Black Beetles in Amber

The trumpet sounded and the dead

Came forth from earth and ocean,

And Pickering arose and sped

Aloft with wobbling motion.

"What makes him fly lop-sided?" cried

A soul of the elected.

"One ear was wax," a rogue replied,

"And isn't resurrected."

Below him on the pitted plain,

By his abandoned hollow,

His hair and teeth tried all in vain

The rest of him to follow.

Saint Peter, seeing him ascend,

Came forward to the wicket,

And said: "My mutilated friend,

I'll thank you for your ticket."

"The Call," said Pickering, his hand

To reach the latch extended.

Said Peter, affable and bland:

"The free-list is suspended—

"What claim have you that's valid here?"

That ancient vilifier

Reflected; then, with look austere,

Replied: "I am a liar."

Said Peter: "That is simple, neat

And candid Anglo-Saxon,

But—well, come in, and take a seat

Up there by Colonel Jackson."