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diff --git a/40560-0.txt b/40560-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7ff8277 --- /dev/null +++ b/40560-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3678 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40560 *** + + THE BEE'S BAYONET + (A LITTLE HONEY AND A LITTLE STING) + --CAMOUFLAGE IN WORD PAINTING-- + + BY + EDWIN ALFRED WATROUS + _Author of "The Fooliam"_ + + BOSTON + RICHARD G. BADGER + THE GORHAM PRESS + + + COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY EDWIN ALFRED WATROUS + + All Rights Reserved + + + Made in the United States of America + + The Gorham Press, Boston, U.S.A. + + + Dedicated to + + THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA + CIVILIZATION'S CRUSADER. + + + + To Thee, My Native Land, AMERICA! + My heart with pride is filled: my lips exult + Because Thou art my Home--my Fatherland. + Beneath the Constellation of the States, + Set in the firmament of fadeless blue, + I bare my head and hail the Stars and Stripes, + Proud Emblem of our Unity and Might. + My Country calls! I give what I possess,-- + All! _All_ I say! and giving thus, regret + That my poor contribution to thy needs, + In hours of peril when dark war-clouds loom, + Is such a paltry thing + When measured by the debt of gratitude + I owe for LIBERTY. + All that I am and have belongs to Thee. + Upon thy Altar Fires, + Where Freedom glows and glorifies Mankind, + I consecrate + My flood-tide strength, my substance--life itself! + And rate not this as sacrifice + That gives me pleasure to repay + In this small way + Thy boon and bounty, priceless LIBERTY. + + + + + +CONTENTS + + +PROEM +BEHOLD A MAN! +THE JULOGY +ENGLAND +PREPAREDNESS +THE FUGITIVE KISS +NEW MEXICAN NATIONAL ANTHEM +LOVE +STRONGARM'S WATERLOO +THE SPIRIT OF FRANCE +WAR +SONG OF THE SAMSONS +SIX DAYS +A PROTEST +A PRAYER +SINCE THE LITTLE ONE CAME +RUN ALONG, LITTLE GIRL! +A RETROSPECT +THE EAGLE SCREAMS +THE SERVICE STAR +SOME DAY +THE CRUISE OF THE SEA SERPENT +AMERICA +LIFE AND LOVE +LIFE IN DEATH +GERMANY +ITALY +MARY IS MERRY NO MORE +I SHOT AN ARROW +FIXING THE BLAME +LOVE'S RECOMPENSE +ADAM'S ALE +RUSSIA +BELGIUM +OUR FRIENDS ACROSS THE STREET +EPITAPHS +THE CONQUEST OF THE SUN +OWED TO A ROACH +THE MOODS OF THE WINDS +THE TOXIC TIPPET +TWENTY-THIRD PSALM +FRIENDSHIP +PARAMOUNT PROBLEMS +A REUNION +THE CRUISE OF THE SQUIRREL +JINGLES +THE WEIGHT OF LOVE +DO IT! +AMENITIES +"DANSER SUR UN VULCAN" +AT THE BULGING UDDER TIME +VAGARIES +A SHATTERED ROMANCE +THE MILKY WAY +THE LOGOTHETE +THE PRICE OF PEACE +MEN HAD HORNS THEN +SUB ROSA +WHITMANESQUE +AN APEOLOGY +THE BUG +WAKE, MY LOVE! +FIRST PSALM +NOT PEACE, BUT REVENGE! +HEREDITY +THE CALL OF THE HOMESTEAD +DECIMAL POINTS +BELLES-LETTRES +SANDY, THE PIPER +"BEN BOLT" +EXCELSIOR +HER AND HIM +THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIVING +THE SIXTH OF APRIL +BENEATH A CLOUD +THE COLUMBIAD +HE'S ALL RIGHT, BUT--! +NATURE'S STUDIO +PICARDY +AMERICA'S PRAYER +EPILOGUE + + + + +PROEM + + + If you can find, within, a single line + To give you pleasure, then the pleasure's mine; + But if you fail and whine, or _josh_ like Billings, + You might (I say you _might_!) get back your shillings. + But better yet! Bestow this Book of Verses + On some friend-foe you love with hate and curses, + And your revenge will be attained thereafter + For, when he reads it, he will die with laughter. + And, Cheerful Reader, if this work contains + A soporific for your bulging brains + So that you'll _rave about it_ to your neighbors, + I'll feel repaid for all rebuffs and labors. + Though "Wisdom sometimes borrows, sometimes lends," + You'll borrow trouble lending this to friends; + But earn my thanks if, when you've praised or shown it, + You'll sit upon the lid and never loan it: + For ev'ry copy sold, thru friends or slapbacks, + Just puts Mo'lasses on my buckwheat flapjacks. + And, Critic Friend, who halts Ambition's flight + And ties the can to Aspiration's kite, + Pray recollect that when _you_ plied the pen + And had some stuff accepted now and then, + Your tales, O! Henry, did not prove inviting + Or else you'd be no Cynic but still writing. + + + + + + +THE BEE'S BAYONET + + + + + +BEHOLD A MAN! + + + There stands a MAN! unyielding and defiant, + A master LEADER, bold and self-reliant. + He seeks no conquest but his lance is set + Against the ruthless Despot's parapet. + Alert and conscious of his strength, his thrust + Is sure and timely, for his cause is just. + Invincible, he rallies to his cause + Those who love Justice and respect the laws. + To skulking traitors and to spying foes + He shows no mercy, but his heart o'erflows + For those oppressed, who live, nay! who exist + Where arrogance and tyranny persist: + But, tho distressed by all this human grief, + He weeps not idly, but _compels_ relief: + And those he serves by act or speech or pen, + One Hundred Million _freemen_, shout, AMEN! + "Safe for Democracy the world must be, + And all its bondaged peoples shall be free!" + So spake the MAN: America thus voiced + Its ultimatum, and the Earth rejoiced! + Intensely human, cast from mortal clay + In Nature's mould, one epoch-making day, + Behold a MAN! he seems a higher sort, + Refined with purest gold from God's Retort + And filled with skill and wisdom, Heaven-sent: + God bless and keep our peerless PRESIDENT! + + + + + +THE JULOGY + + + To those who never heard my Songs before, + And those _who have_, and _want to nevermore_, + This Rhapsody, with all its pithy phrases, + Has passed the Censors with the highest praises. + Released by favor of the Board's caprice, + It takes its proper place--a masterpiece! + Soft pedal, please! The Knockers are outclassed, + And Genius finds its recompense at last! + Whene'er I read about this war-time pelf + It makes me sick: I can't contain myself! + The profits on the _die_-stuffs sent to France + Make Croesus' wealth a trifling circumstance; + And what the Farmers get for mules and wheat + Makes fortunes hitherto quite obsolete. + In by-gone days the Bards were praised and pensioned + Who now are at the Front--and rarely mentioned: + And all these hardships they endure while men + _Who write big checks_, thus scandalize the pen. + The Writers should throw off their yokes and collars + And drill their brains to cultivate the dollars. + The talents they possess are strictly mental + And can't be utilized for food and rental. + Their thoughts are capital, but who'll invest + In Sonnet Stock without some _interest_? + Or who'd take stock in Poem Plants? Alack! + He who invests expects the yellowback. + But here I'm talking _money_: what a joke + For one to thus discourse who's always broke! + Since "money talks" we'll suffer it to speak,-- + "I am the thing that countless millions seek; + Greed's inspiration, Evil's very root, + The Nemesis of those in my pursuit. + Kings pay me homage, pawn their crowns to me + And, deathless, I enslave their progeny. + Men famed for noble deeds, who court my smile, + Ofttimes surrender probity to guile: + Who, needy, follows my uncertain path, + I may elude and favor him who hath,-- + For I have wings, and lightning speeds my flight,-- + Wealthy to-day, a pauper overnight! + The Ticker tells the tale from day to day: + Brings joy to some, to others dire dismay." + + This Work is copyrighted just to show + To what low depths the Pirate Press will go. + They borrow thunder from the Vulcan forge, + Then draw the fire and put the smut on George. + Each song or verse, it seems to me, should be + Distinguished by originality + If nothing else (the matter may be sloppy,-- + But that's no matter if there's ample copy) + So that the Author's face could be unmasked + And recognized without a question asked; + Or, so identify Calliope + By strident notes of high-toned quality; + Or thus detect some Poet's "fist" and style + By I. O. U.'s unhonored yet awhile. + The Pirates thus would cease perforce their trade, + And Bacon would not be confused with Ade. + In all my songs I do the work myself, + And draw no inspiration from the Shelf. + Perhaps my lines would be more read, if cribbed, + But George and I, you know, have never fibbed, + And what is more, I think my lines are sweeter + Than those of Dante, with infernal meter; + And more heroic, and not half so sad + As Homer's couplets in the _Ill_iad; + And far more musical and much prettier + Than those by Tennyson or by Whittier. + Each bar is known to me, its licensee, + And ev'ry note has had my scrutiny: + I also watch my pauses, moods and tenses, + And have no words with fair amanuenses. + If you could see my workshop (do not ask it!) + You'd find more "carbons" in my paper-basket, + More rough, unpolished diamonds there immured + Than you, Dear Reader, ever have endured. + I have no Jewish blood, not e'en a strain: + That's what I lack! If ever born again + I'd requisition Hebrew sire and dam, + Something akin, methinks, to Abraham, + And take these "jewels," doomed unseen to flash, + Gloss o'er their flaws, and turn them into cash. + Here's where I doff my bonnet to the Jew! + Tho' sore oppressed they're still the Chosen Few: + A _few_ in numbers but a mighty host + When reckoned by the things that count the most,-- + I mean _achievements_, won by toilsome stages + In spite of persecutions thru the Ages. + + I see these Davids watching o'er their flocks + In Palestine. (To-day they watch their stocks + And clip the coupons from their bonds, you see, + Just as they sheared the lambs in Galilee.) + _There_ milk and honey in abundance vied + To keep the Simple Simons satisfied; + But _here_ to luxuries the Josephs cling, + And milk the honey from most everything. + Time was when you were treated with disdain + But now the tune is quite a changed refrain, + And Gentiles everywhere take special pains + To pay respectful tribute to your brains! + Behold your ancient hills and rugged rocks; + Your fruitful valleys with their golden shocks + Of Grain that, grouped around the stately dates, + Seem to defy the _threshing_ that awaits! + Here olives ripen 'neath the summer skies + And yield rich oil,--first Standard Oil supplies; + 'Twas here the mighty Samson filled with awe + The Philistines and flayed them with his jaw; + (No man before, or since, thus courted fame, + For woman holds these records in _her_ name.) + And here wise Solomon refused the vote + In statecraft matters to the Petticoat; + But when the Referendum was installed + The wise old King's objection was Recalled. + And then there's David caring for his sheep, + And big Goliath (_rocking_ him to sleep). + There Japheth, Shem and Ham are; Ham tabooed + By Moses in his Treatises on Food; + And Jehu with his pair of chestnut colts + Trotting the highway down like thunderbolts. + If Jehu _reined_ to-day he'd swap his stable + For high-power Auto, with a foreign label, + And hold the record for the Shore Road trip + From Tyre to Sidon at a lightning clip,-- + And make his whiskers, driven by the breeze, + Look like a storm-tossed frigate on the seas. + There's Jacob dreaming, seeing more than Esau, + And giving him the double-cross and hee-haw; + Obtaining Esau's birthright (Silly Dupe!) + For three brass spheroids and a bowl of soup. + He traded for it--didn't have to buy it! + 'Cause Brother Hairy, glutton, wouldn't diet. + But "chickens come back home to roost," forsooth, + And Jacob in his dotage learned this truth, + When Leah's sons, of ordinary clay, + Put Rachel's Joseph in the consommé. + + As Financiers the palm has been bestowed, + In panegyric, melody and ode, + On Jacob's sons. The caravans, that passed + Thru burning sands, from cities far and vast, + Into their land that teemed with grain and gold, + Were richly laden. Thus they bought and sold, + Exchanging corn and cattle, hides and honey + For finest silks and linens, gems and money,-- + Until, thru bargain-insight, skill and daring, + They cornered all the fabrics used for wearing, + And then proceeded, with discerning lust, + To hump themselves and form a Camel Trust. + The Traders who had plied this Cargo Route + Could never, in their deals, get cash to boot + From Jacob's sons. Sometimes a fleece or skin, + Of little size and worth, would be thrown in, + But shekels--No! And so the nomad Sheik + In quest of easy picking; Turk and Greek; + The wily Fellah from the distant Nile + Whose gaudy gewgaw "gems" reflect his guile; + The sleepy Peddlers from the Land of Nod, + Who still shekinah on ancestral sod; + And all the Wise Men from the Eastern marts + Who plan their ventures by the Astral charts, + Plotted and vowed, by Imps and Endor Witches, + To wrest from Jacobs Brothers all their riches. + So, working now with Bulls, anon with Bears; + Rigging the market to advance their wares + Or to depress the House of Jacobs' shares, + It looked as if the plotters might make good + Against the unsuspecting Brotherhood. + But patiently the Brethren stood their ground, + Unmindful of the rumors passed around, + Or baits to tempt Cupidity thrown out, + That throttle Judgment and put Sense to rout,-- + Until the market, unsupported, broke: + Then, feigning sleep, they suddenly awoke + And took possession of the Stock Exchange. + Like beaten curs or mongrels with the mange + The Plotters cringed. The _Shorts_ in wild dismay + To cover ran, but Zounds! they had to pay + Four prices to the Brethren who controlled + The entire issue of the short stock sold. + And thus the Brethren made a tidy sum, + Keeping their standing in Financialdom. + Keen businessmen, they sold or bought as well, + But never showed _anxiety_ to sell. + + So Jacob's Sons became, as was their bent, + The mighty Merchants of the Orient. + No goose that ever layed a golden egg + Would needs have come to one of them to beg + For life or respite. "Nay! Lay on, Good Goose! + We'll shield thee and thy gander from abuse!" + Long-headed and kind-hearted, in such cases + Their noses were not lopped to spite their faces. + Too wise they were: they had too good a teacher + To make the nose too prominent a feature! + While yet the goose was itching for the nest + They egged her on and Quack! she did the rest. + A goose she would appear to give so much + To those who had--but Life is ever such. + But Jacob's Sons like Isaac, sturdy Oak, + Made no complaint but bore their golden yolk, + And, thrifty men, in many baskets stored + The golden ovals and increased their hoard. + And so their nests were feathered, as we know, + But cautious men they were, who didn't crow. + And so we see them on the filmy screens, + Matching their talents 'gainst the Philistines: + And looking close, we notice that the Brothers + Have bigger _stacks_ before them than the others. + + And then there's Job, the Paradox, who toils + To show good humor when beset by boils; + And Jinxy Jonah, ducked and rudely whaled, + Because he had no passport