THE STONE OF THE PHILOSOPHERS
103
To cut the story short, we skip
A year or two, and in we chip
(lnvigorated by our rest)
Just where the jury at the ’Quest
At the Asylum duly find
“Suicide while of Unsound Mind.”
This time we skip from earth to heaven
God stands among the Spirits Seven.
The Seven Lamps about Him flame.
Myriad archangels
cry His name.
Millions of elders, prophets, preachers,
Saints, martyrs, virgins, hermits, teachers,
Angels, evangelists, apostles
All singing like a lot of throstles
All out of tune with one another,
And every one a Plymouth Brother,
With praise set heaven in a whirl.
Up slinks the poor bedevilled Earl,
Saved after all!
The grateful tears
Course down his cheeks for several years.
But when he pulls himself together
And gets accustomed
to the weather
He wants to poke his fingers in
To see if God is genuine.
Too soon be stripped
(this cunning
clod !)
Gilt off the gingerbread
of God;
And sipping His nepenthe clear,
Sniffed “ Bah! plain gin and gingerbeer”
—That night he happened to be sick:
“ Poisoned,”
he yelled, “ with Arsenic !"
He left—his boomerang
suspicions
Created hosts of Black Magicians.