“How?—Put it thus:—your own wish? or your father’s?—
How reads the decalogue?”
“But,” answer’d I,
“It seems as if some higher power there were
That first should be obey’d—some power like God.”
“Yes, child,” he said, “there is, of course, the Church:
Of course, of course.”
“Who is the Church?” I ask’d.
And then he laugh’d: “Who?—What a question, child!—
Why, read your prayer-book. Why, of course, the Church,
Speaks through its ministers.”
“If you speak then,”
Inquired I, trembling,—“give advice to us,
Is that the last resort?—must one obey?”
“Why, that depends,” he said;—“but, dear me, child,
You must not think us bears! We growl at times
In sermons, eh?—But then, dear me, dear me,
We would not eat our flock up, little lamb!—
But come,” he added, “come; enough of this;
How fares it with your prayers?”