MY father is a peaceful man, <br />He tries in every way he can <br />To live a life of gentleness <br />And patience all the while; <br />He says that needless fretting's vain, <br />That it's absurd to be profane, <br />That nearly every wrong can be <br />Adjusted with a smile. <br />Yet try no matter how he will, <br />There's one thing that annoys him still, <br />One thing that robs him of his calm <br />And makes him very sore; <br />He cannot keep his self-control <br />When with a shovel full of coal <br />He misses where it's headed for, <br />And hits the furnace door. <br /> <br />He measures with a careful eye, <br />The space for which he's soon to try, <br />Then grabs his trusty shovel up <br />And loads it in the bin, <br />Then turns and with a healthy lunge, <br />That's two parts swing and two parts plunge <br />He lets go at the furnace fire, <br />Convinced it will go in! <br />And then we hear a sudden smack, <br />The cellar air turns blue and black; <br />Above the rattle of the coal <br />We hear his awful roar. <br />From dreadful language upward hissed <br />We know that father's aim has missed <br />And that his shovel full of coal <br />Went up against the door. <br /> <br />The minister was here one day <br />For supper, and Pa went away <br />To fix the furnace fire, and soon <br />We heard that awful roar. <br />And through the furnace pipes there came <br />Hot words that made Ma blush for shame, <br />'It strikes me,' said the minister, <br />'He hit the furnace door.' <br />Ma turned away and hung her head, <br />'I'm so ashamed,' was all she said; <br />And then the minister replied: <br />'Don't worry. I admit <br />That when I hit the furnace door <br />And spill the coal upon the floor, <br />I quite forget the cloth I wear <br />And—er—swear a little bit.'<br /><br />Edgar Albert Guest<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-sympathetic-minister/
