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by [?]

With new, ill-fitting gloves,
With frocks as white as snow,
By two and two these little loves
To First Communion go.

I watch them as they pass,–
Somehow, I shrewdly guess
Each child thinks little of her mass
And much about her dress.

But you, dear Aged Saint,
Whose eyeballs upward roll,
I trust you have no worldly taint
Upon your gentle soul.