Of the fiery place of torment till we seemed to smell the smoke;
And we all joined in "Old Hundred" till the rafters seemed to ring
When the preacher said, "Now, brethren: Hallelujah! Let us sing."

Oh, the Friday evening meetings, and the waiting 'round about,
'Neath the lamplight, at the portal, just to see when _she_ came out,
And the whispered, anxious question, and the faintly murmured "Yes,"
And the soft hand on your coat-sleeve, and the perfumed, rustling dress,--
Oh, the Paradise of Heaven somehow seemed to show its worth
When you walked home with an angel through a Paradise on earth.

Oh, the Friday evening meetings, and the happy homeward stroll,
While the moonlight softly mingled with the love-light in your soul;
Then the lingering 'neath the lattice where the roses hung above,
And the "good-night" kiss at parting, and the whispered word of love,--
Ah, they lighted Life's dark highway with a sweet and sacred glow
From the Friday evening meetings in the vestry, long ago.

* * * * *

THE PARSON'S DAUGHTER

Little foot, whose lightest pat
Seems to glorify the mat,
Waving hair and picture hat,
Grace the nymphs have taught her;
Gown the pink of fit and style,
Lips that ravish when they smile,--
Like a vision, down the aisle
Comes the parson's daughter.