Poems (Howard)/My Dear Religious Paper

by Hattie Howard

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."