Poems (Howard)/My Dear Religious Paper
My Dear Religious Paper.
It always comes when I am blue, And oh! the comfort in it! I just perspire to read it through In less than half a minute.
A lovely sermon I commence About the "loaves and fishes"—Then drift into advertisements Of "Amberina" dishes.
I read and re-peruse with care And heartily endorse it, An item telling how to wear "A skirt-supporting corset."
I meditate, "How true it is, I am my brother's keeper!"And lo! behold where groceries Are sold a trifle cheaper.
It bids my drooping spirits rise And, as to speak it louder, In capitals before my eyes Puts "Royal Baking Powder."
There's one to whom I always go When weary and down-hearted—Dear "Lydia Pinkham!"—just as though She never had departed.
In simple trust when I would cling Unto the "Rock of Ages," I read that "Glue's" the proper thing— And "Vegetine" the rage is.
And when for strength I humbly pray Some impish scion titters: "Why, don't you know, the papers say To try 'Red Jacket Bitters.'"
I shudder at the thought of sin, Its fearful avalanches; And then get interested in "Cow-boys and Cattle-ranches."
I wish my life were more like Paul's— Devoted, nobler, truer—Then somehow get submerged in " all's Sicilian Hair Renewer."
My aching heart suffused with grief Pulsates a little faster To know that there is sweet relief Beneath a "Porous Plaster."
I read it through in every part, So serious and solemn, And then cut out and learn by heart That "awful funny" column.
The times are hard—I cannot spare A dime—much less a dollar—But I must re-subscribe, and wear A shirt without a collar.
I'll vegetate on sauer kraut— Exist on airy vapor—But never, never do without "My dear religious paper."