The Penitent


  I had a little Sorrow,
    Born of a little Sin,
  I found a room all damp with gloom
    And shut us all within;
  And, "Little Sorrow, weep," said I,
    "And, Little Sin, pray God to die,
  And I upon the floor will lie
    And think how bad I've been!"
  Alas for pious planning—
    It mattered not a whit!
  As far as gloom went in that room,
    The lamp might have been lit!
  My little Sorrow would not weep,
    My little Sin would go to sleep—
  To save my soul I could not keep
    My graceless mind on it!
  So up I got in anger,
    And took a book I had,
  And put a ribbon on my hair
    To please a passing lad,
  And, "One thing there's no getting by—
  I've been a wicked girl," said I;
  "But if I can't be sorry, why,
    I might as well be glad!"


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