“A cross, George? What’s the reason you wear it there?”
“Why do you wear that gold thing attached to the gold chain hung around your neck? That is a cross too.”
“This? Oh, mamma gave it to me.”
“What good does it do you? Do you say your prayers over it?”
“No—I think it very pretty—I wear it for mamma’s sake.”
The boy folded his arms, and turning half away from her said, scornfully, as if to himself:
“She wears it proudly, for it shines
With costly gems, a radiant thing’—
A worthier emblem of the times
To Fashion’s court she could not bring.
“Made fast with chain of precious gold,
She dons it with her gala-dress:—
It shines amid the silken fold—
Sin clasps it with a bold caress.
“It is no burden as she treads
Through Pleasure’s paths in open day;
No threat’ning shadow ever spreads
From those rich jewels round her way
“She clasps it in her vainest mood,
(That awful symbol lightly worn,)
Forgetful that ’tis stained with blood,
And has the Prince of Glory borne’