Elk City mining news. (Elk City, Idaho) 1903-1913, 1904-01-23
Peter at the Gate.
Death of Joseph Smiley Recalls the Poem That Made Him Famou

VIGIL bP u bHC NJ VI SHO SOf0Sh oHSA
A man and a woman, ascending there,
Applied for admission. They came and stood
Before st. 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 and stout
His stomach was built so it rounded out,
His face was pleasant and all the while
He wore a kindly and genial smile.
The choirs in the distance the echoes awoke.,
And the man kept still while the woman spoke:
go, thou who guardest the gate, said she,
eve 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 connecting 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-4've told them all
Bout Adam and Eve, and the Primal Fall,
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 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, L regret to say,
Hasn.t walked in exactly the narrow waygA -
He smokes and swears, and grave faults he's got,
And l don't know whether he'll pass or not.
He never would pray with an earnest vim,
So I had to leave him in sorrow there
While |, with the chosen, united in prayer;
He ate what the pantry chose to afford,
While |, in my purity, sang to the Lord,
And if cucumbers were all he got
It's a chance whether he merited them or not.
But OH st. Peter, 1 love him 50
To the pleasures of heaven please let him 90.
I've done enough-a saint I've been
Won't that atone? Can't you let him in?
By my grim gospel 1 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 which 1 pray,
But the chosen expect to find some way
OF coaxing, fooling OF bribing you
So that their relation can amble through.
And say, st. Peter, it seems to me
That gate isn't kept as it ought to be
You ought to stand right by that 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've cut too wide, and outward toss;
They look better narrow, cut straight across.
Well, we must be going our crowns to win,
So open, St Peter, and Wen pass in"
st. Peter sat quiet and stroked his staff,
But, spite of his Office, he had to laugh,
Then said, with a fiery CLEAN in his eye,
Who's tending this gate, you or I?'
And then he arose, in his stature tall,
And pressed a button on the wall,
And said to the imp who answered the bell:
escort this female around to henl'
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 t. go
That If she went to the region dim
There wasn't a ghost of a show for him.
Slowly he turned by habit bent,
To follow wherever the woman went,
st. Peter, standing on duty there,
observed that tire top of his head was bare.
He called the gentleman back and said,
%krlend, how long hast thou 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 hand and scratched his crown.
Then, seeming a different thought to take,
Slowly, half to himself, he spake:
Thirty years to that woman there?
No wonder the man hasn't got any hairl
Swearing is wicked. Smokes not good.
He smoked and swore-I should think he wouidi
Thirty years with that tongue so sharpl
Hol Angel GABRIEL GIVE HIN A HARP
A Jeweled harp with a golden stringl
Good sir, pass in where the angels singh
Gabriel, give him a seat alone
One with the cushion-up near the thronei
Call up some angels to play their best,
LET him enjoy the music and rest.