The Caldwell tribune. [volume] (Caldwell, Idaho Territory [Idaho]) 1883-1928, 1892-04-09
ST. PETER At THE GATE.

The woman was tall, and lank, and thin,
With scraggly beardlet upon her chin,
The man was short, and thick, and stout,
His stomach was built so it rounded out,
His face was pleasant, and all the While
He wore kindly and genial smile.
The choirs in the distance the echoes woke,
so thou who g,,ardest the gate" said she,
1--WE two come hither beseeching thee
To let us enter the heavenly land,
And play our harps with the angel band.
OF me, st. Peter, there is no doubt
There nothing from heaven to bar me out.
I've been to meeting three times week,
And almost always I'd rise and speak.
I've told the sinners about the day
When they repent Of their evil way.
I've told my neighbOrs-I've told 'em all
Bout Adam and Eve, and the Primal Fall,
I've shown them what they d have to do
II they pass in with the chosen few,
I've marked their path Of duty clear
Laid out the plan for their whole career.
I've talked and talked to 'em loud and long,
For my lungs are good and my voice is strong.
So, good st. Peter, you'll clearly see
The gate of heaven is open for me.
But my old man, regret to say, ~
Hasn't walked exactly in the narrow way. g..
He smokes and he swears, and grave faults he's
got.
And don't know whether he II pass or not
He never would pray with an earnest vim,
Or 60 to revival, or join in hymn.
So had to leave him in sorrow there
While 1, with the chosen, united in prayer.
He ate what the pantry CHANGED to afford,
While I, in my purity. sang to the Lord,
And If cucumbers were all he got
1t s a chance If he merited them or not.
But oh st. Peter, love him SO
To the pleasures Of heaven please let him go!
I've done enough--a saint I've been.
Won that atone? Can't you let him in?
By my grim gospel know It's so
That the unrepentant must fry below,
But isn't there some way you can see
That he may enter who's dear to me?
It's a narrow gospel by which pray
But the chosen expect some way
OF cOaxing, or foOling, or bribing you
So that their relation can amble through.
And say, st. Peter, it seems to me
This gate isn't kept as it ought to be,
You ought to stand right by the opening there
And never sit down in that easy-char.
And say, st, Peter, my eye is dimmed,
But l don't like the way your whSkerS are
| trimmed.
| Theyr cut too wide, and outward toss,
They d look better narrow, cut straight across.
Well, we must be going, our crowns to win,
So open, st. Peter, and we II pass in.
= - =
st, Peter sat quiet and stroked his staff,
But. spite of his Office he had to laugh,
Then said with fiery CLEAN in his eye:
"WhO' tending this gateway, yOu or I?''
And then he arose, in his stature tall,
And pressed button upon the wall
And said to the imp who answered the bell
Escort this lady around to he'll -
~ =
The mai stood still as piece of stone
Stood sadly, glOomily there alone.
A life long settled idea he had
That his wife was good and he was bad
| He thought If the woman went down below
That he would certainly have to CO.
| That If she went to the regions dim
There wasn't ghost of chance for him.
Slowly he turned, by habit bent
To follow wherever the woman went.
st. Peter, standing on duty there,
Observed that the top Of his head was bare.
He called the gentleman back and said:
Friend, how long have you been wed?'
Thirty years. with weary sigh
And then he thOughtfuly added ''Why?''
st. Peter was silent. With head bent down
He raised his hand and scratched his crown
Then, seeming different thought to take,
Slowly, half to himself, spake.
Thirty years with that woman there?
No wonder the man hasn't any hair!
Swearing Is wicked. Smokes not good
He smoked and swore--I should think he wOnld
Thirty years with that tongue so sharp?
Ho Angel Gabriel! GIVE HIM HARP!
A jeweled harp with golden string!
Good sir, pass in where the angels sing!
Gabriel, give him seat alone
One with cushiOn--up near the throne.
Call up some angels to play their best
Let him enjoy the music and rest
See that on finest ambrosia he feeds
He's had about all the hell he needs
1t isn't just hardly the thing to do
To roast him on earth and the future too.
They gave him harp with golden strings,
A glitterlng robe and a pair OF wings
And said as he entered the Realm of Day:
'Well, this beats c.cumbers, anyway
And so the scriptures had come to pass
That ''rhe last shall be first and the first shall
be last
Remember when expenses mount
And styles more striking grow,
You cannot run a bank account
With the checks your trousers show.
Washington Star
Do YOU see the man with the bo bass drum