The faithful night! Now all things lie And humbly chant mine evening hymn. Thou art my prayer, my saint, my shrine! (For never holy pilgrim kneel'd Or wept at feet more pure than thine), THERE SWAIN.S0 ПHERE lived a sage in days of yore, But wondered much and sorrowed more He mused upon this curious case, And swore he'd change the pigtail's place, And have it hanging at his face, Not dangling there behind him. Says he, "The mystery I've found,- Then round, and round, and out and in, And right, and left, and round about, And though his efforts never slack, The pigtail hangs behind him. |