Ambrose pondered this mystic lore,

Till what had seemed fiction took on a conviction

That words had never possessed before.

[Pg 11] “If pain,” quoth he, “is a state of mind, If a rough hair shirt to silk is kin,— If these things are error, pray where’s the terror In scourging and purging oneself of sin?

[Pg 11]

If a rough hair shirt to silk is kin,—

If these things are error, pray where’s the terror

In scourging and purging oneself of sin?

 “It certainly seemeth good to me, By and large, in part and in whole. I’ll put it in practice and find if it fact is, Or only a mystical rigmarole.”

By and large, in part and in whole.

I’ll put it in practice and find if it fact is,

Or only a mystical rigmarole.”

 The very next night our anchorite Of the Flowing Bowl drank long and deep. He argued this wise: “New Thought applies No fitter to lamb than it does to sheep.”

The very next night our anchorite

Of the Flowing Bowl drank long and deep.

He argued this wise: “New Thought applies

No fitter to lamb than it does to sheep.”

 When he woke at morn with a head forlorn And a taste akin to a parrot’s cage, He knelt and prayed, then up and flayed His sinful flesh in a righteous rage.

When he woke at morn with a head forlorn

And a taste akin to a parrot’s cage,

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