Any unfortunate who walks below,
When the winds blow;
So beautiful the trees,
How beautiful the Cods.[51]
Each one in chapel nods,
While Pritchett drawls the lessons of the day,
And long-drawn snores proclaim their senses dozed away;
Till the organ’s thund’ring peal
Wakes again their slumb’ring zeal;
And soon no more condemned with sleep to grapple,