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Maggie and Jiggs at the Golden Gate
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St. Peter stood guard at the Golden Gate, with a solemn mein and an air sedate,
When up to the top of the Golden Stair, Maggie and Jiggs ascending there,
Applied for admission. They came and stood in hope of the City of Peace to win,
And asked St. Peter to let them in.  Maggie was tall and dark and thin.
She had an eagle eye and shook a wicked chin.
Jiggs was short and thick and stout, and his stomach was built so it rounded out.
His face was pleasant, with a genial smile, and then stood and looked and listened a while.
The choir in the distance the echoes woke, and Jiggs kept still while Maggie spoke:
"Oh, thou who guardest the Golden Gate" said she, "we come hither beseeching thee
To let us enter the Heavenly Land and play on 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 meetings three times a week, and almost always I'd rise and speak.
I've told many sinners about the day when they'll repent of their evil way.
I've told my neighbors, I've told them all about Adam and Eve and the Primal Fall,
I've shown them what they'd have to do, if they'd pass on in with the chosen few.
I've marked their path of duty clear;  laid out the plan of their whole career.
I've talked to them often and loud and long, for my lungs are good and my voice is strong.
So, good St. Peter, you'll clearly see the gate of Heaven is open for me.
But this man Jiggs, I regret to say, has often strayed from the narrow way.
He smokes and swears; grave faults he's got, so I don't know whether he'll pass or not.
He never would play with an earnest vim, or go to revivals or join in hymn,
While I the sins of my neighbors bore, he gadded about with Dinty Moore.
I know him, St. Peter; know him well; to escape from me he'd go to hell.
But, St. Peter, I need him here, and it's my desire to keep him near.
On earth I bore a heavy cross; give me in Heaven still Jiggs to boss.
I've brought my rolling pin and jars to keep him dodging among the stars.
But, say, St. Peter, it seems to me, this gate isn't kept as it ought to be.
You should always stand by the opening there, and never sit down in that easy chair.
I'm growing old and my sight is dimmed, but I don't like the way your whiskers are trimmed.
They're cut too wide and with an upward toss, when they'd look much better cut straight across.
St. Peter sat quiet, and stroked his staff, but in spite of his office he had to laugh.
Then he said, with fiery gleam in his eye: "Who's guarding this gate, Maggie, you or I?"
He rose to his feet, in stature tall, and pressed the button upon the wall
And said to the imp who answered the bell, "Escort this female around to hell!"
Slowly Jiggs turned, by habit bent, to follow wherever Maggie went.
But St. Peter standing on duty there, saw that the top of his head was bare.
He called Jiggs back to his side and said, "Jiggs, how long hast thou been wed?"
"Thirty years," he said with a heavy sigh. And then he thoughtfully added, "Why?"
St. Peter was silent, with head bent down; he raised his hand and scratched his crown.
Then, seeming a different thought to take. "Thirty years with that woman there?
No wonder the man hasn't any hair. Swearing is wicked; smoking not good.
He smoked and swore. I should think he would!
Thirty years with that tongue so sharp. In that case old boy, I'll give you a harp.
A jeweled harp with a golden string. Good sir, pass in where the angels sing."
And Gabriel gave him a seat alone, one with a cushion, up near the throne.
"Call up some angels to sing their best. See that on the finest ambrosia he feeds; he's had about all the hell he needs.
It isn't just hardly the thing to do, to roast him on earth and in the future, too."
They gave him a harp with golden strings, a glittering robe and a pair of wings.
And Jiggs looked down from this high level, thought of Maggie and felt sorry for the devil.
[?] and published by request.
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