Pike County press. (Milford, Pa.) 1895-1925, 1896-04-24
St. Peter Al The Gate.

St. Peter Al The Gate.
Sc. Peter stood guard at the golden gate
With solemn nien and an air sedate,
When up to the top Of the golden stair
a man and a woman, ascending there
Applied for admission They came and
stood
Before st. Peter so great and good,
In the hope the city of Peace to win
To ask st. Peter to let them in.
The woman was tall, and lank, and thin,
With scraggy 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 gentle smile.
The choir In the distance the echos awoke
And the man kept still while the woman
spoke.
OH thou who guardest the gate, said
I'VE come hither beseeching thee
10 let us enter the heavenly lands,
10 play our harps with the angel band
Of me, st. Peter, there is no doubt
Iheres nothing from heaven to bar me
I've been to meeting three times a week,
And almost always I'd rise and speak
I've told the sinners about the day
When they'd repent of their evil way,
Bout Adam and Eve, and the primal fall
I've shown them what they'd 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.
I've talked and talked to EN-, loud and
long;
For my lungs are good and my voice is
strong
So, good st. Peter, you'll clearly see
line gate Of heaven is open for me,
But my old man, regret to saw,
aasn't walked in exactly the narrow way.
He 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 a hymn,
SO had to leave him in sorrow there
W " nile l, with the chosen united in prayer,
de ate what the pantry chose to afford,
While l, in my purity sang to the Lord,
And If cucumbers were ali he got,
It's a chance If he merited them or not.
But OH st. Peter, love him so,
To the pleasure of heaven please let him
gol
I've done enough-a saint I've been,
Won't that atoneP Can't you let him in9
By my grim gospel know tbs so
That the unrepentant must fry below,
But isn't there some way you can see
That he may enter who's dear to meY
It's narrow gospel by which pray;
But the chosen expect to find some way
Of ooaxing, or fooling, or bribing you
So that their relations can amble through;
And say, st Peter, it seems to me
The gate isn't kept as 1t 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 l don't like the way your whiskers
are trimmed.
They're cut to wide, and outward toss,
They'd look better narrow, cut straight
across.
Well, we must be going our crown to win,
So open, st. Peter, and Wen pass inl"
So st. Peter sat and stroked his staff,
| But spite of his office, he had to laugh,
Then said with fiery CLEAN 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 hell"
The man stood still as 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 be-
low
That he would certainly have to go:-
| That If 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 wedp
Thirty years, " with weary sigh
And then he thoughtfully added, Why 1"
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,
Thirty years with that woman thereY
No wonder that man hasn't any hair
Swearing is wicked. Smokes no good,
He smoked and swore-I should think he
would
Thirty years with that tongue so sharpP
Hol Angle Gabriel Give him harpl
A jeweled harp with a golden string
Good sir, pass in where the angles sing !
Gabriel, give him seat alone
One with a cushion-up near the throne J
Call up some angels to play their best,
Let him enjoy the music and restl
"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 gfittering robe and a pair of wings,
And he said as he entered the realm of day,