["The great demand of the moment is something fresh to do on Sunday."]
--_Evening Paper._
At the ample shrine of pleasure
You have worshipped well and long
On this day of so-called leisure,
Yet you feel there's something wrong.
_Blasé_ is your air and jaded;
Sabbath hours have lost their zest;
Utter ennui has invaded
Every corner of your chest.
Sport is shorn of all its glamour;
Motoring proves no more a lure;
So you come to me and clamour
For a speedy psychic cure.
Well, my friend, if fresh sensation
Is the object of your search,
And you want a consultation,
My advice is, Go to church.
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