I wouldn't mind the cold if it hadn't gone and gotten all lovely and warm in the first week of the month. That ruined my winter mindset, though, and now the gray and cold is an imposition. There are lovely daffodils and little purple flowers out there that should be admired, and I ought to be fertilizing the roses and poking around in my little vegetable garden, but it is just too darned cold.
Today's sermon was on salvation, and was quite remarkable for what it didn't mention. Nothing about sin, forgiveness, grace, etc. The priest is a nice fellow, but I'm pretty sure that he could preach at my mother's Congregation of the Blessed Pot Luck without causing offense to any but the most hardened atheists.
The children learned "Rebecca, Who Slammed Doors for Fun and Perished Miserably," this week.
In Little Girls is slamming Doors.
A Wealthy Banker’s little Daughter
Who lived in Palace Green, Bayswater
(By name Rebecca Offendort),
Was given to this Furious Sport.
She would deliberately go
And Slam the door like Billy-Ho!
To make her Uncle Jacob start.
She was not really bad at heart,
But only rather rude and wild:
She was an aggravating child.
It happened that a Marble Bust
Of Abraham was standing just
Above the Door this little Lamb
Had carefully prepared to Slam,
And down it came! It knocked her flat!
It laid her out! She looked like that:
Her funeral Sermon (which was long
And followed by a Sacred Song)
Mentioned her Virtues, it is true,
But dwelt upon her Vices too,
And showed the Dreadful End of One
Who goes and slams the door for Fun.
The children who were brought to hear
The awful Tale from far and near
Were much impressed, and inly swore
They never more would slam the Door.
--As often they had done before.
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