Page:A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields.djvu/329

296 Oh, the good Sister! Oh, the sweet patience she shows Weariness or anger, never, never she knows! A hundred times over she repeats the same thing, And her brow remains cloudless, her voice keeps its ring; Nor cares she to note on the benches first ranged, Where the youngest have seats, stealthy glances exchanged; For there marches on paper spread out and on book A may-bug made captive, that attracts every look!