I heard that Heaven was bright and fair, And politicians dwelt not there. ‘ Twas said by knowing ones that they Were in the Elsewhere — so to say.
So, waking from my last long sleep, I took my place among the sheep. I passed the gate — Saint Peter eyed Me sharply as I stepped inside.
He thought, as afterward I learned, That I was Chris, the Unreturned. The new Jerusalem — ah me, It was a sorry sight to see!
The mansions of the blest were there, And mostly they were fine and fair; But O, such streets!— so deep and wide, And all unpaved, from side to side!
And in a public square there grew A blighted tree, most sad to view. From off its trunk the bark was ripped — Its very branches all were stripped!
An angel perched upon the fence With all the grace of indolence. “Celestial bird,” I cried, in pain, “What vandal wrought this wreck? Explain.”
He raised his eyelids as if tired: “What is a Vandal?” he inquired. “This is the Tree of Life.‘ Twas stripped By Durst and Siebe, who have shipped
“The bark across the Jordan — see?— And sold it to a tannery.” “Alas,” I sighed, “their old-time tricks! That pavement, too, of golden bricks —
“They've gobbled that?” But with a scowl, “You greatly wrong them,” said the fowl: “‘ Twas Gilleran did that, I fear — Head of the Street Department here.”
“What! what!” cried I — “you let such chaps Come here? You've Satan, too, perhaps.” “We had him, yes, but off he went, Yet showed some purpose to repent;
“But since your priests and parsons filled The place with those their preaching killed” — ( Here Siebe passed along with Durst, Psalming as if their lungs would burst ) —
“He swears his foot no more shall press (‘ Tis cloven, anyhow, I guess ) “Our soil. In short, he's out on strike — But devils are not all alike.”
Lo! Gilleran came down the street, Pressing the soil with broad, flat feet!
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