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diff --git a/old/65194-0.txt b/old/65194-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index bb00bfa..0000000 --- a/old/65194-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1744 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Jingles, by Frank J. Medina - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Jingles - -Author: Frank J. Medina - -Release Date: April 30, 2021 [eBook #65194] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Charlene Taylor, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The Internet - Archive/American Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JINGLES *** - - - - - JINGLES - - BY - FRANK J. MEDINA - - - THE SMITH-BROOKS PRESS, DENVER - - - - - COPYRIGHT 1919 - BY - FRANK J. MEDINA - Denver, Colo. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - ALONE 12 - _It’s queer how seasons affect us sometimes_, - - BOARDER’S SOLILOQUY 14 - _To board or not to board? That is the question_, - - ECHOES FROM THE SEA 7 - _Drifting along in my gallant craft_, - - ESCAPED FROM THE LAW 30 - _They started out all bright and gay_, - - GOING, GOING, GONE 17 - _Where are you going, my dear young man?_ - - HER GENTLEMAN FRIEND 33 - _He’s tall, handsome; eyes of blue_; - - I’S OO BOY 34 - _I hug him closely to my breast_, - - “IT’S ALL BEEN DONE BEFORE” 13 - _There are many things in this world_ - - LAWYER TAFFY AND DR. PILL 22 - _There are two distinguished gentlemen_, - - LIFE’S REALITY 6 - _Gather ’round me closely and a story I’ll relate_ - - LITTLE LIFE 24 - _Little infants_, - - LONELINESS 16 - _Loneliness is not a pain_, - - LOVE AT DAWN 10 - _The fields are full of flowers_, - - LOVE WILL FIND THE WAY 9 - _Though oceans divide, apart they roam_, - - MY JINGLES 5 - _These jingles, I present to thee_, - - MY LADY FAIR 20 - _My lady loves the poems that are old_; - - MY WIFE 25 - _What? You ask me if I’m happy_ - - OUR LAST GOODNIGHT 32 - _“Goodnight! goodnight!” Our last “goodnight!”_ - - OLD AND NEW 23 - _The old oaken bucket_, - - PARTING 36 - _Tonight we part forever, though it fills my heart with pain_; - - PLEADING SUITOR 12 - _Give me the love, the love I crave_ - - ROCKY MOUNTAINS 8 - _I love to climb these hills unique_, - - SMALL TOWN HOTEL 18 - _A bed, a washstand, a lamp and a chair_, - - SONGS OF LONG AGO 20 - _Deep in my heart I cherish memories of the past_, - - THAT’S MY BEAU 21 - _A great big fellow_, - - THAT’S MY PA 29 - _Always stern_, - - THAT’S MY WIFE 28 - _Rich brown hair_, - - THE ACTOR’S FAREWELL 27 - _The actor stood with his only love_, - - THE SCHOOL HOUSE ON THE PLAIN 26 - _’Tis not far from the foothills_, - - THE SEA OF LIFE 19 - _Smoothly we sail o’er life’s mighty sea_, - - THE TICKING OF THE CLOCK 15 - _Far from friends and comrades_, - - THE WILD AND WOOLLY WEST 31 - _You call us wild--just tell me why_; - - ’TWAS NOT TO BE 35 - _I’ve been thinking of the many things_ - - TRUTH 36 - _If in life you would succeed_, - - WHO? 17 - _Who lights the stars that twinkle at night?_ - - WHO WAS THE FOOL? 11 - _A fool there was, so the story goes_, - - -[Illustration: _Frank J. Medina_] - - - - -My Jingles - - - These jingles, I present to thee, - Were written years ago by me; - Some are fair and some are not, - Some, you’ll say, are simply rot; - Some’s not worth the second look-- - But then I had to fill the book. - - - - -Life’s Reality - - - Gather ’round me closely and a story I’ll relate - Of life in different stages--its sad and happy state-- - When as a youth, before the storm and all the world is fair, - And then a man of middle-age, with nothing left but care. - Life’s story has a happy hue and the world seems bright, - Yes, life is full of sunshine, we can not see the night, - And we with hearts all filled with plans, look forward and we see - With eyes of hope, our future fights end in a victory. - - But when the days of youth are o’er, storms gather thick and fast, - The happiness of childhood has vanished with the past. - Instead of all our victories and conquest to attain, - Our fight is principally in life, our daily bread to gain. - Our plans have all been shattered; castles gone to decay; - Our childhood dreams of happiness have long since passed away. - No sunshine now we see in life, all is grief and despair, - Our joyful dreams of former years turned to trials, toil and care. - - In old age we look back to these things we labored after. - Sometimes it causes sorrow; sometimes it causes laughter. - Some of our best days were ill spent in joy and dissipation, - Or mayhap some mistake in life, such as missing a vocation. - Such things will hover ’round our minds when we have all turned gray, - But what’s the use of pining