A Few Figs From Thistles: The Penitent

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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