THE PARSON'S DAUGHTER

Little foot, whose lightest pat

Seems to glorify the mat,

Waving hair and picture hat,

Grace the nymphs have taught her;

Gown the pink of fit and style,

Lips that ravish when they smile,—

Like a vision, down the aisle

Comes the parson's daughter.

As she passes, like a dart

To each luckless fellow's heart

Leaps a throbbing thrill and smart,

When his eye has sought her;

Tries he then his sight to bless

With one glimpse of face or tress —

Does she know it?— well, I guess!

Parson's pretty daughter.

Leans she now upon her glove

Cheeks whose dimples tempt to love,

And, with saintly look above,

Hears her “Pa” exhort her;

But, within those upturned eyes,

Fair as sunny summer skies,

Just a hint of mischief lies,—

Parson's roguish daughter.

From their azure depths askance,

When the hymn-book gave the chance,

Did I get one laughing glance?

I was sure I caught her.

Are her thoughts so far amiss

As to stray, like mine, to bliss?

For, last night, I stole a kiss

From the parson's daughter.