In the queer old-fashioned oaken pew,
And earnestly on the parson bent
Her modest, innocent eyes of blue.
But, ah! the sermon was deep and long,
The parson spoke with a weary drone;
And she heard the honey-bees out of doors
Hum, in a drowsy monotone;
The very wind had a sleepy sound—
Little Elizabeth began to nod,
Though she told herself 'twas a dreadful thing