Classic Poem

Swept into limbo is the host
Of heavenly angels, row on row;
The Father Son and Holy Ghost,
Pale and defeated, rise and go.
The great Jehovah is laid low,
Vanished his burning bush and rod—
Say, are we doomed to deeper woe?
Shall marriage go the way of God?

Monogamous, still at our post,
Reluctantly we undergo
Domestic round of boiled and roast,
Yet deem the whole proceeding slow.
Daily the secret murmurs grow;
We are no more content to plod
Along the beaten paths—and so
Marriage must go the way of God

Soon, before all men, each shall toast
The seven strings unto his bow,
Like beacon fires along the coast,
The flames of love shall glance and glow

Nor let nor hindrance man shall know,
From natal bath to funeral sod;
Perennial shall his pleasures flow
When marriage goes the way of God

Grant in a million years at most,
Folk shall be neither pairs nor odd—
Alas! we sha'n't be there to boast
“Marriage has gone the way of God!”