Classic Poem

When Peter sang the rafters rang,
He made the great church reel;
His voice it rang a clarion clang,
Or like a cannon's peal.
Yes, Peter made the rafters ring,
And never curbed his tongue;
Albeit Peter could not sing,
Yet Peter always sung.
Ah, wide did he his wild voice fling
Promiscuous and free;
Despite the fact he could not sing,
Why, all the more sang he.
With clamorous clang
And resonant bang
His thunders round he flung;
He could not sing
One single thing:
Yet Peter always sung.

The choir sang loud, and all the crowd
Took up the holy strain;
But Peter's bawl rose over all
Tempestuously plain.
The organ roared, and madly poured
Its music flood around,
But Peter drowned its anthem loud
In cataracts of sound.
The people hushed, the choir grew still,
Still grew the organ's tone,
Then Peter's voice rose loud and shrill,
For Peter sang alone.
His clamorous shout
Had drowned them out,
And silenced every tongue;
He could not sing
One single thing:
Yet Peter always sung.

When Peter died the people cried,
For Peter he was good,
Although his voice produced a noise
Not easily withstood.
Though many cried when Peter died
And gained his golden lyre,
They nursed a heartfelt sympathy
For heaven's augmented choir.
They knew where'er his soul might be
Loud would his accents ring.

He'd sing through all eternity
The songs he could not sing.
The heavenly choir
He'd make perspire
And heavenly arches ring;
Though he can't sing
One single thing,
For evermore he'll sing.