Playing At Priests.

Within a town where parity     According to old form we see,     That is to say, where Catholic     And Protestant no quarrels pick,     And where, as in his father's day,     Each worships God in his own way,     We Luth'ran children used to dwell,     By songs and sermons taught as well.     The Catholic clingclang in truth     Sounded more pleasing to our youth,     For all that we encounter'd there,     To us seem'd varied, joyous, fair.     As children, monkeys, and mankind     To ape each other are inclin'd,     We soon, the time to while away,     A game at priests resolved to play.     Their aprons all our sisters lent     For copes, which gave us great content;     And handkerchiefs, embroider'd o'er,     Instead of stoles we also wore;     Gold paper, whereon beasts were traced,     The bishop's brow as mitre graced.     Through house and garden thus in state     We strutted early, strutted late,     Repeating with all proper unction,     Incessantly each holy function.     The best was wanting to the game;     We knew that a sonorous ring     Was here a most important thing;     But Fortune to our rescue came,     For on the ground a halter lay;     We were delighted, and at once     Made it a bellrope for the nonce,     And kept it moving all the day;     In turns each sister and each brother     Acted as sexton to another;     All help'd to swell the joyous throng;     The whole proceeded swimmingly,     And since no actual bell had we,     We all in chorus sang, Ding dong!     *     *     *     *     *     Our guileless child's-sport long was hush'd     In memory's tomb, like some old lay;     And yet across my mind it rush'd     With pristine force the other day.     The New-Poetic Catholics     In ev'ry point its aptness fix!