Sister Jones's Confession.

A poem by James Whitcomb Riley

I thought the deacon liked me, yit
I warn't adzackly shore of it -
Fer, mind ye, time and time agin,
When jiners 'ud be comin' in,
I'd seed him shakin' hands as free
With all the sistern as with me!
But jurin' last Revival, where
He called on me to lead in prayer,
An' kneeled there with me, side by side,
A-whisper'n' "he felt sanctified
Jes' tetchin of my gyarment's hem," -
That settled things as fur as them-
Thare other wimmin was concerned! -
And - well! - I know I must a-turned
A dozen colors! - Flurried? - la! -
No mortal sinner never saw
A gladder widder than the one
A-kneelin' there and wonderun'
Who'd pray' - So glad, upon my word,
I railly could n't thank the Lord!

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'Sister Jones's Confession.' by James Whitcomb Riley

comments powered by Disqus

Home | Search | About this website | Contact | Privacy Policy