by Prigiana
I.
"I hear thee speak of being pure
Which I should like to be I'm sure.
Must I then help the poor and needy
Or give medicine to the seedy?
Shall I read books to those who are weary?
Tell me, is this the way, mother deary?"
"Not that, not that, my child!"
II.
"If I deny myself all cake
And also clothes for missions make
Shall I thus more pure become?
Must I save the lives of some
Of the hunted birds who in forests fly,
With their starry wings, in the clouds on high?"
"Not that, not that, my child!"
III.
"Must I dig for bright, hidden treasure
To give to charities at leisure?
Shall I pearls bestow on girls in the Strand
Who for pennies sadly make demand?
Mother, is this good deed you mean
Or have you a better way foreseen?"
"Not that, not that, my child!"
IV.
Nay my child, to become more pure
I can tell you the safest cure.
Go have a bath and cheerfully beam
In plenty of soap and clouds of steam.
Mind that you wash yourself full well
Then purity on you will dwell.
That's the way, yes that, my child!"