

                          Now parson’s  reddin’ the  Scripture,  " Remember the S;;bbnlh  day—■
                          In  it thou  shalt not do any  work "—Ji Amen/'  the  people sav;
                          “ ThotJ,  nor thy son.  nor  thy  daughter,  thy  cattle,  thy  ox,  nor thy
                                 ass  —-
                          Don’t seem to  exempt the  horses,  eh ?  So  we’ll  let  the  lesson  pass.

                          Can’t you  step  over a  little ?  The  sun  comes  in  Ibis  side—-
                          Ail’ it don’t say a word  about  Uic  wife;  I  reckon  that's  why  they
                                 decide
                          That  Sundav’s a  day of  rest on  the farm from the  labors  of  everv-dav
                                      /       _r                                            *    k
                                  life
                          For everything' that the  Lord hath  made—-except the horses an’  wife.

                          Now,  that's  our  hymn;  come,  wake  up.  Roan, that means  us,  I'll  be
                                 bound—
                          “ Awake,  my  soul”—sing  londer’n  that;  some  folks  sdeep  mighty
                                 sound—
                          u  Awake,  my  soul,  an’  with the sun ,J— that's  meant for  me ail’ you—
                           Thy  daily course of  duty run ”—'well, that’s just what we  do.
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