Those pretty girls ! Why will they disturb my pious meditations ! Of all days in the week , they should strive to look least fascinating on the Sabbath , instead of heightening their mortal loveliness , as if to rival the blessed angels , and keep our thoughts from heaven . Were I the minister himself , I must needs look . One girl is white muslin from the waist upwards , and black silk downwards to her slippers ; a second blushes from topknot to shoe-tie , one universal scarlet ; another shines of a pervading yellow , as if she had made a garment of the sunshine . The greater part , however , have adopted a milder cheerfulness of hue . Their veils , especially when the wind raises them , give a lightness to the general effect , and make them appear like airy phantoms , as they flit up the steps , and vanish into the sombre doorway . Nearly all -- though it is very strange that I should know it -- wear white stockings , white as snow , and neat slippers , laced crosswise with black ribbon , pretty high above the ankles . A white stocking is infinitely more effective than a black one . Here comes the clergyman , slow and solemn , in severe simplicity , needing no black silk gown to denote his office . His aspect claims my reverence , but can not win my love . Were I to picture Saint Peter , keeping fast the gate of heaven , and frowning , more stern than pitiful , on the wretched applicants , that face should be my study . By middle age , or sooner , the creed has generally wrought upon the heart , or been a-tempered by it . As the minister passes into the church , the bell holds its iron tongue , and all the low murmur of the congregation dies away . The gray sexton looks up and down the street , and then at my window-curtain , where , through the small peephole , I half fancy that he has caught my eye . Now , every loiterer has gone in , and the street lies asleep in the quiet sun , while a feeling of loneliness comes over me , and brings also an uneasy sense of neglected privileges and duties . O , I ought to have gone to church ! The hustle of the rising congregation reaches my ears . They are standing up to pray . Could I bring my heart into unison with those who are praying in yonder church , and lift it heavenward , with a fervor of supplication , but no distinct request , would not that be the safest kind of prayer ?
`` Lord , look down XXXXX me in mercy ! ''
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