Sunshine on the Sabbath

From the collected works, 'Blue China', 2016

Brush the dust from thy Sunday garb,

all dignity and clerical neatness.

Face to face with the congregation,

obscurity between them and the holy page.

The strangers visage would be discovered,

wrapt in silent meditation.

Eyes weakened by the midnight lamp,

the countenance retained,

the composure of death,

from which paleness caused a whisper

that hid under secret sin.

Good women gossip from the parsonage window,

the mystery turns into scandal.

The gaze of multitudes is no moral eye.