The pioneer press. (Miller, Hand County, S.D.) 1893-190?, 1903-06-25
AT ST. PETERS GATE
JOSEPH BERT sMILEY'S MOST
FAMOUS POEM.
How the Saint and the Sinner Went
Hand In Hand to the Portals Of the
City Of Peace, and the Welcome
Accorded Them.


Accorded Them.
Joseph Bert Smiley, author Of "St.
Peter at the Gate" is dead. He was
found dying in the woods near Ken
dallville, Ind, with bullet hole In his
temple.
His poem brought him a national
reputation. 1t is given below:
st. Peter stood guard at the golden gate
With a solemn mien and air sedate'
When up to the top 1.-the golden stair
A man and a woman, ascending there'
Applied for admission. They came ana
stood
Before 81. Peter, so great and good,
In hope the City of Peace TO win,
And asked ST. Peter to let them in.
The woman was tall and lank and thin,
With a scraggy beardlet upon her chin.
The man was short and thick ana stout
His stomach was built so 1t rounded OUT,
His face was pleasant and all the ~hlle
He wore a kindly and genial smile.
The choirs in the distance the echoes
And the man kept still while the woman
spoke.
"oh, thou who guardest the gate" said
I'VE 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 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,
I've told my neighbors-l've told EN- all
RpIf Adam and Eve and the PTlmai
Fail,
I've shown them what they'd have to do
If they'd 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
For my lungs are good and my voice is
strong,
The gate Of heaven Is open for me,
But my old man, l regret to say,
Hasn't walked in exactly the narrow
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
Or go to revival. or join in a hymn.
While 1, with the chosen, united in
He ate what the pantry chanced 10 al
While /, in my purity, sang to the Lord.
It's chance II he merited them or not.
But oh, st. Peter, / love him so
To the pleasures OF heaven please let
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,
That he may enter who's dear to me?
It's narrow gospel which / pray,
But the chosen expect to find some way
OF coaxing or footing or bribng you,
So that their relation can amble through.
And say. St. Peter. 1t seems to me
You ought to stand right by the opening
And never sit down in that easy chair.
And say, st. Peter my sight is dimmed,
But / don't like the way your whiskers
They're cut too wide. and outward toss:
They'd look better narrow. cut straight
Well. we must be going our crowns to
So open, st. Peter. and Wen pass in"
St. Peter sat quiet and stroked his stan,
But, spite of his office, he had to laugh.
! who's tending this gate, you or IL,
And then he arose, in his stature tall,
And pressed button upon the wall
And said to the imp who answered the
Escort this female around to hell!"
The man stood stln 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 be-
That he would certainly have to go
| That IL she went to the regions dim
| There wasn't the 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
He called the gentleman back and said,
| Friend how long hast thou been wed?'
Thirty years with a weary sigh)--
And then he thoushtfully add9d' "Why'"
st. Peter was silent With head bent
He raised his hand and scratched his
| Then, seeming different thought to take.
| Slowly. half to himself, he spake.
Thirty years with that woman there?
| No wonder the man hasn't got any hair!
| Swearing is wicked. Smokes not good.
| He smoked and swore-I should think he
Thirty years with that tongue so sharp,
| Ho! Angel Gabriel! GIVE HIM A HARP!
| A jeweled harp with a golden string!
Good sir, pass in where the angels sing!
| Gabriel give him a seat alone
| One with the cushion-up near the throne!
| Gail 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 a harp with golden
strings,
A glittering robe and a pair of wings
And he said as he entered the Realms of
Day,
Well this beats cucumbers. anyway"
And so the Scriptures had come to pass,
1.-The last shall be first and the first shall
be last"
vineland Famlly's Many Misfortunes.
The extraordinary ill-fortune that