The Parson stood a-talking
With old Peyton at the fence,
A-seeking to imbue him
With a Christian penitence,
And his words were full of wisdom
Such as suited simple parts.
'Twas the true and simple story
That is food for simple hearts;
And he said: "Look here, Sam Peyton,
It is time for you to make
A turn for sweet salvation
For your soul and family's sake.
Get your heart upon the Bible,
Wash your sins in Christian grace."
Peyton wriggled and said: "Dag me
'F I got time to wash my face."
"Look here, Peyton," said the Parson,
"Don't you want to own a chair
In the parlor of the mansion
Of the Blessed Over There,
Where the angels all are singing-
Don't you want to own a nook
In that realm of peace anl plenty
That we read of in The Book"
Sam Peyton slowly whimpered out:
" I'll tell you, Parson Bill,
The only thing I want to own's
A shotgun an' a still."
"But, Peyton," said the Parson,
"Did you ever stop to think
That some days of your lifetime
You are pressing on the brink
Suppose that rock above your house
Some night would break its holt;
To think-down in perdition
You'd be shifter by the jolt!"
But Peyton whittled on the rail
And said: "You needn't fret,
I've seen that rock hang fifty years
An' 'taint fell yet."