Classic Poem

Between the rail of woven brass,
That hides the “Strangers' Pew,”
I hear the gray-haired vicar pass
From Section One to Two.

And somewhere on my left I see—
Whene'er I chance to look—
A soft-eyed, girl St. Cecily,
Who notes them—in a book.

Ah, worthy Goodman ,—sound divine!
Shall I your wrath incur,
If I admit these thoughts of mine
Will sometimes stray—to her?

I know your theme, and I revere;
I hear your precepts tried;
Must I confess I also hear
A sermon at my side?

Or how explain this need I feel,—
This impulse prompting me
Within my secret self to kneel
To Faith,—to Purity!