THE DANCING TASSEL
The female preacher both smiled and exhorted,
While around her fair cheek and back to her ear,
Her long, gay tassel danced and cavorted,
And the more men looked the less they could hear,
For lo, the dancing tassel.
And the wonderful thing, ’twas a Quaker tassel,
On a Quaker hat, on a Friend’s high head,
Who in pulpit reigned like a queen in a castle,
While the souls of men just longed to be fed—
But there, that dancing tassel.
As her nose went up the tassel went down;
While ever it flirted, and ever it played
Its prominent part as one with a crown—
In the audience many who might have prayed;
But ho! that dancing tassel.
Her kid-gloved-hand was constant in motion,
And busy my mind to follow all three,
The tassel, the glove, and the word of devotion;
But most active of all in this trinity,
That ever-dancing tassel.
I suppose I should be so pious and good,
As to shut my eyes fast to any dancing thing,
And be anywhere in a heavenly mood,
But somehow my soul kept up the swing
Of that flouncing, dancing tassel.