While I with chosen, united in prayer. He ate

While I with chosen, united in prayer. He ate what pantry chanced to afford, While I, in my purity, sang to the Lord. And if cucumbers were all he got It's a chance if lie merited them or not. But oil, 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 in? Jiy my grim gospel I know lis so That the unrepented must fry below. !. But isn't there some way you can see That he may enter who's dear to me? Its a narrow gospel by which I pray. But the chosen expect to find some way Of coaxing or fooling, or bribing you 1 So that their relations 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 right by that opening there And never sit down in that easy chair. And say, St. Peter, my sight is dimmed But I don't like the way your whiskers are

trimmed. They're cat too wide, and outward toss They'd look better narrow, cut straight across Well, we must be going, onr crowns 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 lia,d to laugh Then said, will a fiery gleam in his eye. "Who's tending this gateway, you or I" And then he arose in bis stature tall. And pressed a button upon the wall. And said he to the imp that answered the bell Escort this lady around to The man stood still as a piece of stone. Stood sadly, gloomily there alone.