Catherine Bryan 1838-1918

Catherine Bryan 1838-1918 Thy swan song will be kept short, for thou And ye, faithful friends of Whittier’s Quaker enclave, In stout shock, thy anger scolds the town, For ye know, in heart and soul, Thee and this old maid did not approve or agree, With ye establishment of said saloon, And its mad proprietor, with mustache in tow. To God, in his holy anger, thou sayeth: Do not spare ye town of Whittier, Please, kindly show no mercy, as ye sinful township, Heads into the uncertain evil times, Cease not to spare the damaging quakes, From thy emblazoned temper in seasons ahead, For ye Whittier hath dressed obscenely in clothes of mustard yellow, And hath exchanged them for the proper, black regalia of the righteous, Yes, proper and good accoutrements for thy people in worship! But now it is time for the old woman to say: Ye Whittier! Thou hath forsaken the highest God! For thy immodest music and dancing, And thy indulgent viewing of sinful cinemas, In the darkness of Hades itself, at the Optic, Ye den of corruption and vice, Hath spat upon the face of the Lord! Whittier township, a dead woman says to ye future generations, From this black place in a forgotten grave: Ye are damned heathens in thy midst! Ye reprobates! Ye are not the chosen people! Instead of worship, and disciplined prayer time, Ye sit in the dumbing darkness and find Lucifer, Dreaded star of the morning! The Optic be damned!