All by herself, in the oaken pew,
With the heavy gold-fringed eyelids drooped
Over her innocent eyes of blue.
Close to her tiptoed the tithing-man,
And over her reached his awful rod,
And poked the little Puritan maid
For falling asleep in the house of God.
Dear little Elizabeth, prim and pale!
How her poor heart jumped when she
woke and found