Every Sunday there's a throng br Of pretty girls, who trot along br In a pious, breathless state br (They are nearly always late) br To the Chapel, where they pray br For the sins of Saturday. br br They have frocks of white and blue, br Yellow sashes they have too, br And red ribbons show each head br Tenderly is ringleted; br And the bell rings loud, and the br Railway whistles urgently. br br After Chapel they will go, br Walking delicately slow, br Telling still how Father John br Is so good to look upon br And such other grave affairs br As they thought of during prayers.