when he sailed. + (Whene'er I see the Ocean Mammal spout + Methinks it's habit--_spewing Jonah out_.) + Delilah's "next"! Tonsorial Adept-- + A cutting up while headstrong Samson slept. + Shear nonsense--that man's vigor could be sapped + Because he had a haircut when he napped, + Or lose his nerve, e'en at the yawning grave, + Tho' just escaping by the closest shave. + With Samson's case a multitude compare, + For men miss greatness ofttimes by a hair. + 'Twas his conceit that made him lose his nerve, + As long-haired, whiskered men, bereft, deserve. + The facts are these: that Samson used to wear + A wig with ringlets, 'cause his head was bare. + One night, in playful mood, Delilah stole + Up to his cot and touched the poor old soul + For his toupee. He woke, chagrined, and fled + Because his capillary roots were dead. + What transformation! Thus the Man of Might + Became a pussyfooter overnight, + And went to writing verses from that minute + Finding his strength, not _on_ his head, but in it. + + Of all your rulers, Roman, Jew or Fezzer, + The first or most pronounced is Nebu'nezzar. + (_Too long_ this monstrous name has been derided, + And so the _chad_, for rhythm, is elided.) + "Neb" is enough, for short, and apropos + Of Shadrach, Meshack and Abednego, + The King waxed wroth because these three live wires + Passed thru his melting pots and furnace fires + Without a burn: remarkable endurance! + Because protected by good Fire Insurance. + He paid the price for arson ere he died, + Was kept lit up and rightly classified + Among the beasts: and now that all is over + 'Tis safe to say he did not live in clover, + But roamed the pastures, when he lost his pull, + And grazed himself to death: he was _some_ bull. + + Then next we come to Ruth, the Moabite: + Her husband Chilion (not her!) one night + Blew out the gas, and Ruth was thus bereft; + But Naomi, her Ma-in-Law, was left + To comfort her: and jolly well she did it! + For Ruth's great grief soon ceased or else she hid it. + Then to Naomi's Land the two repaired, + Their love enhanced by sorrows they had shared. + And so the elder of the widowed twain + Set out to find, for Ruth, another swain; + And all her schemes, 'tis said, succeeded so as + To marry Ruth to wealthy kinsman Boaz. + Unselfish? No! _She_ was too old to wed, + So Ruth agreed to give her board and bed, + Trusting to Boaz not to spoil her plan + Who swallowed hook and line like any man. + The attic room, or one just off the hall, + Was where Naomi nightly had to crawl; + And all her meals, unleavened bread and 'taters, + Were eaten in the kitchen with the waiters,-- + For Boaz, when the honeymoon was spent, + Tightened his purse-strings--wouldn't spend a cent! + And Naomi as welcome was, I think, + As hungry roaches in the kitchen sink. + This is the only case,--I know no other! + Where widowed wife abided husband's mother; + Or, where a woman, in such circumstance, + Would give her son's relict another chance. + + There's Baal and those exalting Gods of brass; + And Balaam, Prophet: but we'll let him pass! + And John the Baptist, man who lost his head + To fair Salomé, tho she cut him dead. + There's Absalom the Vain, whose hair was long, + Who, in the final parting, got in wrong: + And Pharaoh, with chariots and fighters + Pursuing Moses and the Israeliters; + Who, half-seas over, when the King dropped in, + Punished the latter for his divers sin, + And rescued on the Red Sea bar his folk, + Athirst for freedom from the Ptolemy yoke. + + While yet the rushes bent beneath the blast + Of Red Sea winds, a prodigy was cast. + (From common _mold_, perhaps, but 'tis enough + To know that he was made of proper stuff.) + And little did the Tempest wot his noise + Was silence likened to the bawling boy's. + The Earth breathed on the shape and gave it speech, + Or something vocally akin, a screech. + Thus Moses had his coming out--and lo! + He rushed into the arms of Fairy O + (Daughter of Pharaoh, the mighty King) + Who bore him to the Palace 'neath her wing. + Fed on the Milk of Kindness to begin, + With Medica Materia thrown in, + He grew until appointed, by decree, + To Little Egypt, Princess, the M.D. + Thus Doctor Moses hung his shingle out, + And soon his fame was heralded about. + To doctors since, no fame like his doth cling: + No Specialist: he doctored everything! + He analyzed and stopped the human leak; + (His patience was rewarded, so to speak) + He charged his people to eschew the swine, + And made the Ten Commandments seem benign. + Not only as Physician did he rate, + But as a Surgeon: he could amputate! + He cut off Pharaoh in his pursuit + And, by this operation, gained repute. + He set his people right and made no bones + Of driving lepers from the Safety Zones; + He gave them tablets for their moral healing, + Knowing their pulses without even feeling. + His praises now resound from every lip + Because he saved the Jews from Phar'oh's grippe. + Still 'long the Nile the pink-winged curlews flock + Where Moses took his henchmen out of hock; + The minions of Æolus hurtle on, + Leaving a trail of foam the waves upon,-- + Stopping anon, where restless driftwood crushes + The lotus pads that hover near the rushes, + To chant a requiem and breathe a prayer + Over the spot that cradled Moses there. + If modern doctors would obey the rule + Of common sense prescribed by Moses' School; + If they would note our pulses and our looks + Instead of feeling of our pocket-books + And judging circulation by the latter, + We'd sometimes know, perhaps, just what's the matter. + What doctor now would diagnosis make + And call it simple, old-time belly-ache, + Charging a trifling fee to cure the pain? + Ah, no! those days will not return again! + No more, alas! will green-fruit cramps delight us, + For colic now is styled appendicitis. + By leaps and bounds have grown the "trifling fees"; + "Five hundred!" now, succeeds "One Dollar, please!" + And germs, in league with doctors, have their station + At vital points to force inoculation, + So that our Systems pay a pretty price + For ev'ry nostrum, ev'ry fake device + Known to the School of Quacks: and so we suffer + Imposed upon by patentee and duffer. + O, for a Moses! That's our crying need-- + To cure Physicians of unbridled greed + And probe, no matter where it hurts, the cause + Of Doctors' strange immunity from laws. + O! for an instrument--an act or sermon-- + Of Moses' kind--to cut the germ from German! + And lead them from the Wilderness of Vice + Whose hearts were warm but now have turned to ice! + + All these and many more increase the lustre + Distinguishing this brilliant Jewish cluster. + And Abraham? We save him for the last, + Tho first in line, renowned Iconoclast. + Of all the Israelites, the men of mark, + Who else compares with this grand Patriarch? + And who besides, of all the racial roots, + Developed half the lusty leaves and shoots, + Strong limbs and branches, virile seed? _some_ trunk! + The Ark, with all this luggage, would have sunk! + And so 'twere well the Deluge didst o'erwhelm + The Earth, ere this, with Noah at the helm, + Else to preserve the chosen and elite + Of Israel's line would needs have taxed a fleet. + + I love these ancient tribesmen who illumine + The Archives of the Past: they were so human! + Their frailties were but habits of the Race + Since Father Adam set the human pace + Hitched up with Eve who, chafing at the bit, + Did well her part or bit, in spite of it. + But all their mortal weaknesses were nil + Compared with virtues that their Records fill; + And good or bad, or medium or fair, + No Tribe excelled their morals anywhere. + They freely gave their tithes, but did it pay + To advertise their wealth? a give away! + And so their pockets have been worn and frayed + By frequent contributions they have made + To Charity and Church. I hope and pray + They've saved a little for a rainy day! + I think they have! for Money talked,--confessed + That Hebrews were the ones he liked the best, + Because they never slighted or abused him, + And always were so careful how they used him. + + And so, O Sons of Abraham, I say + You've come into your own and come to stay! + The Promised Land is yours, but what is more, + The Earth and Seas and Skies with all their store. + You wandered from Judea, but why care? + Because your home is here as well as there; + And we would miss you just as much, I vum, + As those who wait you in Capernaum; + For Broadway would despair and sackcloth don + If you should leave New York for Ascalon. + + No more, thank God! will Infidels profane + Jerusalem. For centuries the stain + Of Turkish rule has laid its unclean hand + Upon the Altars of the Holy Land. + But now the Prophet's promise is fulfilled, + And Jews and Gentiles are rejoiced and thrilled + As Men of Allenby, God's Sword, restore + The Holy City: _yours_ forevermore. + + + + +ENGLAND + + + O, Mighty Atlas, thou hast borne the load + Of hapless peoples smarting from the goad + Of Tyranny, until thy giant strength + Seems overtaxed and doomed to break at length. + Unless thy vim endures with steadfast force; + Unless thy Ship of State keeps on its course; + Unless thou gird thy loins and stand astride, + Colossus-like, the struggles that betide-- + While all the Furies strive, the Turk and Hun, + To sap thy power--undo what thou hast done-- + Of what avail will all thy efforts be + Against the tottering walls of Tyranny? + And to what purpose will have lived thy men + Who won imposing fame with sword or pen? + And what, I pray, will all thy thousands slain + Avail thy Empire if they've died in vain? + + + + +PREPAREDNESS + + + The Ostrich has his wings, but not for flight; + He flies _on foot_ when danger is in sight; + His mate lays eggs upon the desert reaches + And "sands" them over when the leopard screeches. + The eggs, thus mounded, fall an easy prey + To feline foragers who slink that way. + The Ostrich, thus, guards not his nest: instead + He hides, in burning sands, his shameless head + And lets his monoplane and rudder be + Stripped of their plumage by an enemy. + + Ostriches should Carry + Their Eggs in a Basket + And use their Feathers + For Dusting over the Desert. + + The Squirrel is quite a different kind of fowl: + He works while others sleep, the sly old owl! + And stores up food, against the rainy day, + In secret nooks, from forest thieves away. + When winter comes, or when besieged by foes, + Securely housed he feasts and thumbs his nose + And ridicules starvation: he's immune! + While others, shiftless, sing another tune. + The Squirrel, you see, is much misfortune spared + In times of stress because he is prepared. + + Improvident Nuts + Should Tear a Leaf + From the Squirrel's Diary. + + A Heifer on the Railroad Crossing stood + Chewing Contentment's Cud, as heifers should,-- + When, rushing madly, "late again," there came + The Noonday Mail. The Heifer was to blame + For choosing her position, I would say, + Because the Engine had the Right of Whey. + The Cow was unprepared! Her switching tail + Failed signally to flag the Noonday Mail. + But why keep beefing over milk that's spilled? + She heeded not the sign and thus was killed. + + Heifers with Unprotected + Flanks should not Invite + Rear-guard Actions. + + The Busy Bee improves the shining hours + And gathers honey from the fragrant flowers. + When Winter comes, forsaking field and rill, + He _hivernates_, but lives in clover still. + While Famine stalks without, his Home, _Sweet_ Home + Is stored with tempting food from floor to dome. + + He never lacks, nor has to buy, but cells + His surplus food gleaned from the flower-fringed dells. + A thrifty fellow is the Busy Bee + And fortified against Emergency. + + A Bee's Ears + Contain no Wax + And he Saves his Combings + Against the Baldness of Old Age. + + The Mule is well equipped but lacks the _mind_; + His strategy is in his heels, behind. + If pointed wrong, his practice is not dreaded, + But kick he will, no matter how he's headed. + With foresight lacking, hindsight to the fore, + He'll be just simple Mule forevermore; + Without the range or sight he'll blaze away + And thwart his purpose with his brazen bray. + If well-directed effort were his cult + No fortress could withstand his catapult. + + A Mule should Conserve + His Ammunition and + Not Shoot-off his Mouth. + + The Burglar, have you noticed? never troubles + To look for petty loot in obscure hovels. + He packs his kit and steals adown the road + To Gaspard Moneybags' renowned abode. + He knows the house-plan ("inside" dope, no + doubt) + And when he's _in_, old Moneybags is _out_. + But Jimmy does not dent the window-sash; + He enters _thru the door_ and gets the cash. + Prepared? Well, yes! He knew just where to look, + For Nora hung the key upon the hook. + + Team-work is + The Handmaiden + Of Efficiency. + + It pays to be Prepared, you see, and so + The Snail in Armored Car goes safe, tho' slow; + And Alligators in their Coats of Mail + Withstand assaults where those, defenceless, fail. + The Tortoise totes his Caripace around + And dwells in safety where his foes abound; + While Wasps, with poisoned javelins, defend + Successfully their offspring to the _end_. + A Sheep with ramparts has no thought of fear, + But guards his buttress when his foes appear, + And any Skunk can frighten and harass + An Army with Asphyxiating Gas. + + + + +THE FUGITIVE KISS + + + How I loved her! There on the gate we'd lean, + (The dear, old gate that never gave away + The loving nothings we were wont to say) + From day to day, + And sometimes after dark; + She was my Angel-Sweetheart, just sixteen. + + But I was shy! And while I longed to taste + The nectar of her lips, I was afraid + To draw her to my breast and kiss the Maid: + But I essayed! + And this is what I drew-- + "There's Papa with the bulldog, so make haste!" + + What could I do? The "bark" was flecked with foam, + And old man Jones was meaner than a cur; + So there I stood 'twixt fear, and love of her + And didn't stir + Until they came: and then + I kissed them _all_ Good-bye and _beat it home_. + + + + +_NEW_ MEXICAN NATIONAL ANTHEM + + + My Country vast and grand, + Sweet Montezuma Land, + My Stingareé. + Land of the Knife and Gun, + Villa and Scorpion; + Land of the Evil One + I weep for thee! + + Smallpox and Rattlesnakes + Lurk in thy Cactus brakes, + And Yellow Jack. + Spiders and Centipedes + Gloat o'er thy murd'rous deeds: + To cure thy crying needs, + Call Diaz back. + + Tarantula and Flies + Poison your lands and skies: + Behold your graves! + Carranza's waving beard + By Pancho's Band is feared, + And will be till he's sheared + Or dyes or shaves. + + Horned Toads and Vampire Bats, + Gilas and Mountain Cats, + Where'er you go! + + Buzzards and Vultures reign + Over a million slain; + And Mescal is the bane + Of Mexico. + + O, Land of Chili con + Carne and Obregon, + Let murders cease! + Keep Freedom's fires aglow + Where La Frijólés grow; + Throw up your Sombrero + And Keep the Peace! + + + + +LOVE + + +I + + Love is the Mecca of our Heart's Desire: + We worship at its shrine and feel its thrill; + Burning our Hopes upon its Altar Fire + Till Passion be consumed, but not until. + + +II + + Then Love assumes a calmer mood, when spent-- + His quiver empty and his bow unstrung-- + And peers into the pleasing Past, content + To live, unmoved, his memories among. + + + + +STRONGARM'S WATERLOO + + + _Some_ drive! From tee to green in one: par, three! + That's putting proper English on, you see! + And, Goodness Golfus! See the ball roll up + To easy putting distance from the cup. + Who is this man? Professional, no doubt! + He'll "card" a thirty-seven going out; + And if he gets the "breaks" he'll make, methinks, + A new low record for the Piedmont Links. + See with what confidence he wends his way + The Fairway thru to make his hole out play! + The Gallery, expectant, follows thru + To see the Champion go down in _two_. + Then to the ball he makes his last address, + (The ball was peeved at what he said, I guess) + And pulls his gooseneck back a foot or so + Before he hits the sphere the fateful blow. + Alas for human frailty! See it flit + Across the green into the sandy pit! + The sighing winds, in protest, moaned Beware! + While he invoked the Deity in prayer. + And then he played his third, but topped the sphere, + The Rubber Rogue responding with a leer. + + A halo hung around the Stranger's head + It seemed: but, nay! 