Piety

With new, ill-fitting gloves,
With frocks as white as snow,
By two and two these little loves
To First Communion go.

I watch them as they pass,--
Somehow, I shrewdly guess
Each child thinks little of her mass
And much about her dress.

But you, dear Aged Saint,
Whose eyeballs upward roll,
I trust you have no worldly taint
Upon your gentle soul.