Impossible, sir, for from my own town
Many sought this delectable place,
and each must be there with a harp or a crown,
And a conqueror's palm and a clean linen gown,
Received thru a merited grace."

'The Angel replied: All Vermonters come here
When first they depart from the earth,
But after a day, or a month, or a year,
They restless and lonesome and homesick appear,
And sigh for the land of their birth."

They tell of ravines, wild, secluded and deep
And of flower-decked landscapes serene,
Of towering mountains, imposing and steep,
A-down which, the torents exultingly leap,
thru forests perennially green."

They tell of the many and beautiful hills,
Their forests majestic appear,
They tell of its rivers, its lakes, streams and rills,
Where nature, the purest of water distills,
And they soon get dissatisfied here."

We give them the best the Kingdom provides;
They have everything here that they want,
But not a Vermonter in heaven abides:
A very brief period here he resides,
Then hikes his way back to Vermont."

by
Dr. Ernest Fenwick Johnstone
From an old Postcard