The poem
You talk o' prayer an' such - Well, I jest don't know how; I guess I got as much Religion as a cow. I fight an' drink an' swear; Red hell I often raise, But never said a prayer In all my days.
I'm honest, right enough; Don't take no stock in crimes; I'm jest a dockside tough, An' yet . . . an' yet sometimes, If I should happen by A church-door open wide The chances are that I Will sneak inside.
It's kin o' peaceful there, Jest sittin' in a pew; There's sompin' in the air That rests me through an' through; It does me heaps o' good To see them candles glow, So soothin' to the mood . . . Why? - I don't know.
Unless that sittin' still Can be a kind o' prayer; My heart jest seems to fill Wi' peace . . . Oh, God don't care For guys the likes o' me; I just ain't in His line: But when the Cross I see, I make the sign.