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James Stephens - Westland Row
Work rating: Medium

      Every Sunday there`s a throng
      Of pretty girls, who trot along
      In a pious, breathless state
      (They are nearly always late)
      To the Chapel, where they pray
      For the sins of Saturday.

      They have frocks of white and blue,
      Yellow sashes they have too,
      And red ribbons show each head
      Tenderly is ringleted;
      And the bell rings loud, and the
      Railway whistles urgently.

      After Chapel they will go,
      Walking delicately slow,
      Telling still how Father John
      Is so good to look upon
      And such other grave affairs
      As they thought of during prayers.
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