New Ulm review. (New Ulm, Brown County, Minn.) 1892-1961, 1915-12-01

FOR my lungs are good ana my voice IS
strong.
So, good St. Peter, you'll clearly see
The gate of heaven is open to me.
But my old man, regret to say,
Hasn't walked exactly the narrow way
He smokes and he swears, and grave
faults he's got,
And I don't know whether he'll pass
or not.
He never would pray with an earnest vim,
Or 60 to revival, or join in hymn;
So I had to leave him in sorrow there,
While, I, with the chosen, united in
prayer.
He ate what the pantry CHANGED to afford,
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, I 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
By my grim gospel I know It's so
That the unrepentant must fry below;
But isn't there some way that you can
That he may enter who's dear to me?
It's narrow gospel by which 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
This gate isn't kept as it ought to be.
You ought to stand by that opening
there,
And never sit down in that easy chair
And, say, St. Peter, my sight is dimm j.,
But don't like the way your whiskers
are trimmed.
They're cut too wide and outward toss;
They'd look better narrower, cut straight
across.
Well, we must be going our crowns to win,
So open, St. Peter, and we'll pass in"
ST.. Peter sat quiet and stroked his staff;
But in spite of his office he had to laugh;
Then said with fiery CLEAN in his eye:
who's tending> this gateway-you or
II"
And then he arose in his Stature tall,
And pressed a 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
below
That he would certainly have to 60
That if she went to the regions dim,
There wasn't ghost of a show for him.
Slowly he turned, his 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 wed?"
Thirty years" with weary sigh,
And then he thoughtfully added, "Why?"
St. Peter was silent. With head bent
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.
He smoked and swore-I should think
he 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
One with cushion, up near the throne;
Call 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.
It sn'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 with pair of wings,
And he said as he entered the Realm
of Day,
''Well, this beats cucumbers anyway
And so the Scriptures had come to
"The last shall be first, and the first
shall be last"