Classic Poem

See that ol' barn jest over there that's so tipped-up an' canted,
That kinder tumble-down affair?—Wall, that ol' barn is han'ted.
That used to be Tom Phelan's barn, who died in eighty-seven,
Who tried his best for sixty years to fit himself for heaven.

Tom said all kinds er piety was nothin' but pretences
Onless yer mortified yer pride an' kep' down yer expenses;
The way, he said, to git to heaven was not by livin' gayly—
But you mus' clothe yer back in rags an' scrimp yer stomach daily.

He said that he could dress himself three year for twenty dollars,
By jest renouncin' stockin's, shoes, an' under clo'es an' collars,
An' wearin' meal-bag pantaloons—for they wore jest like iron—
Were jest as good as any dood's, an' easier to try on.

So in one corner of his barn he rigged a place to stay there,
An' in col' winter nights he slep' all covered up with hay there;
An' if his feet got very col' a-sleepin' on his mow there,
W'y he'd crawl out a little while an' warm 'em on his cow there.

He had an ol' tin-b'iler stove he uster cook his meal on,
An' one pertater twice a day (he et it with the peel on);
He had an apple once a week, an' once when very sinful
He baked a pan of Johnnycake an' et a half a tinful.

An' jest to save his candle-light he went to bed at seven—
An' one night he awoke surprized an' found himself in heaven.
He'd changed his barn an' his ol' cow, tied to her rattlin' stanchion,
For a gran' home in Paradise an' a celestial mansion.

But up there in his robes of white, amid celestial toons there,
He mourned his bedtick overcoat an' meal-bag pantaloons there;
The furnishings were far too rich, the draperies too extensive;
All the upholstery an' sich he thought was too expensive.

An' all the time he walked the streets he skurce could keep from ravin'
About the great extravagance of all that golden pavin'.
The jasper an' the topaz walls he thought too great expense there—
'Twould serve the purpose jest as well—a good barbed-wire fence there.

One day he went to Gabriel in very great consarn there,
To try to get permission for to build a wooden barn there;
When Gabriel refused p'int-blank, his angry soul did steer ag'in
Back to this tumble-down ol' barn an' went to livin' here ag'in.

An' here at midnight ev'ry night, the ghost of ol' Tom Phelan
Gits out its ol' tin-b'iler stove to cook its ghostly meal on;
An' people say who hear his sighs an' awful sobs an' moanin':
“For Gabriel's extravagance Tom Phelan's ghost is groanin'.”