The record-union., 1894-08-04
ST. PETER AT THE GATE.

ST. Peter stood guard at the golden gate
With solemn mien and an air sedate.
When up to the top OF the golden stair
A man and woman, ascending there,
A pplied for admission. They came and stood
Before st. Peter SO great and good,
In the hopes the City OF Peace 10 win
To ask st. Peter TO let them in.
The woman was tall, and lank, and thin,
With scraggy bearded 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
be wore kindly and gentle smile.
The choirs in the distance the echoes awoke,
And the man kept still while the woman
spoke.
so thou who guardest the gate" said she,
"We come hither, beseeching thee
10 let us enter the heavenly land.
To play our harps with the angel band.
OF me, St Peter there is no doubt.
There's nothing from heaven To bar me out,
I've been TO meeting three times week,
And almost always I'd rise and speak.
| 1--WE told the sinners about the day
When they'd repent of their evil way.
I've told my nelghbors-Ive told them all
Bout Adam ana Eve, and the primal fall;
I've shown them what they have to do
II they'd pass in with the chosen few;
I've marked their path of duty clear
Laid out the plan of their whole career.
1--WE talked and talked to 'em, loud and long,
so, Good St Peter, you'll clearly see
Ihe gate OF heaven is open to me.
But my old man, l regret to say,
Hasn't walked in exactly the narrow way;
lie smokes and he swears, and grave faults
he's got,
And don't know whether he'll pass or not.
''He never would pray with an earnest vim,
Or go to revival or join in hymn
So had to leave him in sorrow there
Mhlle l., with the chosen, united in prayer,
he ate what the pantry chose TO afford
Whlle L, III my purity, sang to the Lord;
And II cucumberS were all he got,
It's 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't that atone? Can't you let him in?
BY my grim gospel / know tits so
That the unrepentant must fry below,
But isn't there some way You can see
Ihat he may enter whose dear to me?
Its narrow gospel by which pray;
But the chosen expect to find some way
VI c0aXlng, or foollng, or bribing you
so that their relation can ambe through;
And say, st. Peter, III seems to me
The gate isn't kept as ii ought to be,
You ought to stand right by the opening there,
And never sit down in that easy chair.
"And say, st. Peter, my sight is dimmed,
But don't like the way your whiskers are
trimmed.
They're cut too wide, and outward toss;
Iney q look better narrow cut straight across,
Well, we must be going our crown to win,
So open st: Peter, and Wen pass in p
So st. Peter sat and stroked his staff,
But spite his office, he had to laugh;
linen SAID with fiery gleam OF his eye,
Who is tending this gate-you or ?"
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 hi"
The man stood still as a piece OF stone
Stood sadly, gloomily there alone;
A lifelong 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 60
That II she went to the region dim
There wasn't ghost of show 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 a weary sigh)
And then he thoughtfully added, "Why?"
st. Peter was silent. With head bent down
He raised his head and scratched his crown,
Then seemed different thought to take.
Slowly, half to himself he spake,
No wonder that man hasn't any hairl
Swearing is wicked. Smokes no good!
He smoked and swore-I should think he
would
Thirty years with that tongue so sharp?
Ho Angel Gabrieli Give him harp.
A jeweed harp with golden string
Good sir, pass in where the angels sing!
Gabriel, give him a 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 hardly the thing to do
To roast him on earth and the future too"
They gave him harp with golden strings,
a glittering robe and pair of wings,
And he said as he entered the realm of day,
"Well, this beats cucumber anyway ~
And so the scriptures had come to pass,
Thats"The last shall be first and the first shall
be last"
American HorSeman and Sportsman.