'twas brimstone fire instead, + For what he said, in type is not displayed + Except on fire-proof paper, I'm afraid. + + Four! Five! Six! But still far from the goal! + The Player loses all his self-control + And breaks the "goose" in twain: then hark the din, + When Caddie trails the ball and _kicks it in_! + + Far from the scene of strife the Club House becks + The weary Golfers on their inward treks; + And close beside, beneath the porch's shade, + The Nineteenth hole dispenses lemonade + And other cheering drinks, within the law; + But little ice that cuts: who cares a straw? + + + + +THE SPIRIT OF FRANCE + + + Yes! I've done my bit, as you fellows would say, + If serving one's country deserves any praise: + Two years at the front, then an arm shot away! + And this is my "cross" in reward for those days. + But I can do more! While there's blood in my veins + I'll give the last drop, while the hoof of the Hun + Polluted and cloven in Alsace remains: + Until France is free we must fight: every one! + + Of course I'll go back to the trenches again: + My wound is fast healing and soon will be sound; + Six chevrons have I, but I'll fight with the men + Who fill up the shell-holes like moles in the ground. + I'll charge with the Boys when they hurdle the top, + The Tri-color lashed to my half-useless arm, + With pistol or sword in my hand, till I drop: + For Freedom is menaced: Go sound the alarm! + + France needs every son, be they crippled or strong, + To rid our fair land of the murderous horde: + So flock to the Colors, Brave Boys: come along! + And fight till the Glory of France is restored! + Our women are outraged, our children enslaved; + Up, Frenchmen! and strike till the last dying breath! + We can _never_ turn back, so be it engraved + On our spears and escutcheons,--_Vengeance or Death_! + + + + +WAR + + + Down by the village runs the stream + Once placid, now a raging flood: + Behold it, by the day's last gleam + Gorged with the dead and dyed with blood. + + The Chapel bell has tolled its last; + The trees are bare, tho this be Spring: + Death's shroud is on the village cast, + And Ruin reigns o'er everything. + + A grist of carnage clogs the Mill, + And shells have razed the quondam homes: + Fresh graves the trampled vineyards fill, + Whose cellars are but catacombs. + + Beyond the village, Refugees + Stand, herded, cowed by fear and grief, + Or, _gassed_, implore on bended knees + For death, despairing of relief. + + With bayonets and faces set + The Grenadiers, by L'Aiglon led, + Present a gruesome parapet,-- + Thus, _still defending_, tho they're dead. + + + + +SONG OF THE SAMSONS + + + We are Samsons, Biff! Boom! Bang! + Here to pot the Potsdam Gang. + If Bad Bill is found in Metz, + We'll not vouch for what he gets! + If in Essen he is caught, + Good Night! Kultur, Him und Gott! + Shades of Bismarck! Watch him faint + When he finds his Empire _ain't_! + + To our Sweethearts we said "Knit," + We must go and do our Bit! + How d'ye do, Pierrot? Pierrette? + We are friends of Lafayette! + Wait until our Drive begins,-- + Bill, you'll suffer for your sins! + Sick 'em, Prince! We'll tie the fuse + Onto Frederich Wilhelm's shoes. + + When we occupy Cologne-- + Phew! How big and strong you've grown! + We will paint each shop and lodge + With bright red in camouflage! + Then to Carlsbad we will swing; + Need the baths like everything! + Frauleins leave your fears behind; + We don't war on womankind! + + We are filled with fire and zeal: + Watch us pick the locks to Kiel! + We are coming to our own + In Lorraine across the Rhone! + When our Flocks of Eaglets fly-- + Dunder! Blitzen! Bill, Good-bye! + Beaks of Steel and Claws of Lead-- + Sun eclipsed! The Geezer's dead. + + CHORUS + + O, you U Boats, + That for U! + We slipped thru you; + How d'y' do? + Hindenberg? Ach, let him rant! + He won't stop us _'cause he can't_! + Zepps and Taubs are falling down; + Butcher Bill will lose his crown; + Watch your step, you Horrid Hun, + You can't _goosestep_ when you _run_! + + Hooray for the crimson, white and blue! + 'Rah for Old Glory! _Chapeau bas vous!_ + 'Rah for the Tri-Color! We're at home + In _la belle_ France by the _eau de_ Somme; + Hooray for our Allies true and brave! + We'll all sweep thru like a tidal wave + Over the _top_ in a mighty Drive-- + And never stop while the HUNDS survive! + + + + +SIX DAYS + + + O, the comfort we feel + When we finish a meal + Consisting of rice cakes and whey; + Because beyond question + There's no indigestion + At the end of a Meatless day. + + When the "buck" dough doth rise + From y'East to the skies + And hot griddled pancakes--oh, say! + With sausages frying + There's no use denying + Your welcome, O Wheatless day. + + When the house is afrost + Without fuel: its cost + Is more than we're able to pay: + With our hearts all aglow + We can thaw ice or snow + Making light of a Heatless day. + + When there's discord with wife + There's a shadow on life + That once was so sunny and gay; + But billing and cooing + Subordinate stewing + At the end of a Sweetless day! + + When will beefsteak and ham + Not be sold by the gram? + How long will these high prices stay? + When the bad Profiteers + Show contrition and tears + At the dawn of a Cheatless day. + + When our Soldiers in France + Do their Indian dance + And scalp all the Huns in the fray, + The Kaiser will holler, + With rope for a collar, + At the end of his Ruthless day! + + + + +A PROTEST + + + While now 'tis meet to eat fish, eggs and maize, + _Vice_ meat and wheat whene'er we dine or sup, + So be it! but this protest I would raise-- + In spite of warnings--veal keeps bobbing up! + + + + +A PRAYER + + + O Sun and Skies, that Hoover o'er our Fields + Where Grains implanted lie, and Silos stand,-- + Pour out thy Warmth and Rains till Hunger yields + Thruout the World to our blest _Fodder_land! + + + + +SINCE THE LITTLE ONE CAME + + + I seem to have taken a new lease on life + Since the little one came; + I've lost the old grouch, and I say to my wife, + Do you think I'm to blame + Because I have changed in my feelings towards you + Since the Little One came? + The furnace, 'tis true, gave me something to do, + But I think it a shame + That some tiny tie like the Little One here + (How is Snooks for a name?) + Was not sooner left on our doorstep, my dear! + + The Store takes my time, but a very small part,-- + It's all over at four! + I've cut Clancy's out and have made a new start; + All my cronies are sore! + But what do I care? I have mended my ways, + So I rush from the Store + And hasten back home where the Little One plays + On the ruggèd hall floor, + And pick him up quick (O, how pretty he looks!) + Without shutting the door; + So anxious I am to caress little _Snooks_. + + The chafing-dish chafes and the Joy-car is sore; + We have given them up! + The Two-step and Bridge are tabooed evermore; + There is Joy in our Cup! + We've cut out the movies and dining about + For our own modest sup; + And billiards and golfing, I've cut them both out! + As I did to the Hup. + With playthings and drum (and a ruppy, tup, tup!) + Loaded up like a Krupp, + I beat it to Snooky,--our _English Bull Pup_. + + + + +RUN ALONG, LITTLE GIRL! + + + Run along, Little Girl! for it's bed-time now: + Your Dollies are sleepy and poor old Bow-wow + Is weary and lonesome, curled up in a heap-- + 'Twould take little rocking to put him to sleep! + Your Teddy Bear's growling: or is it a snore? + Perhaps he objects to his bed on the floor? + So pick up your treasures and when prayers are said-- + Run along, Little Girl, and climb in to bed! + + Run along, Little Girl! The Sandman is here; + You've crowded too much into one day, I fear! + Poor, little, tired Girlie, you've worked at your play + Till the bloom of your cheeks has faded away. + To-morrow, again, you can sit by the fire + And dress all your Dollies in gala attire. + Say, Good Night! to your thimble, needle and seams; + Run along, Little Girl, and sweet be your dreams! + + Run along, Little Girl, and cover up tight! + There's nothing to harm you, no spooks in the night + Nor Bogeymen glaring when you are awake; + For they're _bad_ little girls that Bogeymen take. + + To-morrow Bow-wow can be hitched to your sled + And draw you to Grandma's to see Piggie fed; + No harm can befall you when Mother is near; + Run along, Little Girl, and God bless you, Dear! + + + + +A RETROSPECT + + + Picture a Home with love aglow and laughter + Reverberating from each joist and rafter; + A sweet-faced Mother kissing you "Good Night"! + With "Go to sleep! lest Santa Claus take fright + And dashes by--leaving no books or toys + For naughty, wide-eyed, little girls and boys." + Then see her tip-toe down the stairs, and trim + The tree--a toy on ev'ry outstretched limb; + The rocking-horse and wagon at the base, + And candy-stockings in the big fireplace: + For thus we retrospect to show, no other + Would scheme and work and "fabricate" like Mother + To make our Christmas Day a grand fruition, + And keep the secret of its sweet tradition. + + + + +THE EAGLE SCREAMS + + + We have arrived! America is First! + Here Freedom cradled; here its pæan burst + Upon the ears of nations, near and far + Till Light of Freedom is the Guiding Star + Thruout the world; though Thraldom still obscures + The Guiding Star where Tyranny endures. + 'Twas ever thus till Boston's "Reb" array + Upset King George's teapot in the Bay, + And Pegasus, whom we Revere, astride + His high-bred hobby, warned the countryside. + Before that time the Briton played the game + Of _pour la tea_ or Golf (its proper name). + With confidence and brassie nerve, methinks, + Until they struck a Bunker on our links + That thwarted all their prowess--'pon my soul! + And left them groggy at the nineteenth hole. + But still they puttered 'round and drank our rum + Till Washington's avenging time had come; + When, with his army, steeled at Valley Forge, + He, George the First, uncrowned the other George, + And all the "red-breasts," from our eyries shooed + Where now the Bird of Freedom guards his brood. + + + + +THE SERVICE STAR + + + The stars are agleam in their azurine field, + Diffusing effulgence afar; + But magnitude, lustre and fixedness yield + To the glorious Service Star. + + In aureate setting, a pendant aglare, + Is the radiant Service Star; + That blazes with fire like a rare solitaire, + A gift to the Valkyr of War. + + Protect thou our treasure, O, Valkyr! Restore + Our Jewel so priceless! and bar + From Valhalla's Dungeons, where Death's torrents pour, + Our sanctified Service Star! + + + + +SOME DAY + + + Some day when the war is ended + And we sail from France away, + With sorrow and longings blended, + Back home to America; + And we live once more in Blighty + A thousand years in a day, + In the Land of God Almighty + Where the Old Folks watch and pray: + Some day, when we hit the pillow + Again on a box-spring bed, + As snug as an armadillo + With his shell-protected head; + When bugles refrain from tooting, + And noises of battle stop; + When victory ends recruiting, + Or charging Over the Top: + _Some_ day! when we're thru with fighting + And the beaten Hun retreats; + When the Cooties cease from biting + And we sleep between the sheets! + + + + +THE CRUISE OF THE SEA SERPENT + + + And now behold the Merchant Submarine! + Only its peeking periscope is seen, + But what a cyclorama it reveals + To those below! Thru surging seas it steals + And vies with dolphins, porpoises and sharks + To keep apace with brigantines and barks; + And, tho itself unseen, it's proud to show + To what low depths a submarine can go. + The Cyclops sees as well by night as day; + Its father, Neptune, gives it right of way: + Amphibious, it rides the Ocean's crest, + Or in its sunken Gardens takes its rest. + This new-type boat we designate as It + Because no other pronoun seems to fit. + No water-laden craft could be a He, + Nor one unspoken could be rated She. + The Germans call it _unter_: O. U. Cargo! + They aim to close the bar on the embargo. + Beneath the waves no lurching doth it feel + But speeds its course upon an even keel. + With duplex engines and a double crew, + (It's "manned" by mermaids when it's hid from view). + It scoffs at dangers, tho they lurk around, + And shuts its _eye_ to perils that abound. + There's scant spare space, but still its ribs enfold + A priceless cargo in its shallow hold. + Past hostile ships into a neutral haven, + It comes up smiling with all flags a wavin'. + + But now these "Cargo Craft" throw off disguise + And cut our neutral throats: it's no surprise + That dastards, who as "scraps of paper" rate + Their solemn Treaties, would thus lie in wait + And murder innocents without emotion, + Making a shambles of the outraged Ocean. + Now lashed to fury, see the waves rebel + And sweep these Prussian Pirates down to Hell! + No longer neutral the Avenging Sword + Is in our hands to smite the Hun-hound horde. + The God of Joshua, in righteous wrath + Will, in its flight thru empyrean path, + Command the Sun to stop: it is His will! + Till _Kultur_ be effaced--and not until. + + + + +AMERICA + + + America, Crusader in the Cause + Of Liberty, before thy shrine we pause + And offer grateful prayer that thou art Right + In making demonstration of thy Might. + Without a thought of Conquest doth thou draw + Thine honored sword for Liberty and Law, + That Nations of a common tongue, tho weak, + May gain the Peace with Freedom that they seek; + And occupy again, when battles cease, + Their places in the Firmament of Peace. + Fight on! Defender of the Cause! till Truth + Shall banish Tyranny and Wars forsooth, + And throttle _Kultur_ and its godless School, + Till Teutons, purged, obey the Golden Rule! + + + + +LIFE AND LOVE + + + Life is the Echo of the Buried Past; + A Soul reclaimed, an Atom born anew: + Its fire burns on, tho flickering at the last, + And finds its grand fulfillment, Love, in you. + + + + +LIFE IN DEATH + + + Why should we dread the Messenger of Death? + Who comes as friend when sufferings beset, + And gives surcease of pain with final breath + So that Life leaves, rejoiced, without regret. + + + + +GERMANY + + + O, Hun, from what low beast didst thou descend? + That thou shouldst have the lust to kill and rend; + The bestial passion to enjoy the groans + Of suffering victims, while you crunch their bones + Or gouge their eyes, that mutely plead in vain + For quick oblivion and ease from pain? + Of ponderous cast and savage mien, what teat, + With Hatred filled and Passion's fiery heat, + Reared thee more wolf than man? ill-bred,--a curse + To thine own kind, and to the Universe! + + + + +ITALY + + + Italians, hold! Rienzi pleads again + Against the Tyrants: hold if ye be men! + Let not the foe despoil your fertile lands + Or wrest historic treasures from your hands! + Guard well your daughters! Shield your budding sons! + Lest they be maimed or murdered by the Huns. + Soldiers of Italy, would ye be slaves + To Teuton hordes? Behold the sacred graves + Of Garibaldi and your martyred dead + Who made ye Freemen! Wouldst be slaves instead? + The Alpine Passes that were yours are lost; + Your Northern Rivers have been reached and crossed; + Hold, Romans, hold! Halt further Teuton gains, + And drive their looting legions from your plains! + Hold! Men of Italy! Your wall of steel + Can save fair Venice from the Despot's heel: + Hold! Every man! for Honor, Country, Home-- + And for the Glory of Eternal Rome! + + + + +MARY IS MERRY NO MORE + + + The Lamb that accompanied Mary + Without aid of cudgel or rope, + Was raised by her sire Elder Berry, + And washed with dioxygen soap. + + Its fleece, like the linen-spread table, + Was snow-white: the lambkin was prized + And kept from the sheep in the stable + Who never were deodorized. + + The lamb had a yearning for knowledge, + And schoolward would follow the lass + Till she was admitted to college, + A graduate out of his class. + + Then sheep-eyes were made by the teacher, + And Mary was quick to decide + 'Twixt him and the poor, woolly creature + Who made lambentations and died. + + She married her Teacher,--a lesson! + Dyspeptic and old, he's a fright! + Her thoughts fail of fitting expression, + So she lams her own kids just for spite. + She looks at her spouse with deep loathing, + And sighs for her dead quadruped, + And wishes the "wolf in sheep's clothing"-- + + Her husband, were dead in his stead. + Alas, lass! You've forded the ferry; + Your tombstone was graven for two; + The lamb, chiseled there, stands for Mary, + And the _Old English_ MARY for yew. + The lamb reached the end of his tether + When Mary ascended on High, + But surely, in spite of the wether, + They'll meet in the Sweet Bye-and-Bye. + + + + +I SHOT AN ARROW + + + I shot an arrow: how it sang! + It was a poisoned arrow! + And when it turned, a boomerang, + It chilled me to the marrow. + + I know not where the arrow struck, + And care but little whether + It came straight back or ran amuck + Upon the near-by heather. + + But _this_ I know; however fast + The arrow homeward scurried, + My getaway was unsurpassed-- + For, Goodness, how I hurried! + + + + +FIXING THE BLAME + + + The almost-King of Verdun, still uncrowned, + Wearied of _driving_, walked the ramparts 'round + To see his father, Mr. William Kaiser, + Who was to him an Oracle and wiser. + "O Sire! Inform me! Tell your first-born son, + Who caused the War, and why it was begun? + Who slipped the leash, and what was the excuse + For turning Europe's rabid War Dogs loose? + Did you? Or was it Cousin George, or Nick + Who stacked the cards and played the dirty trick? + Or was it Joe, or Ferdinand, or Grey + Who sawed the bridge and pulled the props away?" + + "My Son, I swear by all the periscopes + And Zeppelins to which I pin my hopes; + By all the Ocean Sharks and Bats a-sky, + By Gott-in-Himmel! As I hope to die, + _I'm_ not to blame! I didn't use the spurs, + Or try to overwork Geographers! + I fought for Peace, and ne'er defiance hurled, + Altho' the Fatherland _should_ rule the world. + But here's the truth: a secret I'll disclose! + A stranger 'twas who made us come to blows! + It happened thus: a mighty Nimrod came + From Afric wilds, where he had played the game + Until his cudgel bore a hundred nicks, + (A record this for all Prodigious Sticks) + To Germany. No pussyfoot was his, + But there was courage in his Nobel phiz; + And in his stride were energy and grace + Enough to make the goose-step commonplace. + I took him to my Palace, as my guest, + And poured libations from the cellar's _best_, + (He was a _certified_ non-drinker--See? + So just accord this proper secrecy!) + And then arranged to hold a Grand Review + Of all my Armies and Reservists too. + 'De-lighted!' said my guest, and nothing more, + As we reviewed my legions corps by corps; + But this blunt comment signified his zeal, + And so I mobilized my fleet at Kiel; + And on my Royal Yacht, my guest and I + Watched the maneuvres as my ships passed by. + 'De-lighted, Bill!' the Hardy Hunter shouted-- + 'With such a fleet I'd have the whole world routed; + And with your armies I would soon disperse + The Fighting Units of the Universe!' + Such praise was pleasing to my ears, altho + My Wasps and Devil-fish I didn't show: + I deemed it best to _meld_ this 'hundred aces' + When all my ships and men were in their places. + Had he seen _these_, I knew he would advise + The conquest of the Earth and Seas and Skies: + But, Shades of Bismarck! _that_, you understand + Might prove a strain upon the Fatherland. + And so I kept the Peace, but thought about + The many martial plans we figured out; + And how the cost of my Frontier Defences + Compared with his proposed campaign expenses. + You see, Mein Heir, this man was full of guile + And caused the War: this Bey of Oyster Isle. + He hypnotized me: put it in my mind + To be the Potentate of all Mankind! + So blame me not! The fault I must disown, + And put the guilt on Theodore alone! + Whatever comes anon, I'm not whipped yet! + And with it all, I have but one regret-- + That _he_ was not impressed to lead my drive + To Petersburg to take the Czar alive; + And then, a Marshal, ordered to Paree + To capture it and bring it back to me; + Then take my fleet, the English Channel over + And put King George to rout and bombard Dover; + And then supplant the Sultan, take his Fez + And lead my peerless Forces to Suez. + While _you_ have failed, and Hindenburg and Mack, + _He_ never fizzles when he makes attack. + See what I've missed! for, _see what he has done_! + And yet his vast campaign is just begun. + He leads his Legions, Bull Moose, Calf and Cow + To capture a Convention _even now_." + + * * * * * + + An orderly approached the Royal Pair + Just at this stage and left despatches there. + He stood at close attention, hand to head, + While this absorbing cablegram was read-- + "Outflanked and captured; resignation tendered; + Mooses dehorned and all the herd surrendered! + Am looking for another job already,-- + Would take the German Presidency--Teddy." + + * * * * * + + The Kaiser turned, looked at the Prince and wept, + While noxious gases o'er the bulwarks crept. + + + + +LOVE'S RECOMPENSE + + + "Do you really, truly love me, with a love that mocks at Fate?" + Cried the rustic, buxom maiden to her lover at the gate; + "Yes, my Pet! And when Dame Fortune smiles upon us we will wed; + I will strew your path with roses: Bear me witness, Gods o'erhead!" + Thus he spake unto his sweetheart, under Heaven's starry blue, + And the angels, smiling on him, heard his vow to "e'er be true." + Then he placed his arms around her--kissed her: they were in a trance! + And two _soles_ toward Heav'n were lifted as the bulldog grabbed his + pants. + + + + +ADAM'S ALE + + + Come, Comrades, gather 'round the festal board + And quaff the sparkling Water from the gourd! + _This_ is the drink that Adam's Tribe imbibed + Before the Wines of Gath were diatribed. + (Methinks some other brand was drunk by Cain + The day that Abel ruthlessly was slain.) + And won, against all other potions there, + The First White Ribbon at the Gaza Fair. + You'll never know, until you take a sip + Its power to soothe, and cool the fevered lip. + Had Noah _stuck to_ water he would shine + As undisputed Master of the Brine. + The Water-wagon that he launched, at first + Steered Noah straight but didn't cure his thirst: + So when he _spoke_ the Ararat Café + He soon fell off,--his rudder washed away. + But wallward turn the picture you're beholding + And hang more cheerful paintings on the moulding! + Behold a _watercolor_ of eclat! + This, fair Rebecca had the skill to _draw_: + She stands beside the well and plies the sweep, + While sweat and blushes o'er her features creep. + Such grace and poise, such strength and skill, + Such sweeping gestures and unbending will + Are indices of Abstinence complete; + (We can't abstain from loving you, Petite!) + Upon her head she rests the dripping urn + And goes straight home: she doesn't _dare_ to turn! + Don't stumble, Miss! Or suffer teasing boys + To cause derangement of your equipoise! + But keep your head and waver not at all + Lest you be deluged by the waterfall! + So daily to the pool Rebecca strayed + And drank the water, when she didn't wade: + And thus her framework waxed like iron; I trust + 'Twas ne'er assailed or undermined by rust. + So, fill the gourd and pass it to your friend! + It's Safety First and safety to the end. + No headaches lurk within, no tinge of sorrow, + No dark forebodings or remorse to-morrow! + And furthermore, it isn't hard to take: + If you've not tried it, _do_, for Mercy's sake! + Behold the Oaken Bucket, hanging high, + By Bards and Singers lauded to the sky. + It never touched, in all its useful days, + A thing but water. Here fair Psyche plays + Beside the spring that mirrors all her graces. + (Would you object to _water in_ such cases?) + Now mark the fate befalling Jack and Jill + Because they slipped and let the water spill; + And see poor Tantalus for water crying, + Thus punished for his sins,--athirst and dying! + And note this "Titian," called "The Drunkard's Fate," + In which the crimson hues predominate. + He holds the lamp-post in his close embrace + And has a package from Pat Murphy's place + To carry home. His eyes are red and dim, + So close the bar and turn the hose on him! + This drink was ever priceless, yet it's free; + The Source and Fountain of Sobriety; + And so we offer without bar or price + Enough of THIS to put your thirst on ice. + So drink to WATER, while the billows swell: + The World wants Prohibition--and all's WELL! + + + + +RUSSIA + + + Canst Thou, in all this babel, build aright + Freedom's Palladium? The long, black night + That, ages thru, hath dimmed your yearning eyes + And dulled your minds, still hovers o'er your skies. + A rift there was, disclosing to your view + The Dawn of Day, but then the darkness grew + Yet more intense, as if the Sun rebelled + At such a cheerless greeting and withheld + Its Light. And now again Night reigns supreme, + But just beyond the Day is all agleam. + + + + +BELGIUM + + + Sad-eyed and weary, Thou must suffer more, + Until thy supermen have paid the score + For outraged daughters, murdered sons and wives; + For ravaged homesteads, and brave soldiers' lives. + Be not dismayed! Altho your Cup of Woe + Is full to overflowing from the blow; + Tho Justice seems indifferent to your prayer, + And ruin stalks about you everywhere. + The day of reckoning is near at hand, + When Justice will restore your pillaged Land, + And Vengeance will unsheath its righteous blade + And flay the Teutons till your score is paid. + + + + +OUR FRIENDS ACROSS THE STREET + +(To S. and W. A.) + + + When we're tired of reading essays, + Tho they be a mental treat; + When we're bored by social callers, + Be they ever so elite; + When we crave some relaxation + Or the Foursome's incomplete, + We S. O. S. or telephone + To our Friends across the Street. + + When our larder needs renewing + Or our ice succumbs to heat; + When the signs of Drought are brewing + 'Cause our "stock" is incomplete; + And our chairs are insufficient + When we have some guests to seat, + Why, we just go out and borrow + From our Friends across the Street. + + When we're worried or in trouble, + And our projects meet defeat; + When our prospects seem quite hopeless,-- + Life seems bitter that was sweet; + When we lose our nerve and falter + 'Cause the rough way wounds our feet, + We can always find sweet comfort + In our Friends across the Street. + + When we end, at last, our journey + And the saintly Peter greet, + Or descend to Realms Infernal + Where the Goats, rejected, bleat, + We would never feel contented, + Whether mixed with Chaff or Wheat, + If we couldn't be together + With our Friends across the Street. + + + + +EPITAPHS + + + I left this Vale of Tears to gain repose, + And change, for Harp and Wings, my worldly clothes; + There's no redress, so if I _fall_ from grace + I'll be quite cool enough for _either_ place. + + Wed + Bled + Fled + Dead + Nufsed + + Go not the way I went, O Mortal Man! + But follow out a more successful plan, + Lest you, as I am now, remorseful be + For imitating U. S. Currency. + + For forty cents an hour I slaved + At Delpont's Powder Mills; + And all the money that I saved + Scarce paid my funeral bills. + + Erected to our father is this stone: + He couldn't leave the whiskey flask alone; + To Spirit World he vanished from our sight; + We hope he's very snug, and _know_ he's tight. + + Above the clouds I sojourn now, + The twinkling stars between, + Because I tried to figure how + To cook with gasolene. + + I'm _dead_ all right, but not quite _all right_ dead, + For schemes of vengeance hurtle thru my head; + My wife eloped, a cheating chicken she; + Forsook her nest, and then flew back to me + With all her brood: I love her as I useter + But I'm a-laying for that other Rooster. + + I followed Father with the rake + The day he scythed the clover; + So _green_, he cut _me_, by mistake + And my heydays were over. + + Here sleeps, at last, our little baby Yorick! + _We_ couldn't make him _without paregoric_. + + I'm not averse to being dead, + But this I do despise,-- + To have a tombstone at my head + Inscribed with blooming lies: + "A faithful spouse, a parent kind; + Alas, too soon he went!" + + But this is all they had in mind-- + To get my last red cent. + + Assembled here my Wife is, Helen Nation: + 'Twas gasoline that caused the separation, + Which shows how very short the mortal lease is,-- + I think 'twas lucky to have saved the pieces! + + Here let me rest without a sigh or tear, + I've learned my lesson--not to interfere! + If I could live my mortal life agin + I'd be a pussyfoot and not butt in. + + My Mother, famous for her pies + Lies buried 'neath this shaft; + I wonder if, in Paradise, + She still pursues her craft? + She'll be too much engrossed, 'twould seem, + In picking on the lyre + To give attention to a scheme + To bake without a fire. + But if perchance she had the dough + And couldn't make it rise, + I'm sure she'd know just where to go + To look for _heat_ supplies. + + He called me "Liar!" Like a flash + My honor I defended, + Until his razor cut a gash + So deep, that I was ended. + If I could live my life again + I'd not invite an issue + But say, when villified, Amen! + And thus preserve my tissue. + + + + +THE CONQUEST OF THE SUN + + + The Morning Sun, with golden dart, + Crept to Milady's bed; + And as he drew the screens apart + A halo crowned her head. + + Such radiance he'd never viewed; + Enraptured, he surveyed + Her virgin charms: beatitude! + He stooped and kissed the maid. + + Entranced because her splendor seemed + To dazzle as it shone, + He conjured all his wiles and beamed + Her burning cheeks upon. + + And then she woke, Milady fair, + Enchanted by his art, + To find, 'midst fires a slumb'ring there, + His dart had pierced her heart. + + And so the Morning Sun can gain + Milady when he tries, + But Midnight Sons must lose, 'tis plain, + Because they're late to rise. + + + + +OWED TO A ROACH + + + O, Thou, who thru the sink doth blithely go; + (O, Little Roach, how could you _sink_ so low?) + Who pipeth all your kin from kitchens near + Wherever crumbs of comfort may appear; + Who layeth siege, in mural cracks or trenches, + Where grease spots lure or rampant be the stenches; + Who hideth in the dough when bread is rising,-- + I ask you to a Feast, of my devising,-- + To eat these _powders_, 'round the plumbing placed, + Until your glutted carcass be effaced. + O, Little Roach, if you would selfish be + And not "ring in" your whole fool family, + We'd tolerate you: nay, a pet would make you + If you'd not scamper all our pie and cake thru! + + + + +THE MOODS OF THE WINDS + + + O, Breezes of Spring! + How they rollick and ring + With delight as they sing + Like birds on the wing. + + O, Zephyrs of May! + With your balm and bouquet; + How you gladden the day + Like Fairies at play. + + O, Winds of the Fall! + How they thrill and enthrall, + How they hurtle and call + With shrill caterwaul. + + O, Winter's bleak Breath! + How it freezes and saith + To the ice-vested wraith, + "Thou'rt shrouded in Death." + + + + +THE TOXIC TIPPET + + + 'Tis said that Mary, she of Reader note, + Was wrapped up in her lamb--her lambskin coat-- + E'en after his demise, beatified. + He served her well, and for his mistress dyed. + + Then Mary died, and took angelic form, + Because the lambskin (used to keep her warm) + Gave her the anthrax: what a cruel blow + To be thus snatched above from furbelow! + + + + +TWENTY-THIRD PSALM + + + My Shepherd careth for His flock: + Beneath a cloudless sky + In pastures green, by spring-cleft rock, + In luxury I lie. + + He brings contentment to my soul + And leads me to the Light, + By which I see the Heav'nly goal + From dismal depths of Night. + + Though Poverty attend my way + And sorrow fills my heart, + Thy Guidance will disaster stay, + So good and pure Thou art! + + Thou, in the presence of my foes, + Bestoweth favors rare, + And giveth pleasure and repose + In answer to my prayer. + + To such a Shepherd I will give + My everlasting love, + And glory in the Hope--to live + With Him, at last, Above. + + + + +FRIENDSHIP + + + True Friends are rare: who counts them by the score + Is blest indeed, for we have, seldom, more. + If we possess just one real, _trusting_ friend + Who shares our troubles, loyal to the end; + Who, when we fall, will help us to our feet; + Who finds with us contentment most complete; + Whose pocket-book and heart are open thrown + Whether we need affection or a loan, + And makes no record of the favor done, + But gives, with equal pleasure, either one-- + That's Friendship _true_! If I had twenty such, + With all their purses open to my touch, + And each disposed to "stake" me and forget + The circumstance and measure of the debt, + I'd soon be on the road to ease and plenty, + But wish I had _such_ friendships _more than twenty_. + + + + +PARAMOUNT PROBLEMS + + + Shall Women vote? Shall Demon Rum survive + Or be, thru Woman Suffrage, flayed alive? + These are the questions that engross the nation: + Shall Women vote or be kept on probation? + Are they not gentle, honest, sweet and kind? + A single missing virtue we can't find, + And yet we say--"Stay home and can the cherries! + You're far too frail and fine for statecraft worries! + The Sacred Home for you! Just 'tend your chicks! + You'd soil your hands to mix in Politics! + And then there's scrubbing, cooking and a few + Odd jobs besides: you couldn't ballot _too_!" + But how absurd! Fair Woman, in her wrath, + Will make our future course a thorny path: + Unless we meet her fairly in these matters, + She'll tear our senseless arguments to tatters, + And rule _both_ Home and State to suit herself, + Putting deceitful _man_ upon the shelf. + As sure as death or taxes, day or night, + She'll have the _vote_ without, or _with_ a fight; + And those of us who counsel Peace, as best, + Should not oppose and put her to the test; + And when she _gets_ the vote, by force or gift, + The clouds obscuring Temperance will lift; + For all the Wets will vanish, ev'ry one! + Evaporate like mists before the sun. + True, Women drink; it's foolish to deny it! + But not as men do--as a steady diet; + They'll take a punch, or sip a little claret, + But when it comes to liquor--they can't bear it. + And so we ask again--shall Women vote? + Shall men surrender to the petticoat + And give up all their freedom and their tipples + Just to return to Lacteal Life and Nipples? + The War is on! Nebraska bids defiance + To Rum Dispensers and the Booze Alliance: + Hereafter all our barley, wheat and corn + Will be quite unresponsive to the _horn_. + The _essence_ of the grain will be tabooed + And ev'ry seed accounted for as _food_. + No more will Barleycorn assail our vitals + Or be the Leader in our Song Recitals: + No more will Liquor check our ardent thirst, + And so we'll go from bad, perhaps, to worst. + If we must _eat_, perforce, and never rum it, + What will befall the man who has to gum it; + Whose teeth are absent and who food eschews, + Drawing his daily nourishment from booze; + Who can't obtain a single drop of gin + To comfort and sustain the man within? + Pleading for drinks, unheeded he'll grow wheezy, + But he'll improve his breath if he'll Speak Easy. + The Drunkard's fate would be a dreadful warning, + Who, having "opened" Riley's place each morning + Found, one cold dawn, the foot-rail gone and read-- + "Soft Drinks for Sale" where Schnapps was sold instead. + Picture his sorrow! See him pallid grow + When told the facts: a spectacle of woe! + Back to his wife he slinks: he couldn't face her! + Because he missed his usual "morning bracer." + The Place is sold: it's now a candy store + Where Schnapps will be dispensed _with_ evermore. + Good-bye, Old Demijohn; Decanters, too! + His life will empty be--and so are you! + Where once the Canteen flourished 'neath our flag, + Now Prohibition flags the soldier's jag; + And where Josephus keeps his arid log + The water-pitcher has succeeded grog. + Some Commonwealths already have the pluck + To ban, humanely, those who _chase the duck_; + And other States have punished Rum enough + To have compassion on the _boot-leg_ stuff. + Thus Prohibition grows: but so does wheat + And corn and rye: I wonder which will beat? + But what of Woman? Where's her rightful freedom? + They ought to have the vote, because we need 'em + To purge our land of drunkenness and crime + And save our striplings from the slough and slime. + Why _shouldn't_ Women vote? Perhaps they may! + Should Drunkards or Illiterates say nay? + Could citizens of foreign birth refuse + To give our Native Daughters what they choose? + Our Native Sons with chivalry invoke + Fair play for women,--freedom from the yoke; + And shouldn't other Freemen rise in flocks + To help our Women win the Ballot Box? + The trouble lies, not _here_, but with the Bosses + Who trade in graft and deal in _double crosses_. + The sooner we eliminate this class + The quicker will _full freedom_ come to pass. + But watch the Anti! Make her hold her tongue, + Or duck her in the pond, the geese among; + Or lock her in the booth, without a mirror, + Where she can't see herself and we can't hear her. + Thus, neck and neck, these two great questions lead: + Will men be equal to their Country's need? + If one Reform upon the other waits, + Speed Equal Suffrage to the White House gates, + + And Prohibition (Farewell, Dear old Liquor!) + Will follow as the tape pursues the ticker! + But if, perchance, the Dry's should get a trimmin', + _Smile_, if you please,--but don't _prohibit_ Women! + + + + +A REUNION + + + Once more, Good Friends, we're gathered 'round the board + To feel the joys of fellowship restored. + There's nothing like them! _Friends_ can't be replaced, + Nor thoughts of them from Memory be effaced! + Of course we form _new_ friendships, but I feel + That these, like _old_ ones, are not staunch and real. + It takes long years to _prove_ our friends, you know,-- + Those who are steadfast in our weal or woe. + So here's to you, Miss Prim! and you, Miss Prude! + We wouldn't have you different if we could! + Two Roses rare you are, and sweet; I ween + You were not doomed to bloom and blush unseen. + I've seen your cheeks suffused with crimson hues; + (Dame Nature's _make-up_ is the rouge you use!) + I've seen your lips in saucy challenge perked; + (But for your protests, they'd be overworked!) + I've seen your eyes with mischief filled and tears; + (But I could never _pity_ you, My Dears!) + I've seen your breasts with agitation heave; + (Your _hearts_ must be affected, I believe!) + I've seen your shapely forms pass in review + Before my lonely couch, in dreams of you,-- + And what I haven't seen, some little bird + Has told me all about. Upon my word, + If what he says be true, what I have _heard_ + To what I've seen, methinks, would be preferred. + Then here's to Friendship! What more potent force + Doth link mankind together? Love, of course, + Doth fetter us betimes, but Time must say + Whom we shall cherish, whom to cast away. + When Love and Friendship, heart and hand, are bound, + What more of Joy can compass us around? + So, Friends and Sweethearts, Comrades tried and true, + We pledge our love and loyalty to you! + + + + +THE CRUISE OF THE SQUIRREL + + + Somewhere, sometime, I've heard it said, or read + That Fools butt in where Angels fear to tread. + A single "Angel" with a Pack of Fools + Is not enough to change established rules; + And so, I think, the "Angel" in this case + Should bear, alone, the onus and disgrace,-- + For Angels should know better than to swoop + Upon the Dove of Peace and fowl her coop. + The Good Ship Squirrel has left our shores behind + To measure human breath 'gainst Ocean Wind. + "Laden with Nuts" her clearance shows. Four Bells! + She's off! to fight for Peace with all those shells. + No Port, however, figures in her quest, + Her "papers" show,--and this is manifest! + + The Dove of Peace, perched on the mizzen-top, + Hath disappointments sticking in her crop. + The peaceful bird is shy and very frail; + Can't stand the weight of salt upon her tail; + The War has made her nervous, and the roar + Of many cannon made the poor bird soar. + + Up springs a storm! The Dove's white feathers show, + While Nuts are cracking on the deck below. + And then an iceberg looms against the sky, + But still the Dove is far too proud to fly; + But when, anon, a periscope appears + The Bird of Peace is overcome by fears, + And "beats it" to the iceberg's crystal crest, + Where she prepares to build her neutral nest. + + The Submarine atop the billows now, + Stands by the Squirrel until she dips her bow + And sinks beneath the waves; then looks above + And takes a parting broadside at the Dove. + The "Angel" then, in Neptune's sky-machine + Ascendeth in a blaze of gasoline; + The Dove, marooned, broods over many things, + Nestling her poor _cold feet_ beneath her wings. + + * * * * * + + Regenerate, the Angel has returned + From empyrean Flight, to Earth, and learned + (I think Saint Peter gave him sound advice!) + To keep the Pacifistic Germ on ice + Until a Luther, if there still remains + One decent man where Wilhelm Cæsar reigns, + Denounces all the crimes of Germany, + And proselytes to crush Autocracy. + + + + +JINGLES + + + Little Bo Peep + Went fast to sleep; + Losing her sheep. + There were ninety and nine of these lambkins that fled + When poor, little Bo was asleep in her bed; + And when they returned they were _mutton_ instead. + O, what a stew! + 'Twixt me and yew + What could Bo do? + + O! Jack and Jill + Went up the hill, + Their pail to fill. + The water was _running_: they didn't pursue, + But filled up their growler with Double X Brew, + And Jill, in a measure, was full, and Jack too. + Both had a thirst: + Jack's was the worst: + He tumbled first. + + Horner boy Jack + Had the right knack; + Cornered the snack. + His fortune grew fast from that one Christmas plum; + His profits on 'Change showed a marvelous sum, + Till he soon had Financialdom under his thumb. + O! what a wiz! + Jack knew his biz: + All now is his. + + Good old King Cole, + "Merry old Soul," + Knew how to _bowl_. + No high-balls were spared at his nocturnal spread, + And the fumes of the liquor would strike in his head + Till, knocked off his pins, he was set up in bed. + Jackass or king + Will have his fling: + Naughty, Old Thing. + + Old Lady Drew + Lived in a shoe: + Children there too. + Their home was too cramped for a dozen or more, + But others have suffered from tight shoes before, + So the latch-string was always hung out on the door. + To upper skies + Good old sole flies, + With all her ties. + + The Drews and Jack Horner lived on the same street: + Jack gambled with Hymen and Drew Marguerite, + And love for his sole-mate affected his feet. + There ne'er was a "comeback" to poor Jack and Jill; + The King followed after them going "down hill," + And Bo, left alone, is a sheepish maid still. + + + + +THE WEIGHT OF LOVE + + + I was sitting in the parlor + With my Sweetheart on my knee, + And the fireplace lights and shadows + Silhouetted her and me. + + Heavy grew she towards the morning, + When the gold-fringed sunbeams leap: + _She_ was wide awake as ever + But my leg was fast asleep. + + Flesh is weak and so I shifted + My loved load, as best I could, + From the numb knee to the other; + From the leg of flesh to wood. + + Then I felt my Sweetheart shiver, + And I realized her state + When she drew a white-ash sliver + From the leg _articulate_. + + + + +DO IT! + + + Dare to do it! + You'll not rue it + If you save some Human Craft + From the rocks where fierce gales blew it, + Using Kindness for a raft. + + O, dare to do! + Be kind and true + To the friends you make thru life; + Then High Heaven will reward you + With immunity from strife. + + If a Lion + Were a dyin', + Would you go into his lair + And attempt to soothe his cryin'? + Do it! Do it, if you _dare_! + + + + +AMENITIES + + + The Parson tied the Hymen knot + That made two halves a whole; + The while a speculating what + Would be his marriage toll. + + The Groom, when he had kissed the Bride, + Was taken with the chills: + Her icy lips could not abide + Osculatory thrills. + + But soon his fever was effaced; + His hand obeyed his will, + And in the Parson's palm he placed + A soiled One Dollar Bill. + + "Anathema!" the preacher cried,-- + "Thou reptile of the Earth!" + The Groom replied--"Then take the Bride! + I think it's all she's worth!" + + + + +"DANSER SUR UN VULCAN" + + + Now goeth forth the Swell elite, + With patent leathers on his feet; + With collar spotless, cuffs to suit, + In truth bon-ton, from hat to boot. + + A bootblack, with an eye to biz, + With dirty hands and ugly phiz, + Beholds him as he goes, and throws + Banana peels beneath his toes. + + Along the pave Adonis trips; + He steps upon the peel, and slips + Into the juicy gutter: + His eyes are filled with fire and ire, + But water, muck and mire conspire + To drown the words he'd utter. + + +L'ENVOI + + Go where you will, the stars will _shine_, + And so will Tony, I opine: + But O! the stars Adonis spied + When he went "out," a sewerside. + + + + +AT THE BULGING UDDER TIME + + + Years have passed since I, an urchin, + Drove the Cow, so sleek and prime, + Down the path, where crows were perchin' + At the Bulging Udder Time. + + Those were days well worth one's living, + When I watched, with joy sublime, + What the generous Cow was giving + At the Bulging Udder Time. + + Later on, when we grew older, + Father gave us each a dime-- + Me and Bill--to milk and _hold_ her, + At the Bulging Udder Time: + + But, alas! we came to grieving: + Bill was kicked and smeared with grime, + And the Cow boo-booed on leaving-- + "Come around some _udder_ time!" + + + + +VAGARIES + + + The husky Corn has pushed ahead with silken locks atop; + O, Brother, ain't it shocking? + And Colonels are expecting quite a bumper Bourbon crop-- + Saloonward they are flocking! + But when they strip the ears and find the wasteful worms surrounding, + 'Twill make the "moonshine" dimmer; + For ev'ry still has coils of worms illicitly abounding + Where sour-mash mixtures simmer. + The hillside Stills their fragrance breathe, and wood birds are a + sounding; + My jug is in the hollow: + So fill it up, but watch your step and Secret Service hounding! + The scent is sweet to follow. + + The Cotton Bolls are bursting forth with weevils in the sepals; + Come, Dinah, get to picking! + And rush the staple to the mart to clothe the naked peoples! + Or you will get a licking! + The baleful Gins are all prepared to do the fibre-squeezing: + Get busy, Massa Willie! + And set the weevils back a bit, and save the folks from freezing! + It's getting powerful chilly! + You Pickaninnies hustle now, and do the proper bagging! + The possum's cooking, Honey! + And when the work is thru we'll do our banjo stunts, and ragging + And get our "Cakewalk" money. + + + + +A SHATTERED ROMANCE + + + My heart is aflame with a love that enslaves + My passion for thee is afire; + My soul is athirst for the love that it craves, + And you are the one I admire. + + Pray speak, Dear! and say your affections are mine, + And all the sweet charms you possess; + Then I will surrender my wishes to thine + And be but thy slave, I confess. + + When she answered, at length, I felt very sure + I'd pleaded my cause quite enough; + "You're the one man on earth I _couldn't endure_, + So cut out that comedy stuff!" + + + + +THE MILKY WAY + + + I went to school, like any lad, + And learned to read and write: + With pencil, books and writing-pad + I grew quite erudite. + + Promoted soon, my Teacher thought + I would some day, be great; + And so painstakingly he taught + Me how to conjugate. + + And talked to me about the Moon, + Of Venus, Saturn, Mars, + Till I was rated, very soon, + Authority on Stars. + + A graduate, I searched the skies + For orbs unknown before, + Determined that I'd specialize + In Astronomic lore: + + But how to buy a telescope + And all the charts required? + An _attick_ was my only hope + Of all the things desired: + + And so I compromised and bought + Binoculars and case, + And ev'ry night the Stars I sought + At Daly's Burlesque Place. + + The one, bright, meteoric Flame + In all that stellar group, + Soon _fell for me_; then took my name + And quit the Burlesque Troupe. + + But I'm eclipsed! the Satellite + That twinkles in the crib, + Keeps Mother _pinning_, day and night, + A didy or a bib. + + + + +THE LOGOTHETE + + + "Beware the dog!" Beware the Logothete! + The Octoped with elephantine feet: + (I mean by this--with the _big understanding_; + The Byzantine Pup of Theodore's branding.) + A thousand years chained to Hellespont's brink, + He never once whimpered or lapped up a drink. + Hydrophobia? No! just aphasia, + 'Cause he couldn't cross over to Asia. + + The old Logothete is the Watch Dog of State: + He feeds upon figures (he'll cipher an eight!) + And starts ev'ry meal with a twelve or sixteen, + Then multiplies units to munch on between. + Voracity thus as an integer stands + For his diurnal gorge on multiplicands. + Numerical strength makes the Logothete thrive, + And fractions he dotes on--just eats 'em alive! + + He lashes his tail by Marmora's flood, + But eats from the hand of Sultan Ahmud; + A collar of gold, set with aquamarines, + Makes him the envy of Justin's near-queens; + His Kennel-Kiosque (the hyphen's germane!) + Rivals the harems of Constantine's reign. + Innocuous? No! nor yet desuetude, + For he daily absorbs whole columns of food. + + His teeth are as sharp as the Damaskeene blade + That severed the chains on the Macedon maid; + And as keen as the knife avenging the dame + Who was sold to the Sheik in Mesopotame. + But the point that I make--no whimper or yelp + Had ever been voiced by this Logothete whelp + Until Archæologists, searching the grounds, + Unearthed dogmatisms and bitumen sounds + Of the highest known pitch, resembling a whine + Or unrav'ling snarls of the Octopedine. + And thus they've exploded the silence complete + Tradition ascribes to the old Logothete[1]-- + And so, in unleashing this Byzantine Pup, + They merit grave censure for _digging things up_. + +[1] From _Logos_ (word) and _Thete_ (Theodore)--The word of Theodore. + + + + +THE PRICE OF PEACE + + + There's music in the Eagle's shriek; + There's ditto in the Lion's roar, + But discord marks the Bolshevik + Because the Bear doth growl no more. + + The Dogs of War are out of tune,-- + No harmony doth move the critters: + Unless they cease their fighting soon + The wounded whelps will have no litters. + + Jerusalem! the Turk is spent! + The bagpipes took his breath, I think. + The Crescent now is badly bent, + And Allah's cause is on the blink. + + The Bulgar too has shot his bolt, + And soon will quit--the poor pariah! + For now there's rumor of revolt + In Ananias and Sofia. + + The Hun is playing with the Slav-- + The Kremlin Mouse and Potsdam Cat; + But Cossack, too, can smear the salve, + And 'twixt them twain doth Peace fall flat. + + Some day the Dove of Peace will swoop + With long, befigured _bill_, and put it + Against the Vulture-Kultur coop + And make the Prussian Junkers _foot it_. + + + + +MEN HAD HORNS THEN + + + Newspaper Item, Athens, Pa., July 29: The archaeologists who + are traversing the Susquehanna River Valley, visiting sites of + Indian villages and digging up aborigines and other relics, are + said to have made a most astounding discovery on the Murray + farm, near here, in finding the bones of sixty-eight + pre-historic men. The average height of these men when their + skeletons were assembled was seven feet, while many were much + taller. Additional evidence of their gigantic size is found in + the massive stone battle axes in their graves. The average age + of these men is said to have been from thirty to forty. Another + amazing point of this discovery is the allegation that + "perfectly formed skulls were found from which horns grew + straight out from the head." + + The Homestead of Satan, they say, has been found + Near Athens, P. A., in a hole in the ground; + And people are flocking from Athens and Sayre + To view the remains of their ancestors there. + + When Satan established himself in this zone + He found it distasteful to live all alone; + So he went to Towanda in quest of a bride, + And then tilled the soil till his seed multiplied. + + So scores of young Devils at Murray's were born + That measured five cubits between hoof and horn. + Each one was equipped with a tail and two wings, + And _asbestos garments_ at Nick's Sulphur Springs. + + And that's why you find all their skeletons here + In good preservation: but isn't it queer + That Devils at Athens, the place of their birth, + Were the sole legatees of Hell upon Earth? + + But Devils, like men, reach the ends of their ropes, + And have disappointments and unfulfilled hopes,-- + So Satan discovered, too late we are told, + The climate at Murray's was too beastly cold. + + His imps all contracted pneumonia and died; + So he buried them here in the Pit, side by side, + Near Athens, P. A., by the River Chemung, + Where they've been unmolested till now, and unsung. + + And there their bones bleached, in the Sulphuric Pits, + Until Archæologists came with their kits + And made excavations, not thinking of harm, + But raising the devil at Rube Murray's Farm. + + Now Satan's _exposed_ and his ossified get, + (A few yet remain in the flesh, I regret!) + And Murray of Athens is living, I wot + On skeletons dug from this Hell-enic spot. + + + + +SUB ROSA + + + The Busy Bee, to gather honey, goes + Touching the clover bloom and then the rose; + An easy prey, the clover blossom yields + Its treasures garnered from the fragrant fields; + But all the sweetness that the rose adorns, + Protected is from theft by jealous thorns. + The Bee, ergo, in quest the flowers among, + Gets sometimes honey and gets sometimes _stung_. + + + + +WHITMANESQUE + + + The snow is falling on the hemlock boughs: + Courage, Comrade, Spring will come again! + The birds are leaving the evergreen trees, + And that's why they are not deciduous. + O, Winter! I shake thy icy hand, + And, shaking, shovel the beautiful snow: + But what shall I do with such an abundance? + It is already piled high in my neighbor's yard, + And he is watching me from his attic window. + And yet more snow! How pure you seem tho' falling! + + + + +AN APEOLOGY + + + This is the Ape, made famous, you'll agree, + By Darwin's Evolution Theory. + His destiny fulfilled, he rests at ease + With tribal Apes, Baboons and Chimpanzees; + Preferring, so, to recreation find, + Than with his tailless counterpart, Mankind, + A doubtful branch of his posterity: + And makes a _monkey_, thus, of you and me. + + + + +THE BUG + + + This is the Bug, unable to resist + The blandishments of Entomologist. + He soon succumbs to net or trap or pin + And fills his place the _cabinet_ within. + A volume then explains his habits, source, + And all his secrets and his aims of course; + Which leads me to conclude, when facts are dug, + The Man of Science is the biggest "Bug." + + + + +WAKE, MY LOVE! + + + Darling, I my vigil keep + Close beside you, while you sleep. + Let the Dream of Love abide! + Cupid will not be denied; + For he whispers to you now, + And prints kisses on your brow; + While his velvet finger tips + Hush the protest on your lips. + Wake, My Love! And do not chide + Cupid pleading by your side! + + Darkness lingers in the skies + Till the light of your bright eyes + Adds new brilliance to the sun: + Not till then is Day begun! + Ope your lips and speak one word-- + Sweetest cadence ever heard! + Loose your tresses! Let them rest + On your snowy, virgin breast, + And entwine these roses rare + In the ringlets nestling there. + + Wake, My Love! The sunbeams shed + Golden treasures on your head; + While Æolus woos your cheeks, + And exacts the kiss he seeks. + Love, aquiver, draws his bow + + And demands that sleep must go; + For a jealous elf is he + Who will brook no rivalry. + So let Love a Kingdom make + In his Heart for Thee: Awake! + + + + +FIRST PSALM + + + Happy indeed is he who goes + The Straight and Narrow Way, + And heedeth not the lure of those + Who from His precepts stray. + + With joy observeth he the acts + The Master doth proclaim, + And, day or night, no fervor lacks + To bless His holy name. + + And he shall be a fruitful tree + Deep-rooted in the Truth; + And not a leaf shall withered be + Nor fruitage cease, forsooth. + + But those who follow not the Course + The Master hath decreed, + Shall shrivel and decay, perforce, + And barren be their seed. + + It follows then, that those who sin + Must turn again to clay, + While righteous men are gathered in + On Resurrection Day. + + For God rewards the Pure in Heart + And knoweth all their needs; + While those who from his ways depart + Shall be like broken reeds. + + + + +_NOT_ PEACE, BUT REVENGE! + + + Peace? do you say? When my homestead is razed, + And Death stalks the fields where my cattle once grazed; + And the Dear One is dead + Whom I courted and wed, + The Joy of my Life when the hearthstone fires blazed. + + Peace? What a travesty! Give back my wife + And the brave little son, who gave up his life + That she might escape + From the murder or rape + Of helmeted hordes in the unequal strife! + + Peace? Where is my father? Cleaning your shoes! + Like a thousand old men you maim and abuse. + He was true to his Land, + So you cut off his hand + And left him but slav'ry or famine to choose. + + Peace? My wounds cry aloud: Never! I say + Till your legions are killed or driven away + And my country is free: + But, stay! What's that to me, + Since all my own Loved Ones lie murdered to-day? + + No!! _Not_ Peace, but REVENGE! Here is my gun-- + Surrendered? O, No! for its work is not done: + When my bayonet's sting + Smites the heart of your King, + And your hell-hounds are flayed,--_then_ Peace will be _won_! + + + + +HEREDITY + + + I see her creeping 'long the nursery floor,-- + A dainty, blue-eyed Babe, scarce old enough + To realize 'tis _she_ whom I adore,-- + She is a priceless diamond in the rough. + + Again I see her playing with a host + Of noisy, kindergarten girls and boys; + She seems to me the fairest and the most + Refined: a _pure gold_ girl without alloys. + + And thus from stage to stage I watch the maid + As she develops like the budding rose, + And then, Ah me! I'm jealously afraid + That she admires me less than other beaux. + + And then, anon, I see her on the knee + Of Willie Jones: I think she shouldn't oughter! + But then my Courtship Days come back to me-- + _Just like her Ma!_ She is my only Daughter! + + + + +THE CALL OF THE HOMESTEAD + + + There's a dear, little spot, near my Hoosier hometown, + Where the mortgage runs up as the buildings run down, + That I love to return to, a restful retreat, + Just to slush around there with the mud on my feet. + + There's the forked, wormy apple-tree, dead to the bark, + And the sickle and grindstone, brought out of the Ark; + And the Shed, where I fled, with my illicit pipe, + To assuage stomach-aches when green apples were "ripe." + + There's the collar and churn, _worn_ by Dash day by day, + And the chain that prevented his running away; + And the yoke for the oxen--Haw, Buck! and Gee, Bride! + And the Troth for the Squealers the hen-house beside. + + There's the Dovecote, unroofed, and the sweep by the well, + And the ooze in the barnyard and natural-gas smell: + There's the hayrake and silo; the tin weathervane, + And the two, moss-grown graves where the Old Folks were lain. + + And the milk-stools are there, and the cowpath and stile; + And a few hardy scarecrows remain yet awhile; + And the taxes, unpaid, still appear on the book + Of the County Collector, Nathaniel U. Crook. + + So I keep coming back, to my old Hoosier shack, + To inhale the sweet mildew of hay in the stack, + And to drink from the spring where the bull-frogs abound + That protect the young cowslips that grow all around. + + Now the mortgage is due and the int'rest unpaid, + And I can't get a cent for the place, I'm afraid; + But I love to return here, at vacation time, + Just to revel again in the mud and the slime. + + + + +DECIMAL POINTS + + + The Paleface undertook, with sword and gun, + To civilize the Redskins one by one; + And Lo attempted, with his bow and arrow, + To sap the Paleface of his very marrow. + As fast as one, on either side, was slain + Another took his place to fight again; + Thus both the warring tribes said--"What's the use?" + And straightway called a halt and signed a truce. + + Then Paleface planned and dug--and _well_ of course-- + A pit for Lo, without resort to force; + And Lo, in turn, a counter plan invented + To clear the forests where the Paleface tented. + And so the Paleface, from his fullness, gave + A cask of Laughing Water to each Brave; + And Lo, whose giving was an artful knack, + Took up the scent and sent tobacco back. + So, Time discloses how each plan availed; + Which won, at last, and which, in order, failed, + For now in _Peace_ the Paleface moves about, + While Lo and Laughing Water _fight it out_. + + He was the first to fly--Darius Green! + But Green had trouble with his _crude_ machine + And failed to make a mark for lofty flying, + And so he just _dropped out_ and gave up trying. + + The Pickaninny to the bayou goes + And caches on the bank his homespun clothes; + Then headlong leaps into the pool below + Where Imps of Darkness destined are to go. + An alligator sees the urchin dive + And, Holy Moses! swallows him alive, + Not thinking that the Afric _strength_, thus caged, + Would prove his match and master when engaged: + But so it did! for Fate evolved a plan + To snatch the "charcoal" from the saurian; + And as the latter spewed and lashed his tail, + (A tale like Jonah wrestling with the whale) + The lad escaped; of course he had to shout some! + So overjoyed was he at such an _outcome_. + + When Aaron Burr decided to invite + His hated rival to a pistol fight, + He knew, of course, because his aim was wicked, + That his opponent, in advance, was líckéd. + And thus the scheme of Providence began + To canonize the Hamiltonian. + + Had Mary tied her lambkin in the barn, + There might have been a different kind of yarn. + She could have said "I leave you" with the bull, + Or "I'll return anon," and pulled the wool; + + The lamb could have replied--"What's all this for? + I'll meet you, Mary, in the abattoir!" + But No! They had to make the sheep the goat + And tie a siren bell around his throat, + And make him go to school. "Kids," as a rule, + Would rather _much_ be killed than go to school. + + Had Nero played on burning Rome the hose + Instead of fiddling while the blazes rose, + He might have been, in Fame's Retort, a hero, + Firemano Primo Volunteero Nero. + But quite another part this Cæsar played, + The part of Arson in red robes arrayed. + He watched the fire, in all its flares and phases, + Quite unconcerned, but fiddled on like blazes. + But Nero didn't finish what he started + Because, while Rome still burned, his E string parted. + Tho Julius Cæsar's Wars our lives inspire + This Cæsar wouldn't even fight a fire; + Nor would he lead the Roman Legions, tho + He was reputed skillful with the bow; + Perhaps the smoke-screen from the burning city + Was planned to hide the discords of his ditty; + And when at last this King is placed on trial, + This verdict will prevail,--his work was viol. + + Had Antony been less a Marc and kept + His armor on while Cleopatra slept, + He might have been a Conqueror of note + Instead of Captor of a Petticoat; + And, traitor to his country, judged to be + A Soldier less than Slave to Lingerie. + Some Commentators--and I blush with shame-- + Contend that "Cle" and Sheba were the same: + If this contention's true, as I surmise, + It follows that King Solomon was wise; + And so was Sheba when she left his regions + By camel-carriage for the Roman Legions,-- + Leaving the King, with all his wives and breeders, + To pine for her among the stately cedars. + I'm not quite sure, but who's the bigger dunce? + The King? Or Marc, who got in wrong _but once_? + + The oldtime Reader taught us self-reliance + (But this refers to school-days--not to Science!) + And pointed out, in no uncertain style, + Examples we should follow or revile. + Old Rover, for example, was to me + The highest standard of true loyalty. + He used to hang around the playground gate + And there for Bones, his Master, sit and wait, + Though Bones, poor dunce, each day when school was over, + Was kept and spanked, but waited still old Rover. + + The Reader states that Rover, too, was fleet, + And never knew the anguish of de feet; + And had a face so honest, ear so quick, + That he could steal a bone and dodge a stick. + That's all the Reader says, but I believe + He grew too diabetic to retrieve, + And so was cast aside--the poor old brute! + Because the mange affected his hirsute; + Was driven from the confines of his birth + Because not prized: Great Scott! a Kennelworth: + And so, a rover still, thus doomed to flea + Far from his home and consanguinity; + But, cast adrift in sinking bark, O, Setter! + Than wienerwursts or sausages is better! + + There was a time when Henry Clay awoke + To see his fame and name go up in smoke. + His reputation only went this far, + That he was featured as a choice cigar. + Before that day, when his renown was ripe, + He also was distinguished as a pipe. + Eliminating all attempts at joking, + He was thus honored then, and still is smo-King. + + Had Eve, a woman of unusual birth, + Who had the love of ev'ry man on earth, + Been given what the modern wife receives, + Fine frocks and hats instead of wreaths and leaves; + A mansion, bank-account and car or carriage, + Hers would have been the first ideal marriage. + But selfish Adam took her to a cavern + (Our present bridal parties seek a tavern.) + And made her wash and sew and hem and haw + With fitting meekness 'cause his word was law. + First Lady of the Land, she should have had 'em-- + All creature comforts but the stingy Adam. + Faithful to husband, she should have instead + Broken her marriage vows upon his head. + No wonder she was tempted: if she fell + 'Twas circumstantial, else she wouldn't tell. + + + + +BELLES-LETTRES + + + Hear the perfume of the belles, + Social belles! + What a loud auroma, a monopoly in smells! + How they stinkle, stinkle, stinkle, + When the corsage bursts in sight! + While the powder in each wrinkle + And the gewgaw gems that twinkle + Make them ugly in the light; + Reeking scent, scent, scent, + When they're upright, prone or bent + While the sachet begs for freedom, and the musk, revolting, yells + On the belles, belles, belles, belles, + Belles, belles, belles, + On the weary, bleary, smeary Social Belles. + + Hear the monstrous Schoolhouse bells, + Direful bells! + What a dirge of irony their ting-a-ling expels! + Like the chanticleer at morn, + How they torture us, and warn + We must hurry or be canned + At call of roll. + How they peel their tunics and + Whoop 'er up, with tireless tongues, to beat the band; + What a toll! + + O, you blatant, brazen shells! + You ringers for Mephisto, from superheated hells, + With your knells! + Truth compels + That we voice our joy with yells + 'Cause you're hung and bound in cells + While we're swearing and despairing, + O, you bells, bells, bells, + Wicked bells, bells, bells, bells, + Bells, bells, bells, + O, you rocking, mocking, shocking Schoolhouse bells! + + + + +SANDY, THE PIPER + + + Do ye know me mon Sandy,--Sandy the Piper? + 'E's 'ome on a leave, with 'is chin shot away! + They wouldn't a 'armed 'im, but some blooming sniper + Just slipped 'im a slug from a roof in Bombay. + + 'Ow did it all 'appen? Well, just one battalion + Was left in the Barracks: the rest 'ad been sent + To guard the new Viceroy, with Major MacCallion: + It was dubbed the "'Ot Scotch," this 12th Regiment. + + The Colonel was sick with a Jungle disorder, + And 'arf of the time was well out of 'is 'ead; + And when the Sepoys, from the 'Yderbad Border + Revolted and rushed us, the Colonel was dead. + + So Sandy and men were besieged and near choking, + And most the battalion was killed or 'ad fell, + While the fiends in the street, like devils a stoking, + Were firing this 'ell 'ole with bullet and shell. + + 'Twas 'ere that me Sandy broke out thru a window, + Disguised as a Rajah, with turban and sword; + And so, quite unnoticed (they thought him a Indoo!) + 'E soon joined the ranks of the mutinous 'orde. + + And then 'e 'arrangued 'em ('e knew all their jargon!) + And urged 'em to scatter and uphold the law; + But 'ere 'e was thru 'e was sick of 'is bargain + When a bloody bomb-bullet 'alf shattered 'is jaw. + + So Sandy's back 'ome, but his features are altered: + What a close shave 'e 'ad! 'is face is a sight! + But when duty called 'e was there and ne'er faltered: + With toot, shoot or Hoot, Mon! 'e mixed in the fight. + + 'Is goatee is gone, with the chin where 'e grew it: + 'E was once very bonnie when 'e was a lad; + And 'is bagpipe would charm me: my, 'ow 'e blew it! + When 'e marched with 'is squad, a playing like mad. + + And I makes o'er 'im still, tho Sandy's not pretty, + But a 'ero 'e is in Northlands and South: + A gude wife I've been, tho I think it a pity + That Sandy was given to _shoot off 'is mouth_. + + + + +"BEN BOLT" + + + Ben Franklin was a Jester of the sort + That fused, with wit, rare wisdom in retort; + And, on his mettle, tempered by a smile + His irony could hold them _all_ awhile. + King Louis' Court to impotence made plea + Before the onslaughts of his repartee. + His well-aimed jibes were quite as hard to dodge + As meteors agleam with persiflage. + His oily tongue worked on a swinging swivel, + For he _spat out_ his thoughts and didn't drivel. + The Quakers, in his absence, had attacks + Of blues, because they missed his almanacs; + And Frenchmen soon began to understand + And praise his jokes (in England contraband). + He said to Louis, "Sire, the skies are down; + I wouldn't give a Fillip for your crown." + And added, "Nay, I wouldn't give a sou! + There's just one Philip, but sixteen of you!" + He had no fear, you see, of raining Kings, + And, with umbrella raised, enjoyed his flings. + Such pointed puns _disfavor_ oft beget, + But Louis laughed and so did Lafayette. + Tho galley slave, like creatures of his type, + He broke his chains, when Freedom's plans were ripe, + And put the U. S. A. upon the chart, + Allied to France, thru diplomatic art. + To-day Ben Bolt, who clipped the lion's claws, + For lightning work gets thunderous applause. + The thunderbolts obeyed at his command, + And currents, insubordinate, were canned. + He kept the Upper Regions on the string + And shocked the Lower World like everything. + All praise to Franklin, Diplomatic Star! + He went where he was sent, but not _too far_: + And tho he flew his mortal kite so high, + Poor Richard's name illuminates the sky. + + + + +EXCELSIOR + + + The bale consigned to O. U. Crook, + Upholsterer--marked, USE NO HOOK, + Was not curled hair or even moss, + Nor yet a mixture or a cross, + Excelsior! + + "This Davenport was made to wear; + Fine leather and best camel hair!" + Said Crook (a patent skin all right, + But all the "hair" was out of sight). + Excelsior! + + And so Crook sold the lounge or couch + To some poor Boob with gold-filled pouch; + And also sold an easy chair + (The Easy Mark was stuffed for fair.) + Excelsior! + + And thus he plied his artful trade + (A better Craftsman ne'er was made) + Until the shavings, dyed and curled, + Resembled hair for all the world. + Excelsior! + + O, baleful occupation his! + The way he made his mattresses + Would make a lounging layman sick. + He sold for cash and gave no tick tick-- + Excelsior! + + A mark-down sale Crook staged in time-- + "Such bed-rock prices are a crime," + "I get my hair by camel-train": + But all his "hair" was cut in Maine-- + Excelsior! + + And then a fire occurred at length + To bolster Crook's financial strength: + The _glue_ that mocked the incensed air + Mistaken was for burning hair; + Excelsior! + + Beware the pine-tree's fibrous heart! + But this gave Crook his fiscal start, + And now a tall, pine shaft is seen + Above Crook's grave; 'tis evergreen-- + Excelsior! + + + + +HER AND HIM + +HER + + + To-day's her birthday: I'll not say which one,-- + But I have known her twenty years or more + When courtship days were joyously begun, + And she had reached her sixteenth year, before. + + And so her age is no concern of mine: + She may have dropped a birthday now and then, + But surely she's improved with age like wine: + I wouldn't wish her in her _teens_ again. + + And she's my Pal! O, yes, we love, of course! + But feel, besides, the joy of comradeship + That finds expression at Love's very source + In language of the heart--not of the lip. + + And so she is my everlasting pride: + To Beauty's very pinnacle she's grown! + Thru life we'll seek our pleasures side by side; + Her heart athrob with love for me alone. + + + +HIM + + O, yes! we're splendid friends, Old Jack and I: + He's growing grave and wrinkles now appear + Where once the smiles his cheeks were wont to ply. + He's losing all his energy, I fear. + + I married him some twenty years ago + When dancing was a chief delight of his; + But now alone I trip the Terpsic toe, + For poor, old Jack has got the rheumatiz. + + He's aging fast: I see it every day! + He's fat and short of breath, yet how he snores! + His few remaining hairs are saffron-grey, + For nicotine keeps oozing from his pores. + + He seems so childish, but I humor him + Altho my friends declare I'm such a dunce. + Wrinkled, rheumatic; bare of brains and vim-- + Good-bye, Old Jack! You were a good one _once_! + + + + +THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIVING + + + We bivouac here and barely get acquainted + Until the furlough ends; then we are sainted, + Whether our acts deserve rebuke or praise. + When we are _dead_ the recollection stays + Of virtues only: vices are excused, + But to the _living_ pardon is refused. + And yet, alive, I'd rather be unsung, + Than any Saint the catacombs among. + Tho critics flay me and the censors sneer, + 'Twere better so, than praises on my bier. + And so we walk life's slender rope till, bing! + We slip and fall or someone cuts the string. + Ambition lures us, but the pinkest peach + Is always just beyond us, out of reach: + And when, at last, we think we are in line + To cross the threshold, lo! the Full House sign. + We never quite obtain the golden urn + Tho rainbows beckon every way we turn. + Who ever found, I ask you, all he sought? + Our best endeavors ofttimes come to naught: + And yet we trudge along, loath to confess + We're only groping in a wilderness; + Plodding the sands that burn our feet, and hurt; + Seeking the Promised Land, our just desert. + Had Cæsar reached the zenith of his life + When Brutus cut his friendship with the knife? + The ladder broke and he was headlong flung + While setting foot upon the topmost rung. + Thus picture Cæsar giving up the ghost + Just when he reached the pinnacle, almost! + Did Bonaparte receive his proper due? + He _got_ it, but too late, at Waterloo. + He played with fire, aroused the seething crater, + And now, with Nick, inhabits the Equator. + So we conclude, delving the lines between, + He might as well have clung to Josephine. + Tho Tell's renown illumes the Alpine sky + Whose target was the Apple of his eye, + As much distinction, and applause to boot, + Should be bestowed on William's steady _shoot_: + More praise to him, than the Toxopholite, + Who held the apple but eschewed a bite! + The _worst_ of us hath goodness in his breast; + The _best_ of us but fails, put to the test,-- + So, in arrears, we strive to pay the price + For Fortune's frowns or Fate's disastrous dice + Until we're bankrupt or too spent to wrest + Long hoped-for treasure from Mad Mammon's chest. + Tho life hath ups and downs, the weeping willow + Our ends shapes better than the downy pillow. + It takes stern measures to incline the bantling, + In right direction, without switch or scantling. + The optimist with farthings in his pouch, + Gets more enjoyment than the wealthy Grouch; + Thus cheerfulness, a product underrated, + In every household should be cultivated. + Give me the man who, tho in direst straits, + Will thumb his sharp proboscis at the Fates; + Who'll take the flimsy fire escape, or dive + Into the net, glad to get out alive; + Who, tho the skies be unpropitious, crowds + His way along, unmindful of the clouds; + Who never quits, in life's unequal bout, + But keeps on fighting till he's counted out. + + + + +THE SIXTH OF APRIL + + + Awake, Americans! Awake! Awake! + 'Tis April Sixth! A _year_ of War and yet + The Hun lines hold: Louvain is unavenged. + Be Thou our Guide, O God of Joshua! + Thru battles yet unstaged, and Comfort when, + From War's Inferno comes the phantom file, + The endless, ghastly file of martyred dead. + + Daughters of Belgium, thy vestal tears + Make _womanhood_ still more an honored name; + And Germany, when Reason reappears, + Must dearly pay for her revolting shame! + + Awake, Americans! Our task is grim; + For Hell and all the Imps of Sin deride + The Code of Morals, spit upon the Cross, + Drive torturing nails into the bleeding flesh + Of all Mankind who follow Him thru paths + Made plain and gladsome by the Golden Rule; + And foist vile _kultur_ as Refinement's height. + + And what of skulking Sharks, scum of the sea, + That prey on Innocents, while o'er them fly + Poised to inflict a further agony, + The Vampire Bats that violate the sky? + + Behold the ravaged homes of Serbia! + Where are her people? Ask the godless Goths + Whose Car of Kultur crushed beneath its wheels + This stalwart Race! Ask, too, the Bulgar hordes, + The mountain wolves, who pounce upon and rend, + In guise of Pacifiers of the Land, + Those who escaped the onslaughts of the Huns. + + Tho sapped by hunger and disease; tho crushed + By overwhelming numbers of the foe, + Thy Star, O, Serb, when battles' din be hushed, + Shall rise again, suffused with Freedom's glow! + + Now in the sacred name of God our guide, + Home, Country, Honor, Love and Motherhood, + Can we indifferent be to ravishment, + Wanton destruction, murder steeped in hate-- + This loathsome litter whelped by Junkerdom? + 'Tis _ours_ to dare and crush this monstrous THING: + Our Allies worn and bleeding, struggle on. + + Armenian tears, a flood of pent-up grief, + Flow on and on, a torrent of despair. + Rape! Murder! Pillage! Is there no relief + For Niobe, deserted, weeping there? + + Nation Invincible, unsheath thy blade! + God be thy leader: Justice be thy Sword! + Nor pause until the ruthless BEAST is flayed + With sated steel--and Liberty restored! + + + + +BENEATH A CLOUD + + + Under a passing cloud the moon was hid. + I really was delighted to be rid + Of _Super_ light, for I was with my Nell, + And I could see by her bright eyes as well. + We didn't need the aid of spheres above, + For that's _our_ proper sphere--a making love. + Midst whispering pines we pledged our love aloud, + And thus our plight began _beneath a cloud_. + + + + +THE COLUMBIAD + + + AMERICA! Our home, our native land! + The joy of it--the rapture! when we say-- + We who are freemen and can understand-- + This is our heritage--the U. S. A.! + Hewn from the virgin forests by our sires, + And launched by giants capable and true, + Our Ship of State was manned, when Freedom's fires + Were beacon lights, by sturdy, godly crew,-- + And so hath kept, steered by the Guiding Star + Of Faith, her steadfast course, thru shoal or blast, + Aloof from sirens luring from afar, + With Stars and Stripes still waving at the mast. + Here in our Land, where Plenty hath its store, + Where fertile fields teem with abundant grain, + Hunger ne'er casts its shadow on the door, + And Famine hath no lodge on hill or plain. + In truth doth Luxury with Plenty vie + To fill our laps with all the luscious things + That Nature doth provide--loath to deny + The satisfaction that such bounty brings. + To us was Freedom's heritage bequeathed + To have and hold while life and pride remain: + And so our sword must ever be unsheathed + To guard this priceless boon from hurt or stain-- + So that the war-worn hosts in Europe's maze, + Who fight against the Despot's ruthless spear, + May see the light of Liberty ablaze, + Diffusing matchless splendor over here; + And, friendly beacon, be to them a sign + And Bow of Promise, in their dismal sky, + The Light of Hope eternally to shine + In God's resplendent galaxy on High. + But grim starvation, at the board, presides + Across the seas, where once the farmsteads poured + Autumnal wealth--and Desolation rides + Rough shod along where tramped the Prussian horde. + No life remains: the fields are stark and sere; + The forests, leaf and branch and root, are fled; + The flowers lie trampled on the soldier's bier: + Destroyed are e'en the shelters of the dead. + The gardens that held plenty in their wombs + Are stripped and barren as the sands of Dearth, + And now, instead, keep vigil o'er the tombs + Of demigods, redeemers of the Earth. + The vineyards where the fragrant fruitage hung + To cheer the peaceful peasant in his toil + Are desolate where Death his shroud has flung + Upon the breadth of France's sacred soil. + Wrecked are the homesteads: buzzard broods abound + Where shell-holes gape, and heaps of carnage rise + Above the naked bosom of the ground, + Mutely denying guilt, in sacrifice. + Still with the jackal at her wounds doth France + Fight on unmindful of her pains, and lo! + We hear her call and, seizing shield and lance, + Crusader-like, to her assistance go. + Her cause is just: we make her Cause our own! + For Liberty doth in the balance swing, + And we must guard her, if we fight alone + To rid the world of this malignant _Thing_ + That, in the guise of Kultur, hides its hoofs + And horns, its tail and spear and hideous face, + And, as a pious priest, on Moslem roofs, + Extols itself, usurping Allah's place. + What blasphemy! Obsessed to germinate + Its propaganda, its infernal cult; + Condoning Cain's offense, instilling hate, + It strikes with poison, dirk and catapult + Against the precepts of the Prince of Peace; + Against the Conscience of the Universe. + But hatred, lust and war will never cease + Until God's Sword destroys this monstrous curse. + Audaciously the Priests of Kultur strive + To spread their doctrine, but the graven god + Against the Living Christ cannot survive, + And in His time will scourged be with His rod. + And so our Ship of State to battle hastes, + All sails a-drawing, sheets secure and taut, + Manned by a stalwart crew, stripped to the waists, + Inspired by battles that our fathers fought. + In port at last whence Lafayette once sailed + To aid our fight that made Britannia halt, + They take their stand where Frenchmen never failed + To hold the Verdun forts against assault. + A mighty effort this! To send our force + Three thousand miles, thru shark-infested sea, + Beneath dark skies where vultures lay their course, + To face the foe and ransom Liberty, + Thru sacrificial offering of our sons; + To arm and clothe five million men, and then + Build, to convey and feed them, countless tons + Of mighty vessels--transports, merchantmen; + To furnish, in addition, vast supplies + To allied Powers whose Cause we have embraced, + To hearten them--to strengthen friendly ties + And stay the hand that layeth Europe waste. + A task indeed! But let it not be thought + By foemen or by those whom we befriend + That Liberty our trust, so dearly bought, + Will not be guarded to the very end. + Tho Hercules the Strong should heave in sight + And challenge us to tests of thews and nerve, + We'd enter the arena in our might + And win new honors for the Land we serve; + For Antaeus and all the myths of old + 'Gainst whom the supermen of yore engaged, + Were never half so mighty, half so bold + As peaceful freemen, righteously enraged: + And all the modern Bullies who presume + To dominate the world against the Right, + Must see their day-dreams doomed to blackest gloom + When Truth prevails against the Imps of Night. + So let us fabricate in forge and mill; + So let us plant and nurture grain and seed; + So let us labor and conserve until + There be an end to Kultur's cruel creed. + Each one of us must fight or toil or save; + _Co-ordination_ be our battle song; + Hardships endure and gravest dangers brave + If we would victors be and right the wrong. + God's ways to mortal eyes are not revealed, + But Faith our guidance is thru War's grim task, + And with His help the _Hosts of Sin_ must yield + And Satan be denuded of his mask. + + + + +HE'S ALL RIGHT, BUT--!" + + + I like the good old-fashioned way-- + A handshake or a slap,-- + The boys who jab your ribs and say + "You're all right, Bill, Old Chap!" + + I like the lad who sees you first + And always shouts your name,-- + Who, tho your luck be at its worst, + Says--"Cheer up, Bill! Be game!" + + I like the chum who's always glad + To soothe you when you're ill,-- + Who, when he finds you broke and sad, + Says--"Here's a Dollar, Bill!" + + I'd like to grab him by the throat + And hold his mouth tight shut,-- + Who, questioned, makes you out the goat-- + "Who? Bill? He's all right, _but_--!" + + + + +NATURE'S STUDIO + + + Go where the winds keep vigil o'er the trees, + Rocking the tender saplings in the breeze; + Go where the sunbeams play on rill and stream, + Making the purling waters all agleam; + Go where the birds rehearse their songs and trills + In cool retreats, led by the Whippoorwills; + Go where the bees, midst clover blooms, indulge + Their honey habit till their bellies bulge; + Go where the trout, in alder-arbored brooks, + Abate their hunger but eschew the hooks; + Go where the flowers, by fairy weavers spun, + Pour out their grateful incense to the Sun; + Go where the deer in secret nooks disport + And Nature, clad in verdure, holds her Court; + Go where--nay, stay! Yonder the artist stands, + With brush and prismy palette in her hands, + Before her easel, where the canvas seems + A masterpiece in wondrous color schemes. + What artistry! What fascinating views + Dame Nature paints! Behold the rainbow hues + That tint the dainty flowers and make the rose + Blush to its sepals when it seeks repose; + That tinge the moors and fields and turquoise sky, + And stain the Autumn leaves with crimson dye! + So tarry here, where moss and bluebells grow + Upon the floor of Nature's Studio! + + + + +PICARDY + + + With heads uncovered and with cautious tread + Approach ye here! where lie our martyred dead + In graves unmarked, here, there and everywhere: + So lest, ashamed, ye trample them, beware! + + + + +AMERICA'S PRAYER + + + God bless our Allies! damn the Huns! + And consecrate our swords and guns! + + + + +EPILOGUE + + + They say that a stitch that is timely saves nine: + You haven't your needle? O, well then, take mine; + And all my Dream Outfit--my pipe and my dope! + I've smoked my last hemp _to the end of my rope_. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Bee's Bayonet, by Edwin Alfred Watrous + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40560 *** |