THE CONFESSION.
I
Father—Father—I confess—
Here he kneeled and sighed,
When the moon's soft loveliness
Slept on turf and tide.
In my ear the prayer he prayed
Seems to echo yet;
But the answer that I made—
Father—I forget!
Ora pro me!
II
Father—Father—I confess—
Precious gifts he brought;
Satin sandal, silken dress;
Richer ne'er were wrought;
Gems that make the daylight dim,
Plumes in gay gold set;—
But the gaud I gave to him—
Father—I forget!
Ora pro me!
III
Father—Father—I confess—
He's my beauty's thrall,
In the lonely wilderness,
In the festive hall;
All his dreams are aye of me,
Since our young hearts met:
What my own may sometimes pe—
Father—I forget:
Ora pro me!
