On Sunday morn, down sacred aisle, I see you passing, fair and proud, With queenly head sedately bowed, And eyes deep-veiled; and can you smile, O lady of the dusk defile? 'T is wisdom for a little while To leave the glitter and the crowd, To put aside the Tempter's wile On Sunday morn. Yet, though you strive to reconcile Youth's frolic heart to sober-browed Devotion, still you must beguile, For Cupid all but laughs aloud, About your lips, demure exile, On Sunday morn! |