The Manning times. [volume] (Manning, Clarendon County, S.C.) 1884-current, 1902-08-13
st. Peter at the Gate.

This poem is republished by special request)
St. Peter stood guard at the golden gate,
With solemn mlea and an air Sedate
Wien up to the top OF the golden stair.
man and woman ascending there
Applied for admission. They came and stood
Before St. Peter, so great and good,
In hopes the City Of Peace to win,
And asked 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 ana stout;
His stomach was built so it rounded out:
His face was pleasant, and oil the while
He wore kindly and genial smile
The choirS in the distance in echoes woke,
And the man kept still while the woman spoke.
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's nothing from heaven to bar me out.
I'VE been to meetings three times 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;
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'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 em loud and long
For nv 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 in exactly the narrow way.
He smokes and he swearS, and grave faults hes
And I don know whether he'll 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 With the chosen united IN prayer
He ate what the pantry CHANGED to afford
While I, in my purity. sang to to Lord;
And il cucumberS were all he got,
It's chance II he merited them or not
But oh. ST. Peter, lova him so!
To the pleasures OF heaven please let him 60.
I've done enough; saint I've n been: ,,s
Won't that atone: Can't you let him IN:
BY my grim gospel know It's so
That the uurepentant 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 expects to find some way
OF coaxing or fooling or bribing you
So their relations can amble through;
And say, st. Peter, Il seems to me
This gate isn't kept as it ought to be.
You ought TO stand by the opening there,
And never sit down in that eaSy-chafr.
And say, St. Peter. my sight is dimmed,
But don't like the way your whiskers is trim
med.
They are cut too wide and outward toss;
Theyd look better narrow, cut straight across
Well we must be going, our crowns to win:
So open, ST. Peter, and weW pass in
St. Peter sat quiet and stroked his staff;
But spite Of his Office, he had to laugh.
Then said, with fiery gleam in his eye:
Who's tending this gateway-you or I:
And then he arose, IL his stature tall,
And pressed button on the walli
And said to the imp who answered the bell:
Escort this lady around to hell"
The man stood still as Q 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 go;
That il she went to the regions dim,
There wasn't ghost OF q show for him.
Slowly ne turned, by habit bent,
To follow wherever the woman went
St. Peter, standing or duty there
Observed that the top Of his head was bare.
He called the gentleman back and said:
Friend, how long have you been wedf"
Thirty years" with weary sigh;
And then he thoughtfully 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 he Spake:
Thirty years with that woman there?
No wonder the man hasn't any hair.
Swearing is wicked; smokes not good.
Re smoked and Swore-1 should think he would.
Thirty years with that tongue so sharp:
Oh. Angel Gabriel. give him harp.
A ieweled harp with q golden string;
Good sir, pass in where the angles sing.
Gabriel, give him q seat alone
One with cushion, mp near the throne.
Call up some angels TO play their best;
Let him enjoy the music-and rest.
.See that on the 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 glittering robe and a pair o. wings;
And he said, as he entered the realm OF day:
well, this beats cucumberS, anyway
And so the scriptures had come to pass
The last shall be first and the first shall be
last"
JOSEPH BERT SMITH.