Lost Poetry Quotations
 In search of a long lost poem? Remember only a fragment? Post here! 

eMule -> The Poetry Archive -> Forums -> Lost Poetry Quotations


Goto Thread: PreviousNext
Goto: Forum ListMessage ListNew TopicSearchLog In
St. Peter stood at the golden gate
Posted by: rcajmo (---.denn1.xdsl.nauticom.net)
Date: March 02, 2004 12:24PM

My mother-in-law is 87 & loves poetry. She remembers most of this one except the title. She says it was in her mother's cookbook when she was a child. Can you help?

St. Peter stood at the golden gate
with a solemn mien and an air sedate
When up to the top of the golden stair
A man and a woman ascended there
And applied for admission they came and stood
Before Saint Peter so great and good

etc.

Grandma Mabel


Re: St. Peter
Posted by: ilza (---.162.245.28.sao.ajato.com.br)
Date: March 02, 2004 12:40PM

This is a Story of Saint Peter


Saint Peter stood guard at the golden gate,
With a solum mein and an air sedate,
When up to the top of the golden stair,
A man and a women ascended there.
Applied for admission they came and stood,
Before Saint Peter so great and good.

In hopes the city of peace to win,
Asked Saint Peter to let them in.
The woman was little and lank and lean,
With a scraggy beardlet on her chin.


The man was short and thick and stout,
And his stomach was built so it rounded out,
His face was pleasant and all the while,
He wore an honest, genial smile.


The choir in the distance, the echoes awake,
The man kept still while the woman spoke.
Oh the grandest, the golden gate she said,
We two come hither beseeching thee,
To let us enter the Heavenly land,
And play on harps with the Angel Band.
Of me Saint Peter there isn't a doubt,
There's nothing in Heaven can bar me out.


I've been to the meetings, three times a week,
And almost always I rise and speak.
I've told the sinners about the day,
They would repent of their evil way.
I've told my neighbours, I've told them all,
About Adam and Eve, and their primal fall.
I've marked their faith in duty clear,
Laid out their plans for their whole career.
So good Saint Peter, you can plainly see,
That the Gate of Heaven is open to me.


But my old man, I regret to say,
Haven't walked exactly the narrow way.
He smokes and swears and grave faults he's got,
So I don't know whether he'll pass or not.
He never would pray with an honest vim,
Or go to revivals or join in a hymn,
So I had to leave him in sorrow there,
While I with the chosen united in prayer.

He ate what the pantry chose to afford,
While I in my purity, sang to the Lord.
And then if cucumbers were all that he got,
There's a chance if he merited them or not.
But of Saint Pete, I love him so,
To the pleasures of Heaven, please let him go.
I've been enough of the Saint, I've been,
Now won't that atone, can't you let him in.

By my grim gospel, I know it is so,
The unrepented must fry below,
But isn't there some way you can see,
To let him in who is dear to me.
It's a narrow gospel by which I pray,
But the chosen expect to find some way,
Of coaxing or bribing or fooling you,
So their relations can amble through,
And Saint Peter my sight is dimmed,
I don't like the way your whiskers are trimmed.

They are cut too narrow and outward tossed,
They would look much better cut straight across.
So we must be going, our crowns to win,
Now open Saint Peter and well pass in. <br /> Saint Peter stood still and stroked his staff, <br /> In spite of his office, he had to laugh. <br /> Then he said with a fire agleam in his eye, <br /> Whos tending this gate you or I.

He then arose in a stature tall,
And pressed a button upon the wall,
He said to the Imp that answered the bell,
Escort this Women down to Hell.
The man stood as a piece of stone,
Sadly, gloomily there alone.
One life lone settled he had,
That his wife was good while he was bad,
So if she had to go to regions dim,
There wasn't a ghost of a show for him.


Slowly he turned by habit bent,
To follow that women where ever she went,
Saint Peter standing on duty there,
Observed the top of his head was bare,
And calling the gentlemen back he said,
Say friend how long have you been wed?
Thirty years said the man with a sigh,
And then he thoughtfully added, why.

Saint Peter first looked up, then down,
Then he raised his head and scratched his crown,
And seeming a different thought to take,
Slowly half to himself he spoke.
Thirty years with that woman there
No wonder the man hasn't any hair.
Swearing is wicked and smoking isn't good,
He smoked and he swore, I should say he would.
Thirty years with a tongue so sharp,
Angel Gabriel, bring him a harp.

