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Show Passing Chimes (By James Barton Adams.) I ain't no hand at pious talk, ain't got the glfto' gab 1 - Toned 1 down to suitable - degree fur- heavenly confab, An' mobbe my i-dees-ain't jest accordin' to the card , O' Christian! argyment, but I'll express 'em, jest ' as hard! I never saw a prayin' man behind a graveyard face But what I thought waswastin' time-before tho Throne 0' Grace;' A leanin' of his hopes upbm a mighty shaky - staff-God staff-God has no use for any man too holy fur to laugh. I wont to church up there in town ah' saw the . parson's face Drawed out so long I wondered how, he'd git it back In place, An' every word that got away from, out his talkln' works . , Come like a squall in winter timeby freezy fits an' jenks,. . ' .','.,,"'.,' I An -while a sottih'.inthe hall o' ley. talk hV spilt, A-sock'in' in the frozen knife' o warnin to tho hilt, I got to wonderin' what sort 0' heaven the place must be With iceberg leaders sich as him a-holdin' of the key. I hoard a trav'lln' preacher once talk fur a little spell' : -'. ' . To quite n. crowd o' cowboys bunched inside an '61' corral '" 1 An' tell 'em 'bout the trail that leads up to the . range aboVe, . An' how the -Foreman in the skies was jest a fount '. . 'o' love. '' ' . He smiled all through his gospel talk, an' every rider, felt A sort- 0 inward hankerin' to play the hand ho dealt, An' when he tuk 'em by the hand to say good-bye his smile Jost see.rnod to waum to. life the seeds he'd sowed in sinful ' sile? " The parson that discoursed with a cold frost-bitten tongue -An' wears a drawed-out face like ho was goin' to be hung, Whose words are jost like icicles a drappih' from a tree, Ain't never goin' to git the great salvation rope on me. When I am tallied fur the rangq up In the promised prom-ised land I want to see the preacher smile while burnin' in the brandy Ain't got mo use. fur one that talks a doad-o'- winter oreod That makes a feller fool like he's bin eatln' loco weed. As I observed, I, ain't no hand at alingin' pious talk, But when I see a bog ahead I know enough to balk, An' when a preacher makes a talk about tho crop we'll reap I do jest like Ills" brethren do do; oft an' go to sleep. I know the M&ster up above hain't got a bit 0' use Fur them that preaches gospel words all dipped . in lemon juice, But loves the man with cheery soul that ever keeps in place A smile that bubbles from his heart an' over-r over-r flows big ,fftce,; HBHaHHHHa |