Purgatory

Wrapped in lonely shadows late,

(Bleak November's midnight gloom),

As I kneel beside the grate

In the silent sitting-room:

Down the chimney moans the wind,

Like the voice of souls resigned,

Pleading from their prison thus,

"Pray for us! pray for us!

Gentle Christian, watcher kind,

Pray for us, oh! pray for us!"