. Book of song poems. volcano is hid in a shrouded screen, While the bottom of the ocean is heaved in sight. August, 1905. THE DRUNKARDS DREAM. TWAS the still hour of midnight while asleep,Some wonderful visions did over me creep:I dreamed that I passed through the last dying throe,Then my soul took its flight to the regions through the wide yawning portals I passed,My passport examined and admitted at being informed by a ghost on the wayMy respects to Old Nick I straightway must pay,Forthwith to his throne I went and fell prostrateAnd paid my respects to the Old
. Book of song poems. volcano is hid in a shrouded screen, While the bottom of the ocean is heaved in sight. August, 1905. THE DRUNKARDS DREAM. TWAS the still hour of midnight while asleep,Some wonderful visions did over me creep:I dreamed that I passed through the last dying throe,Then my soul took its flight to the regions through the wide yawning portals I passed,My passport examined and admitted at being informed by a ghost on the wayMy respects to Old Nick I straightway must pay,Forthwith to his throne I went and fell prostrateAnd paid my respects to the Old Arch , rising, he bade me follow his wake,A tour through his kingdom for pastime wed show you, said he, **how my quarters are crammedIn various parts with the ghosts of the damned.•Enough said,I replied;go ahead and Ill pathway we took across the big we wandered our way I saw on the rightA palace of iron of towering viewed it with wonder, but as I drew nigher 181. (U ^ S3 M 3 a si S3 *i a> i- ti 33 JJ (» OJ T3 ?!-> S3 ^ s ? 2 a i ^ ^ t3 > \ fi *. CO CD •1—t P4 ft *j fl 3 ?l-(,—1•1—1 O o Ph ft o 3 »^ -p ^ ft 3^ «+H SQ o CO CD ^ CO on ^ 0 o •fH 00 w ft a>a ,i4 ;=! 03 (D r Ph ^d S3 ai *^ CO S 3 OO ^i H I discovered it was but a furnace of fire;Its apartments above, its basements below,Were crowded with beings the image of that? was my query. The Devil replied,It is the place where the first-class distillers are fried;As they said on Earth a man must not beAbove taking a glass, so this is their end, you see;The distillers above, the drinkers below,The brimstone to stir and the bellows to let us go on, you shall see as you passThe punishment dire of a still meaner palace on the left is the fiery abodeOf a class who by thousands have trod the broad are hireling watchmen who strive to increaseThe size of the fiock for the sake of the fleece;No care ha
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