Now, I think there is a likeness 'twixt St Peter's life and mine <br />For he did a lot of trampin' long ago in Palestine <br />He was 'union' when the workers first began to organize <br />And I'm glad that old St Peter keeps the gate of Paradise <br /> <br />When the ancient agitator and his brothers carried swags <br />I've no doubt he very often tramped with empty tucker-bags <br />And I'm glad he's Heaven's picket, for I hate explainin' things <br />And he'll think a union ticket just as good as Whitely King's <br /> <br />When I reach the great head-station -which is somewhere 'off the track' <br />I won't want to talk with angels who have never been out back <br />They might bother me with offers of a banjo meanin' well <br />And a pair of wings to fly with, when I only want a spell <br /> <br />I'll just ask for old St Peter, and I think, when he appears <br />I will only have to tell him that I carried swag for years <br />'I've been on the track,' I'll tell him, 'an' I done the best I could' <br />And he'll understand me better than the other angels would <br /> <br />He won't try to get a chorus out of lungs that's worn to rags <br />Or to graft the wings on shoulders that is stiff with humpin' swags <br />But I'll rest about the station where the work-bell never rings <br />Till they blow the final trumpet and the Great Judge sees to things.<br /><br />Henry Lawson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/saint-peter-2/
