ANSWER TO THE FINAL PLEA FOR UNION T. F. Hale The first day of April is all fools day; But myself and Friend R. have sure come to stay. He argues for Union in his final plea, He’s now leaving the Rollers and coming to me; For I knew when he slaughtered the fatted sheep; The Rollers again he would not keep. He’s forsaking his preacher you can plainly see, For he offers to split the difference with me; If I’ll just hold back and the difference not split We can sure make a Campbellite out of him yet. For he’s coming now and coming fast. We may possibly get the whole family at last. Tis a sore distress to each tribe and nation, To give them away as to who’s their relation; I just happened to let that word slip out, Before I thought what I was talking about; And it fit nicely in rhyme, I used it not only just one time And if he will excuse me for giving him away, No more about relation I will ever say. He counts numbers on me, speaks of the crowds; Of his dear preacher’s following he seems to be proud; Yes the Rollers can pull ‘em, that we all know; So do the movies and the circus show. When our Savior was here the roads He did view; We are told by St. Matthew, he said there were two. One was the straight and narrow way, And few be it’s travelers from day to day, The other was broad, and the gate was wide, And crowded with travelers from side to side; So when I view their numberless throng, I take new courage and journey along. When I returned his donation tears stood in my eyes, Until he said he would bring me his planks and his ties; I will accept them at once, without reflection, And not cross that hill to make any inspection; So just float them around on the next big tide, For I know dear Brother, they’ve been tested and tried. I prefer to stay separate, and our religions not mix, For we can’t understand their latter-day tricks; Like cold water and lard, you would just have to stir, And then they would not mix in a year; Then ours is so cold, and theirs is so hot, It would certainly be a mess in the pot; It would do not good but rather do harm; For it would be one religion and it lukewarm; So just keep yours steaming, and we will keep ours cold; For a lukewarm religion is not good for the soul. No commends in his final my secret giving, But shifts it over to moral living: And hints if my morals were known to my wife, That she and I would be living in strife; And for a divorce suit, I sure hadn’t thought of that I’ll just bet you a button my friend has been a cat. We enjoy your singing, your voices are strong; And if you would only keep your interpreter along And you speak that new language until no one can tell; If you were wishing them Heaven or wishing them _ _ _ _. I will say of that language, If it will cause no alarm, That it may be the old Egyptian remormed; I think I shall write your bit preacher, Vancleeve, And learn if ‘tis the language in which Adam courted Eve. Of his unstable ways we most surely lament, For a time it did seem toward the Rollers he lent. So we thought when we landed a preacher like Bent. At our very next service, J.S.R. would repent. Now the coming of Bently has opened his eyes, So we will just have our evangelist as a surprise. Then come on dear Brother, before it is too late, And you find yourself facing eternity’s gate; For if you get converted you will surely repent, And then you’ll regret what you said about Bent.