As we stood under the great dome the canopy over St. Peter’s tomb seemed to us no bigger than the band stand in Jonesville. But when we got up to it we see that it wuz ’most a hundred feet high, for fur up the mosaic medallions of the four evangelists lookin’ none too big for the place come to examine ’em, the pen of St. Luke is six feet long and his nose is big enough for a spare bedroom. The writing that runs along under the dome each letter is six feet high, higher than Thomas Jefferson on tip toes, or Josiah on stilts. The idee!
I don’t spoze that Peter, that earnest, hot-tempered fisherman ever spozed he would have such a buildin’ erected to his honor, and I wondered as I looked through the immense distances of this meetin’-house how many turned their thoughts from the glory about ’em onto Peter’s inspired words when he wuz here in the flesh. This huge pile seemed as if Time could have no power over it, but his own words rung in my ear:
“The day of the Lord shall come as a thief in the night and all these things shall be dissolved. Nevertheless we according to his promise look for a new heaven and a new earth wherein dwelleth righteousness.”
And as I thought of his death right here on this very spot agin his words sounded in my heart:
“Beloved, think it not strange concerning this fiery trial which is to try you––But rejoice––Partakers of Christ’s suffering––”
And even as I listened to the chantin’ of the priests I methought I heard Peter speaking of the Voice which come down from Heaven which they heard who wuz with Him on the mount. I thought of the sure word of prophecy. “The 359 light shining in a dark place”––“Until the day dawns and the day star arise in our hearts.”
Yes, the real Peter wuz enshrined in my heart as I trod the grand aisles of that meetin’-house of hisen, and I didn’t think nothin’ at all in comparison of that statute of Peter settin’ on a white stun throne holdin’ his foot out for the masses to kiss.
He sets up there with a queer lookin’ thing on his head. Josiah said it wuz a sass pan, and I sez: “No, Josiah, it is a halo.” And he sez:
“Samantha, if I’m ever sculped and sot up in the Jonesville meetin’-house, I don’t want any halo on my head.”
And I told him I guessed there wuzn’t any danger of his ever wearin’ a halo on this earth.