And but a sermon on the text
Sic transit lux capelli.
I who have braved our fitful climes
And laughed when tempest drenches,
And shaken off the dust that grimes
Pews, cushioned stalls and benches,
Survived the counterblasting Row,
And Summer gales that roar so—
I ne'er imagined such a foe
Could trounce me to a torso.