POETRY.
SONNET.
FASHIONABLE CHUROU.—MAY, 1869.
Tnv. air is faint, yet still the crowds press in With stir of silks and under-flow of talk That falls from lips of ladies as they walk, Ere yet the dainty service doth begin :
Ah me ! the very organ's glorious din
Is tuned to pliant trimness in its place.
And over all a sweet melodious grace Floats with the incense-stream good souls to win !
0 God, that spaks't of old from Sinai's brow !
And Thou that laids't the tempest with a word !
Is this Thy worship? Come amongst us now With all Thy thunders, if Thou woulds't be heard.
So tyrannous is this weight of pageantry, Almost, we cry, "Give back Gethsemane !"