The Athena press. [volume] (Athena, Umatilla County, Or.) 18??-1942, 1907-07-12
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sd. Peter at the Gate.

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With solemn mien and air sedate,
When up to the top of the golden stair
A man and a woman ascending there,
Applied for admission. They came and
| etond
Before st. Peter, 50 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 the chin.
The man was short and thick and stout,
His stomach was built so it rounded out I;
His face was pleasant, and all the while
He wore kindly and genial smile.
The choirs in the distance the echoes
woke,
And the man kept still while the woman
| spoke.
"Oh, thou who guardest the gate" said
she,
I'VE 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 meeting 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-Ive told 'em 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.
1--we 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, regret to say,
Hasn't walked in exactly the narrow
way;
He smokes and he 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,
Or go to revival, or join in hymn.
| So | had to leave him In sorrow there,
While l, with the chosen, united in
prayer
He ate what the pantry chanced to af-
ford,
While l, in my purity, sang to the Lord
And If 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 l know tits SO
That the unrepentant fry below
But isn't there some way you can see
That he may enter who's dear to me?
"It's narrow gospel which l pray,
| But the chosen expect to find some way
Of coaxing or fooling or 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 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
They'd look better narrow, cut straight
across
Well, we must be going, our crown to
win,
So open, st. Peter, and we'll 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 gate, you or II"
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 female 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 surely have to go;
That if she went to the regions 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 hast thou been wed p
'Thirty years" with weary sigh)-
And then he thoughtfully added, "Why2''
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 with that woman there?
No wonder the man hasn't got any hair
Swearing is wicked. Smokes not good
He smoked and swore-T should think hs
would
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 seat alone