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Robert W Service - The Ballad Of Salvation Bill
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`Twas in the bleary middle of the hard-boiled Arctic night,
I was lonesome as a loon, so if you can,
Imagine my emotions of amazement and delight
When I bumped into that Missionary Man.
He was lying lost and dying in the moon`s unholy leer,
And frozen from his toes to finger-tips`
The famished wolf-pack ringed him; but he didn`t seem to fear,
As he pressed his ice-bond Bible to his lips.

`Twas the limit of my trap-line, with the cabin miles away,
And every step was like a stab of pain;
But I packed him like a baby, and I nursed him night and day,
Till I got him back to health and strength again.
So there we were, benighted in the shadow of the Pole,
And he might have proved a priceless little pard,
If he hadn`t got to worrying about my blessed soul,
And a-quotin` me his Bible by the yard.

Now there was I, a husky guy, whose god was Nicotine,
With a "coffin-nail" a fixture in my mug;
I rolled them in the pages of a pulpwood magazine,
And hacked them with my jack-knife from the plug.
For, Oh to know the bliss and glow that good tobacco means,
Just live among the everlasting ice . . .
So judge my horror when I found my stock of magazines
Was chewed into a chowder by the mice.

A woeful week went by and not a single pill I had,
Me that would smoke my forty in a day;
I sighed, I swore, I strode the floor; I felt I would go mad:
The gospel-plugger watched me with dismay.
My brow was wet, my teeth were set, my nerves were rasping raw;
And yet that preacher couldn`t understand:
So with despair I wrestled there - when suddenly I saw
The volume he was holding in his hand.

Then something snapped inside my brain, and with an evil start
The wolf-man in me woke to rabid rage.
"I saved your lousy life," says I; "so show you have a heart,
And tear me out a solitary page."
He shrank and shrivelled at my words; his face went pewter white;
`Twas just as if I`d handed him a blow:
And then . . . and then he seemed to swell, and grow to Heaven`s height,
And in a voice that rang he answered: "No!"

I grabbed my loaded rifle and I jabbed it to his chest:
"Come on, you shrimp, give me that Book," says I.
Well sir, he was a parson, but he stacked up with the best,
And for grit I got to hand it to the guy.
"If I should let you desecrate this Holy Word," he said,
"My soul would be eternally accurst;
So go on, Bill, I`m ready. You can pump me full of lead
And take it, but - you`ve got to kill me first."

Now I`m no foul assassin, though I`m full of sinful ways,
And I knew right there the fellow had me beat;
For I felt a yellow mongrel in the glory of his gaze,
And I flung my foolish firearm at his feet,
Then wearily I turned away, and dropped upon my bunk,
And there I lay and blubbered like a kid.
"Forgive me, pard," says I at last, "for acting like a skunk,
But hide the blasted rifle…" Which he did.

And he also hid his Bible, which was maybe just as well,
For the sight of all that paper gave me pain;
And there were crimson moments when I felt I`d o to hell
To have a single cigarette again.
And so I lay day after day, and brooded dark and deep,
Until one night I thought I`d end it all;
Then rough I roused the preacher, where he stretched pretending sleep,
With his map of horror turned towards the wall.

"See here, my pious pal," says I, "I`ve stood it long enough…
Behold! I`ve mixed some strychnine in a cup;
Enough to kill a dozen men - believe me it`s no bluff;
Now watch me, for I`m gonna drink it up.
You`ve seen me bludgeoned by despair through bitter days and nights,
And now you`ll see me squirming as I die.
You`re not to blame, you`ve played the game according to your lights…
But how would Christ have played it? - Well, good-bye…"

With that I raised the deadly drink and laid it to my lips,
But he was on me with a tiger-bound;
And as we locked and reeled and rocked with wild and wicked grips,
The poison cup went crashing to the ground.
"Don`t do it, Bill," he madly shrieked. "Maybe I acted wrong.
See, here`s my Bible - use it as you will;
But promise me - you`ll read a little as you go along…
You do! Then take it, Brother; smoke your fill."

And so I did. I smoked and smoked from Genesis to Job,
And as I smoked I read each blessed word;
While in the shadow of his bunk I heard him sigh and sob,
And then . . . a most peculiar thing occurred.
I got to reading more and more, and smoking less and less,
Till just about the day his heart was broke,
Says I: "Here, take it back, me lad. I`ve had enough I guess.
Your paper makes a mighty rotten smoke."

So then and there with plea and prayer he wrestled for my soul,
And I was racked and ravaged by regrets.
But God was good, for lo! next day there came the police patrol,
With paper for a thousand cigarettes. . .
So now I`m called Salvation Bill; I teach the Living Law,
And Bally-hoo the Bible with the best;
And if a guy won`t listen - why, I sock him on the jaw,
And preach the Gospel sitting on his chest.
Source
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