Angel’s Toys

I’ve often wondered--have n’t you?--What all the little angels doTo while eternity away,When grown-up angels sing and playUpon their harps with golden strings,And lutes and violas and things.What do they do? What do they playTo while eternity away?After much pondering profound,Perhaps an answer I have found--I give it you for what it’s worth.The people now upon this earth,Who neither quite deserve to goAbove hereafter, nor below--The prig, the poser, and the crank;The snob, who thinks of naught but rank;The gossip and the fool--in short,All nuisances of every sort--Will change into amusing toysFor little angel girls and boys.The braggart will confer a boonBy changing to a toy balloon;The snob tuft-hunter and the boreTo shuttlecock and battledoreWill turn; the highfalutin wightsThe angel boys will fly as kites;The gossip then will cease his prattle,And be an angel baby’s rattle;The prig--but you have got me there.Whether in heaven, or elsewhere,’T is quite impossible to seeWhat kind of use the prig can be;By what inscrutable design,Or by what accident divine,Or what impenetrable jestHe was evolved, can ne’er be guessed.