Frances Lorenzo is my name,
I scarce can tell you how it came;
(One day to church I had to go,
And ever since they've called me so.)
That New Year's day I shan't forget,
So cold, my limbs seem shaking yet;
Nor him who loves the lambs, they said,
And poured the water on my head.
For folded in his bosom warm,
I knew that I was safe from harm;
He called my name, and pressed my brow,
And said, I was a soldier now.
I sat so still, and all around
Were pleasant looks and sweetest sound;
I wondered what it all could mean,
O, Mama, take me there again. A. D. F.
[Illustration]