IN UPPER SAN FRANCISCO

I heard that Heaven was bright and fair,

And politicians dwelt not there.

‘ Twas said by knowing ones that they

Were in the Elsewhere — so to say.

So, waking from my last long sleep,

I took my place among the sheep.

I passed the gate — Saint Peter eyed

Me sharply as I stepped inside.

He thought, as afterward I learned,

That I was Chris, the Unreturned.

The new Jerusalem — ah me,

It was a sorry sight to see!

The mansions of the blest were there,

And mostly they were fine and fair;

But O, such streets!— so deep and wide,

And all unpaved, from side to side!

And in a public square there grew

A blighted tree, most sad to view.

From off its trunk the bark was ripped —

Its very branches all were stripped!

An angel perched upon the fence

With all the grace of indolence.

“Celestial bird,” I cried, in pain,

“What vandal wrought this wreck? Explain.”

He raised his eyelids as if tired:

“What is a Vandal?” he inquired.

“This is the Tree of Life.‘ Twas stripped

By Durst and Siebe, who have shipped

“The bark across the Jordan — see?—

And sold it to a tannery.”

“Alas,” I sighed, “their old-time tricks!

That pavement, too, of golden bricks —

“They've gobbled that?” But with a scowl,

“You greatly wrong them,” said the fowl:

“‘ Twas Gilleran did that, I fear —

Head of the Street Department here.”

“What! what!” cried I — “you let such chaps

Come here? You've Satan, too, perhaps.”

“We had him, yes, but off he went,

Yet showed some purpose to repent;

“But since your priests and parsons filled

The place with those their preaching killed” —

( Here Siebe passed along with Durst,

Psalming as if their lungs would burst ) —

“He swears his foot no more shall press

(‘ Tis cloven, anyhow, I guess )

“Our soil. In short, he's out on strike —

But devils are not all alike.”

Lo! Gilleran came down the street,

Pressing the soil with broad, flat feet!