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The Mother walk'd into the church—
To Ellen's seat she went:
Tho' Ellen always kept her church
All church-days during Lent.
And gentle Ellen welcom'd her
With courteous looks and mild:
Thought she, "what if her heart should melt,
And all be reconcil'd!"
The day was scarcely like a day—
The clouds were black outright:
And many a night, with half a Moon,
I've seen the church more light.
The wind was wild; against the glass
The rain did beat and bicker;
The church-tower swaying over head
You scarce could hear the Vicar!
And then and there the Mother knelt,
And audibly she cried—
Oh! may a clinging curse consume
This woman by my side!
