Two Sermons.

Between the rail of woven brass, That hides the "Strangers' Pew," I hear the gray-haired vicar pass From Section One to Two. And somewhere on my left I see— Whene'er I chance to look— A soft-eyed, girl St. Cecily, Who notes them—in a book. Ah, worthy GOODMAN,—sound divine! Shall I your wrath incur, If I admit these thoughts of mine Will sometimes stray—to her? I know your theme, and I revere; I hear your precepts tried; Must I confess I also hear A sermon at my side? Or how explain this need I feel,— This impulse prompting me Within my secret self to kneel To Faith,—to Purity!