Now I am old, and yet I keep
Intelligent content;
I wake and sleep in the quiet deep
Of disillusionment.
I don't believe, nor disbelieve—
I simply do not know.
I fear no grave—no heaven crave—
Am quite prepared to go.
But when I die—and I would not stay,
Though a friend should show me how,
Shall I become immortal,
As I am now? (Heaven forbid!)
WHAT DIANTHA DID
CHAPTER VII.
HERESY AND SCHISM.
You may talk about religion with a free and open mind,
For ten dollars you may criticize a judge;
You may discuss in politics the newest thing you find,
And open scientific truth to all the deaf and blind,
But there's one place where the brain must never budge!
CHORUS.
Oh, the Home is Utterly Perfect!
And all its works within!
To say a word about it—
To criticize or doubt it—
To seek to mend or move it—
To venture to improve it—
Is The Unpardonable Sin!
—"Old Song."