with despair I wrestled there — when suddenly I saw
The volume he was holding in his hand.
Then something snapped inside my brain, and with an evil start
The wolf-man in me woke to rabid rage.
“I saved your lousy life,” says I; “so show you have a heart,
And tear me out a solitary page.”
He shrank and shrivelled at my words; his face went pewter white;
’Twas just as if I’d handed him a blow;
And then … and then he seemed to swell, and grow to Heaven’s height,
And in a voice that rang he answered: “No!”
I grabbed my loaded rifle and I jabbed it to his chest:
“Come on, you shrimp, give up that Book,” says I.
Well sir, he was a parson, but he stacked up with the best,
And for grit I got to hand it to the guy.
“If I should let you desecrate this Holy Word,” he said,
“My soul would be eternally accurst;
So go on, Bill, I’m ready. You can pump me full of lead
And take it, but — you’ve got to kill me first.”
Now I’m no foul assassin, though I’m full of sinful ways,
And I knew right there the fellow had me beat;
For I felt a yellow mongrel in the glory of his gaze,
And I flung my foolish firearm at his feet.
Then wearily I turned away, and dropped upon my bunk,
And there I lay and blubbered like a kid.
“Forgive me, pard,” says I at last, “for acting like a skunk,
But hide the blasted rifle.…” Which he did.
And he also hid his Bible, which was maybe just as well,
For the sight of all that paper gave me pain;
And there were crimson moments when I felt I’d go to hell
To have a single cigarette again.
And so I lay day after day, and brooded dark and deep,
Until one night I thought I’d end it all;
Then rough I roused the preacher, where he stretched pretending sleep,
With his map of horror turned towards the wall.
“See here, my pious pal,” says I, “I’ve stood it long enough.…
Behold! I’ve mixed some strychnine in a cup;
Enough to kill a dozen men — believe me it’s no bluff;
Now watch me, for I’m gonna drink it up.
You’ve seen me bludgeoned by despair through bitter days and nights,
And now you’ll see me squirming as I die.
You’re not to blame, you’ve played the game according to your lights.…
But how would Christ have played it? — Well, goodbye.…”
With that I raised the deadly drink and laid it to my lips,
But he was on me with a tiger-bound;
And as we locked and reeled and rocked with wild and wicked grips,
The poison cup went crashing to the ground.
“Don’t do it, Bill,” he madly shrieked. “Maybe I acted wrong.
See, here’s my Bible — use it as you will;
But promise me — you’ll read a little as you go along.…
You do! Then take it, Brother; smoke your fill.”
And so I did. I smoked and smoked from Genesis to Job,
And as I smoked I read each blessed word;
While in the shadow of his bunk I heard him sigh and sob,
And then … a most peculiar thing occurred.
I got to reading more and more, and smoking less and less,
Till just about the day his heart was broke,
Says I: “Here, take it back, me lad. I’ve had enough, I guess.
Your paper makes a mighty rotten smoke.”
So then and there with plea and prayer he wrestled for my soul,
And I was racked and ravaged by regrets.
But God was good, for lo! next day there came the police patrol,
With paper for a thousand cigarettes.…
So now I’m called Salvation Bill; I teach the Living Law,
And Bally-hoo the Bible with the best;
And if a guy won’t listen — why, I sock him on the jaw,
And preach the Gospel sitting on his chest.
The Ballad of Lenin’s Tomb
This is the yarn he told to me
As we sat in Casey’s Bar,
That Rooshun mug who scrammed from the jug
In the land of the Crimson Star;
That Soveet guy with the single eye,
And the face like a flaming scar.
Where Lenin lies the red flag flies, and rat-grey workers wait
To tread the gloom of Lenin’s tomb, where the Comrade lies in state.
With lagging pace they scan his face, so weary yet so firm;
For years a score they’ve laboured sore to save him from the worm.
The Kremlin walls are grimly grey, but Lenin’s Tomb is red,
And pilgrims from the Sour Lands say: “He sleeps and is not dead.”
Before their eyes in peace he lies, a symbol and a sign,
And
