DISCIPLINE.
IN the crypt at the foot of the stairs They lay there, a score of the Dead: They could hear the priest at his prayers, And the litany overhead.
They knew when the great crowd stirred As the Host was lifted on high; And they smiled in the dark when they heard Some light-footed nun trip by.
Side by side on their shelves For years and years they lay; And those who misbehaved themselves Had their coffin-plates taken away.
Thus is the legend told In black-letter monkish rhyme, Explaining those plaques of gold That vanished from time to time!