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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=342874" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>One Of The Redeemed</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Saint Peter, standing at the Gate, beheld<br>A soul whose body Death had lately felled.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A pleasant soul as ever was, he seemed:<br>His step was joyous and his visage beamed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Good morning, Peter.' There was just a touch<br>Of foreign accent, but not overmuch.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Saint bent gravely, like a stately tree,<br>And said: 'You have the advantage, sir, of me.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Renan of Paris,' said the immortal part<br>'A master of the literary art.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I'm somewhat famous, too, I grieve to tell,<br>As controversialist and infidel.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'That's of no consequence,' the Saint replied,<br>'Why, I myself my Master once denied.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'No one up here cares anything for that.<br>But is there nothing you were always at?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'It seems to me you were accused one day<br>Of _something_-what it was I can't just say.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Quite likely,' said the other; 'but I swear<br>My life was irreproachable and fair.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Just then a soul appeared upon the wall,<br>Singing a hymn as loud as he could bawl.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">About his head a golden halo gleamed,<br>As well befitted one of the redeemed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A harp he bore and vigorously thumbed,<br>Strumming he sang, and, singing, ever strummed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His countenance, suffused with holy pride,<br>Glowed like a pumpkin with a light inside.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Ah! that's the chap,' said Peter, 'who declares:<br>'Renan's a rake and drunkard-smokes and swears.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Yes, that's the fellow-he's a preacher-came<br>From San Francisco. Mansfield was his name.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Do you believe him?' said Renan. 'Great Scott!<br>Believe? Believe the blackguard? Of course _not!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Just walk right in and make yourself at home.<br>And if he pecks at you I'll cut his comb.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'He's only here because the Devil swore<br>He wouldn't have him, for the smile he wore.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Resting his eyes one moment on that proof<br>Of saving grace, the Frenchman turned aloof,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And stepping down from cloud to cloud, said he:<br>'Thank you, monsieur,-I'll see if he'll have _me_.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ambrose+Bierce">Ambrose Bierce</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=342874" data-title="One Of The Redeemed de Ambrose Bierce" data-description="Saint Peter, standing at the Gate, beheld
A soul whose body Death had lately felled.

A pleasant soul as ever was, he seemed:
His step was joyous and his visage beamed.

'Good morning, Peter.' There was just a touch
Of foreign accent, but not over..."></div>
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