FullReads

To me it seems that in the oddest way
(Begging the pardon of each rigid Socius)
Our would-be Keepers of the Sabbath-day
Are like the Keepers of the brutes ferocious–
As soon the Tiger might expect to stalk
About the grounds from Saturday till Monday,
As any harmless man to take a walk,
If saints could clap him in a cage on Sunday–
But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy?

In spite of all hypocrisy can spin,
As surely as I am a Christian scion,
I cannot think it is a mortal sin–
(Unless he’s loose) to look upon a lion.
I really think that one may go, perchance,
To see a bear, as guiltless as on Monday–
(That is, provided that he did not dance)
Bruin’s no worse than bakin’ on a Sunday–
But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy?

In spite of all the fanatic compiles,
I cannot think the day a bit diviner,
Because no children, with forestalling smiles,
Throng, happy, to the gates of Eden Minor–
It is not plain, to my poor faith at least,
That what we christen “Natural” on Monday,
The wondrous History of bird and beast,
Can be Unnatural because it’s Sunday–
But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy?

Whereon is sinful fantasy to work?
The Dove, the wing’d Columbus of man’s haven?
The tender Love-Bird–or the filial Stork?
The punctual Crane–the providential Raven?
The Pelican whose bosom feeds her young?
Nay, must we cut from Saturday till Monday
That feather’d marvel with a human tongue,
Because she does not preach upon a Sunday–
But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy?

The busy Beaver–that sagacious beast!
The Sheep that own’d an Oriental Shepherd–
That Desert-ship the Camel of the East,
The horn’d Rhinoceros–the spotted Leopard–
The creatures of the Great Creator’s hand
Are surely sights for better days than Monday–
The elephant, although he wears no band,
Has he no sermon in his trunk for Sunday–
But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy?

What harm if men who burn the midnight-oil,
Weary of frame, and worn and wan in feature,
Seek once a-week their spirits to assoil,
And snatch a glimpse of “Animated Nature”?
Better it were if, in his best of suits,
The artisan, who goes to work on Monday,
Should spend a leisure hour among the brutes,
Than make a beast of his own self on Sunday–
But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy?

Why, zounds! what raised so Protestant a fuss
(Omit the zounds! for which I make apology)
But that the Papists, like some fellows, thus
Had somehow mixed up Dens with their theology?
Is Brahma’s Bull–a Hindoo god at home–
A papal bull to be tied up till Monday–
Or Leo, like his namesake, Pope of Rome,
That there is such a dread of them on Sunday–
But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy?

Spirit of Kant! have we not had enough
To make religion sad, and sour, and snubbish,
But Saints Zoological must cant their stuff,
As vessels cant their ballast–rattling rubbish!
Once let the sect, triumphant to their text,
Shut Nero up from Saturday till Monday,
And sure as fate they will deny us next
To see the Dandelions on a Sunday–
But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy?