88
THE COLLECTED WORKS
"The dead in Christ rise first, 'tis writ,"
Quoth he—"ick, bick, ban, doe,—I'm It!"
(His headstone, footstone, counted slow,
Were "ick" and "bick," he "ban" and "doe"
Of beating Nick the subtle art
Was part of his immortal part.)
Then straight to Heaven he took his flight,
Arriving at the Gates of Light.
There Warden Peter, in the throes
Of sleep, lay roaring in the nose.
"Get up, you sluggard!" Dana cried—
"I've an engagement there inside."
The Saint arose and scratched his head.
"I recollect your face," he said,
"(And, pardon me, 'tis rather hard)
But" Dana handed him a card.
"Ah, yes, I now remember—bless
My soul, how dull I am!—yes, yes,
