Poems Teachers Ask For Volume II Part 61

_S.V.R. Ford._

No Sects in Heaven

Talking of sects quite late one eve, What one and another of saints believe, That night I stood in a troubled dream By the side of a darkly-flowing stream.

And a "churchman" down to the river came, When I heard a strange voice call his name, "Good father, stop; when you cross this tide You must leave your robes on the other side."

But the aged father did not mind, And his long gown floated out behind As down to the stream his way he took, His hands firm hold of a gilt-edged book.

"I'm bound for heaven, and when I'm there I shall want my book of Common Prayer, And though I put on a starry crown, I should feel quite lost without my gown."

Then he fixed his eye on the s.h.i.+ning track, But his gown was heavy and held him back, And the poor old father tried in vain, A single step in the flood to gain.

I saw him again on the other side, But his silk gown floated on the tide, And no one asked, in that blissful spot, If he belonged to "the church" or not.

Then down to the river a Quaker strayed; His dress of a sober hue was made, "My hat and coat must be all of gray, I cannot go any other way."

Then he b.u.t.toned his coat straight up to his chin And staidly, solemnly, waded in, And his broad-brimmed hat he pulled down tight Over his forehead, so cold and white.

But a strong wind carried away his hat, And he sighed a few moments over that, And then, as he gazed to the farther sh.o.r.e The coat slipped off and was seen no more.

Poor, dying Quaker, thy suit of gray Is quietly sailing--away--away, But thou'lt go to heaven, as straight as an arrow, Whether thy brim be broad or narrow.

Next came Dr. Watts with a bundle of psalms Tied nicely up in his aged arms, And hymns as many, a very wise thing, That the people in heaven, "all round," might sing.

But I thought that he heaved an anxious sigh, As he saw that the river ran broad and high, And looked rather surprised, as one by one, The psalms and hymns in the wave went down.

And after him, with his MSS., Came Wesley, the pattern of G.o.dliness, But he cried, "Dear me, what shall I do?

The water has soaked them through and through."

And there, on the river, far and wide, Away they went on the swollen tide, And the saint, astonished, pa.s.sed through alone, Without his ma.n.u.scripts, up to the throne.

Then gravely walking, two saints by name, Down to the stream together came, But as they stopped at the river's brink, I saw one saint from the other shrink.

"Sprinkled or plunged--may I ask you, friend, How you attained to life's great end?"

"_Thus_, with a few drops on my brow"; "But I have been _dipped_, as you'll see me now.

"And I really think it will hardly do, As I'm 'close communion,' to cross with you.

You're bound, I know, to the realms of bliss, But you must go that way, and I'll go this."

And straightway plunging with all his might, Away to the left--his friend at the right, Apart they went from this world of sin, But how did the brethren "enter in"?

And now where the river was rolling on, A Presbyterian church went down; Of women, there seemed an innumerable throng, But the men I could count as they pa.s.sed along.

And concerning the road they could never agree, The _old_ or the _new_ way, which it could be; Nor ever a moment paused to think That both would lead to the river's brink.

And a sound of murmuring long and loud Came ever up from the moving crowd, "You're in the old way, and I'm in the new, That is the false, and this is the true": Or, "I'm in the old way, and you're in the new, _That_ is the false, and _this_ is the true."

But the brethren only seemed to speak, Modest the sisters walked, and meek, And if ever one of them chanced to say What troubles she met with on the way, How she longed to pa.s.s to the other side, Nor feared to cross over the swelling tide, A voice arose from the brethren then, "Let no one speak but the 'holy men,'

For have ye not heard the words of Paul?

'Oh, let the women keep silence all.'"

I watched them long in my curious dream.

Till they stood by the border of the stream, Then, just as I thought, the two ways met.

But all the brethren were talking yet, And would talk on, till the heaving tide Carried them over, side by side; Side by side, for the way was one, The toilsome journey of life was done, And priest and Quaker, and all who died, Came out alike on the other side; No forms or crosses, or books had they, No gowns of silk, or suits of gray, No creeds to guide them, or MSS., For all had put on "Christ's righteousness."

_Elizabeth H. Jocelyn Cleaveland._

The Railroad Crossing

I can't tell much about the thing, 'twas done so powerful quick; But 'pears to me I got a most outlandish heavy lick: It broke my leg, and tore my skulp, and jerked my arm 'most out.

But take a seat: I'll try and tell jest how it kem about.

You see, I'd started down to town, with that 'ere team of mine, A-haulin' down a load o' corn to Ebenezer Kline, And drivin' slow; for, jest about a day or two before, The off-horse run a splinter in his foot, and made it sore.

You know the railroad cuts across the road at Martin's Hole: Well, thar I seed a great big sign, raised high upon a pole; I thought I'd stop and read the thing, and find out what it said, And so I stopped the hosses on the railroad-track, and read.

I ain't no scholar, rekollect, and so I had to spell, I started kinder cautious like, with R-A-I and L; And that spelt "rail" as clear as mud; R-O-A-D was "road."

I lumped 'em: "railroad" was the word, and that 'ere much I knowed.

C-R-O and double S, with I-N-G to boot, Made "crossing" jest as plain as Noah Webster dared to do't.

"Railroad crossing"--good enough!--L double-O-K, "look"; And I wos lookin' all the time, and spellin' like a book.

O-U-T spelt "out" just right; and there it was, "look out,"

I's kinder cur'us like, to know jest what't was all about; F-O-R and T-H-E; 'twas then "look out for the--"

And then I tried the next word; it commenced with E-N-G.

I'd got that fur, when suddintly there came an awful whack; A thousand fiery thunderbolts just scooped me off the track; The hosses went to Davy Jones, the wagon went to smash, And I was histed seven yards above the tallest ash.

I didn't come to life ag'in fur 'bout a day or two; But, though I'm crippled up a heap, I sorter struggled through; It ain't the pain, nor 'taint the loss o' that 'ere team of mine; But, stranger, how I'd like to know the rest of that 'ere sign!

_Hezekiah Strong._

The Sunset City

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