Milford chronicle., 1934-11-16
And the
Woman Spoke


St. Peter stood guard at the golden gate
With solemn mien and air sedate,
When 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 tall and lank and Thin
With a scraggy beardlet upon her chin.
The short and thick, and stout,
His stomach built so it rounded out;
His face pleasant and all the while
He kindly and genial smile.
The chOrs in the distance the echoes woke,
And the 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 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 the meeting three times week.
And almost always rise and speak;
I've told the sinners about the day
When they'd repent their evil way;
I have told my neighbors, have 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
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 don't know whether he'll pass
He would pray with earnest vim
Or go to revival join in a hymn,
So had to leave him in there
While l, with the chosen, united in prayer
He ate what the pantry CHANGED to afford.
While |, in my purity, sang to the Lord;
And If cucumbers were all he got
It's chance if he merited them not
But oh, st. Peter love him so!
TO the pleasure 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 know ts so,
That the unrepentant must fry below.
But isn't there some way you
That he may enter who's dear to me?
It's narrow gospel by which l pray,
But the chosen expect to find some way
OF coaxing, or fOOing or brbing you
So that their relations amble through.
And say, st. Peter, it seems to
This gate isn't kept 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 dimmed
But don't like the way your whiskers trimmed.
They're cut wide and outward toss.
They'd look better narrower. straight across
Well we must be going crowns to win.
So open, st. Peter, and well pass in"
st. Peter sat silent and stroked his staff,
But, spite his Office he had to laugh:
Then said, with a fiery CLEAN in his eye:
Who's tending this gateway-you r."
And then he arose in his stature tall
And said to the imp who answered the bell:
Escort this lady around to hell"
The man stood still as a piece of STONE
Stood sadly, GlOOmily. there alone;
lifelong settled idea he had
That his wife was good and he bad.
He thought If the woman went down below
That he would certainly have to go:
That If she went to the regions dim
There wasn't a ghost of a show for him
Slowly he turned. by habit bent.
To follow wherever the went.
St Peter. standing 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 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 hasn't any hair,
Swearing is wicked; smokes good.
He smoked and swOre-T should think he would
Thirty years with that tongue sharp
Ho, Angel Gabriel! Give him a harpl
A jewelled harp with golden string
Good sir, pass in where the angels sing!
Gabriel. give him seat alone.
One with cushion, up the throne.
Call up some angels to play their best,
Let him enjoy the music and rest
See that on finest ambTosia he feeds,
He's had about all the hell he needs.
II isn't Just hardly the thing to do
To roast him on earth and the future, too"
They gave him harp with golden string.
A glittering robe and pair of wings
And he said as he entered the Realm of Day:
Wal, this beats cucumbers anyway"
And the Scrintures have to pass.
That the last shall be and the first shall be last