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Poem	Although the Preacher be a bore, The Atheist is even more. I ain't religious worth a damn; My views are reckoned to be broad; And yet I shut up like a clam When folks get figgerin' on God; I'd hate my kids to think like me, And though they leave me in the lurch, I'm always mighty glad to see My fam'ly trot to Church. Although of books I have a shelf Of skeptic stuff, I must confess I keep their knowledge to myself: Doubt doesn't help to happiness. I never scoff at Holy Writ, But envy those who hold it true, And though I've never been in it I'm proud to own a pew. I always was a doubting Tom; I guess some lads are born that way. I couldn't stick religion from The time I broke the Sabbath Day. Yet unbelief's a bitter brew, And this in arid ways I've learned; If you believe a thing, it's true As far as your concerned. I'm sentimental, I agree, For how it always makes me glad To turn from Ingersoll and see My little girls Communion-clad. And as to church my people plod I cry to them with simple glee: "Say, folks, if you should talk to God, Put in a word for me."
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