THE GATES AJARThe Day of Judgment spread its glareO'er continents and seas.The graves cracked open everywhere,Like pods of early peas.Up to the Court of Heaven spedThe souls of all mankind;Republicans were at the headAnd Democrats behind.Reub. Lloyd was there before the tubeOf Gabriel could call:The dead in Christ rise first, and Reub.Had risen first of all.He sat beside the Throne of FlameAs, to the trumpet's sound,Four statesmen of the Party CameAnd ranged themselves around—Pure spirits shining like the sun,From taint and blemish free—Great William Stow was there for one,And George A. Knight for three.Souls less indubitably whiteApproached with anxious air,Judge Blake at head of them by rightOf having been a Mayor.His ermine he had donned again,Long laid away in gums.'Twas soiled a trifle by the stainsOf politicians' thumbs.Then Knight addressed the Judge of Heaven:"Your Honor, would it trenchOn custom here if Blake were givenA seat upon the Bench?"'Twas done. "Tom Shannon!" Peter cried.He came, without ado,In forma pauperiswas tried,And was acquitted, too!Stow rose, remarking: "I concur."Lloyd added: "That suitsus.I move Tom's nomination, sir,Be made unanimous."
The Day of Judgment spread its glareO'er continents and seas.The graves cracked open everywhere,Like pods of early peas.Up to the Court of Heaven spedThe souls of all mankind;Republicans were at the headAnd Democrats behind.Reub. Lloyd was there before the tubeOf Gabriel could call:The dead in Christ rise first, and Reub.Had risen first of all.He sat beside the Throne of FlameAs, to the trumpet's sound,Four statesmen of the Party CameAnd ranged themselves around—Pure spirits shining like the sun,From taint and blemish free—Great William Stow was there for one,And George A. Knight for three.Souls less indubitably whiteApproached with anxious air,Judge Blake at head of them by rightOf having been a Mayor.His ermine he had donned again,Long laid away in gums.'Twas soiled a trifle by the stainsOf politicians' thumbs.Then Knight addressed the Judge of Heaven:"Your Honor, would it trenchOn custom here if Blake were givenA seat upon the Bench?"'Twas done. "Tom Shannon!" Peter cried.He came, without ado,In forma pauperiswas tried,And was acquitted, too!Stow rose, remarking: "I concur."Lloyd added: "That suitsus.I move Tom's nomination, sir,Be made unanimous."