Poetry Archives

“If you repent,” the Parson said,”
Your sins will be forgiven.
Aye, even on your dying bed
You’re not too late for heaven.” 

That’s just my cup of tea, I thought,
Though for my sins I sorrow;
Since salvation is easy bought
I will repent . . . to-morrow. 

To-morrow and to-morrow went,
But though my youth was flying,
I was reluctant to repent,
having no fear of dying. 

’Tis plain, I mused, the more I sin,
(To Satan’s jubilation)
When I repent the more I’ll win
Celestial approbation. 

So still I sin, and though I fail
To get snow-whitely shriven,
My timing’s good: I home to hail
The last bus up to heaven.