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.
THE COLLEGE OF SCIENCE
Who knows a thing and will not tell
Shall spend eternity in hell;
But he who learns and teaches free
In heaven spends eternity.
Around the Leinster Lawn we go
Into Molesworth Street, and so
To Saint Stephen's Green, where we
Hang a banner on a tree.
THE CANAL BANK
I know a girl,
And a girl knows me,
And the owl says, what?
And the owl says, who?
But what we know
We both agree
That nobody else
Shall hear or see,
It's all between
Herself and me:
To wit? said the owl,
To woo, said I,
To-what, to-wit, to-woo!