I never felt at home below,

I never felt at home below,
And in the handsome skies
I shall not feel at home
I know,
I don't like Paradise.

Because it's Sunday all the time
And recess never comes,
And Eden'll be so lonesome
Bright Wednesday afternoons.

If God could make a visit,
Or ever took a nap—
So not to see us—but they say
Himself a telescope

Perennial beholds us,—
Myself would run away
From Him and Holy Ghost and All—
But—there's the Judgment Day!