Bring him a harp with golden strings,
Good sir, pass in, while the angels sing,
Gabriel gave him a seat alone,
One with a cushion near the throne.
See that on the finest aroma he feeds,
He`s had about all the hell he needs,
It wouldn't be just the right thing to do.
To roast him on earth and the future to,
So they gave him a robe with glittering wings,
And a jewel harp with golden strings.

He said as he entered the realm of day,
Well this beats cucumbers any way.
And so the scripture came to pass,
That the last shall be first,
And the first shall be last.


Re: St. Peter - slightly different . . .
Posted by: ilza (---.162.245.28.sao.ajato.com.br)
Date: March 02, 2004 12:44PM

ST. PETER AT THE GATE

ST. PETER stood guard at the golden gate,
With solemn mien and air sedate,
When up to the top of the golden stair,
A man and a 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 was tall, and lank, and thin,
With a scraggy beardlet upon her chin.
The man was short, and thick, and stout,
His stomach was built so it rounded out;

His face was pleasant, and all the while
He wore a kindly and pleasant smile.
The choirs in the distance the echoes awoke,
And the man kept still while the woman spoke.

'O thou who guards the gate," said she,
'We two came hither, beseeching thee
To let us enter the heavenly land
And play our harps with the angel band.

Of me, St. Peter, there is no doubt.
There is nothing from heaven to bar me out;
I've been to meeting three times a week,
And almost always I'd rise and speak.

'I've told the sinners about the day
When they repent of their evil way;
I've told my neighbors-I've told 'em 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 see
The gate of heaven is open for me.

But my old man, I regret to say,
Hasn't walked in exactly the narrow way-,
He smokes and he swears, and grave faults hes got,
And I don't know whether he'll pass or not.

"He never would pray with an earnest vim,
Or go to revival, or join in a hymn,
So I had to leave him in sorrow there
While I, with the chosen, united in prayer,

He ate what the 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 he merited them or not.

But, 0 St. 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?

By my grim gospel I know 'tis so
That the unrepentant must try below.
But isn't there some way you can see
That he may enter, who's dear to me?

'It's narrow gospel by which I pray,
But the chosen expect to find some way
Of coaxing, or fooling, or bribing you
So that their relations can amble through,

And say, St. Peter, it seems to me
Tle gate isn't kept as it ought to be.
You ought to stand by the 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 cut too wide and outward toss;
They'd look better narrow, cut straight across.

Well, we must be going, our crown to win,
So open, St. Peter, and we'll pass in."
St. Peter sat quiet and stroked his staff,
But, in spite of his office, he had to laugh,

Then said with a fiery gleam in his eye,
"Who's tending this gateway, you or I?"
And then he arose in his stature tall,
And pressed a button upon the wall,

And said to an imp, who came all aglow,
"Escort this woman to the regions below.'
The man stood still as a piece of stone-
Stood sadly, gloomily, there alone.

A lifelong settled idea he had
That his wife was good and he was 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 chance for him.
Slowly he turned, by habit bent,
To follow wherever the woman went.

St. Peter, standing on duty there,
Observed that the top of his head was bare.
He called the gentleman back and said:
"Friend, how long have you been wcd?"

"Thirty years" (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,
Slowly, half to himself, he spake:
"Tlirty years with that woman there?
No wonder the man hasn't any hair.

Swearing is wicked; smoking's not good;
He smoked and swore-I should think he would.
"Thirty years with that tongue so sharp?
0 Angel Gabriel, give him a harp,

A jeweled harp with a golden string.
Good sir, pass in where the angels sing;
Gabriel, give him a seat alone-
One with a cushion-up near the throne.

Call up some angels to play their best;
Let him enjoy the music-and rest.
'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 the future, too."
They gave him a harp with golden strings,
A glittering robe and a pair of wings,

And he said as he entered the Realms of Day:
"Well, this beats cucumbers, anyway."
And so the Scriptures had come to pass-
"The last shall be first and the first shall be last."

JOSEPH BERT SMILEY


Re: St. Peter stood at the golden gate
Posted by: rcajmo (---.denn1.xdsl.nauticom.net)
Date: March 02, 2004 05:43PM

Thanks for these versions. For some reason, the version my mother-in-law remembers is the reverse of these. The husband gets sent to hell & the wife is invited into heaven for she is the one who milked the cows, took care of the farm machinery, etc. Does that sound familiar to anyone?

Grandma Mabel




Sorry, only registered users may post in this forum.
This poetry forum at emule.com powered by Phorum.