for things long passed away, - For if we had the means wherewith, our lives we could relive; - We’d do the same and to these same hopes we would a nursing give. - - Life has its joys and sorrows; its sunshine and its rain; - Its griefs and disappointments; its happiness and pain. - We struggle hard for happiness, think we have a boundless store, - When the monster disappointment comes knocking at the door. - - - - -Echoes from the Sea - - - Drifting along in my gallant craft, - Over the ocean, broad and vast. - This story of old to me is told - ’Midst the roar of the sea and the creak of the mast. - Millions have I in my deep bed; millions in silver; millions in gold; - Stones that are precious, jewels so rare; - Relics of kingdoms beyond compare. - Antiques that are centuries old. - It was echoes from the sea, whispering to me; - Echoes floating out into the air. - Stories to me told of wealth and shining gold - That are hidden in the mighty ocean there. - - Then it spoke of vessels proud - That boasted their power to conquer all. - The sea with its might they’d gladly fight, - No power on earth could make them fall, - But each brave ship, as it came their turn, gave up the fight - (if the story be true); - Gave up the fight, the echoes say; - Ne’er again will they sail so gay. - Relinquished all and sank from view. - It was echoes from the sea, whispering to me; - Echoes floating out into the air. - Stories to me told of gallant ships of old - That are hidden in the mighty ocean there. - - Next it spoke of seamen gay; - Of sailors that were brave and true, - Whose boasts would be, “We sail the sea; - We sail the mighty ocean blue.” - They sailed away in their gallant bark, these heroes who were - staunch and brave. - Those at home they weep and yearn - For these gallant tars who’ll not return, - But sleep in a watery grave, - It was echoes from the sea, whispering to me, - Echoes floating out into the air. - Stories to me told of sailors brave and bold, - That are hidden in that mighty ocean there. - - - - -Rocky Mountains - - - I love to climb these hills unique, - To reach their very topmost peak, - O’er trails of a thousand thrills. - Away from the cities’ pomp and noise, - Its affectation, care and joys, - Its falsehood, sham and ills. - Your mind, your thoughts to purity cleave; - There’s nothing here for the make-believe - In these gorgeous Rocky Mountains. - - You’re filled with awe, along the trail, - When first these mighty mounts you scale - And o’er these hills you trod; - Its wall of rock will tower high - Above the clouds, toward the sky, - Like citadels of God. - Its sepulchral silence--naught is heard - Save the call of the beast, the song of the bird - And the wind in the trees of the mountains. - - But soon you love--almost revere - Those massive heights the first you fear; - That stand out there alone. - The air, exhilarant and pure, - Castles of rock that will ever endure; - Those mighty walls of stone - In colors of red and gray and blue, - Of green and brown and every hue, - These beautiful Rocky Mountains. - - You know there’s a God (when you’re up there - With nothing above but sky and air) - That made those rocks you stand on. - Surely there’s an Omnipotent Power, - Who built these hills that tower and tower, - Beyond the too-far horizon; - Created these peaks and canons grand, - Constructed these rocks of granite and sand, - These majestic Rocky Mountains. - - You feel your unimportance here, - Up on top of earth’s great sphere, - Standing there alone - You see how little man can do - When these scenes burst upon your view, - From out the great unknown; - He only can scratch at its treasures untold, - He never can gather a tithe of the gold - From the wonderful Rocky Mountains. - - Out of the rocks, from God knows where, - Water springs to life up there, - From the sides of these eminent mounts; - Rushes down from these old hills, - Down o’er the rocks and sands to the rills, - Out of these mighty founts; - Down through the gorge, over the brakes, - Through creeks and rivers and on to the lakes, - In these amazing Rocky Mountains. - - Amid these scenes that’s most sublime - The poet will burst into rhyme, - The sculptor molds his clay; - The layman shouts his admiration, - The artist feels his inspiration, - The author writes his play - Of tragedy, romance, tales that thrill - In these beautiful canons and wonderful hills, - Of these marvelous Rocky Mountains. - - - - -Love Will Find the Way - - - Though oceans divide, apart they roam, - True love will contrive to find its own; - In darkest night or cloudy day, - True love will delight to find the way. - You can’t stop its course or bar its route, - Love surely will force its own way out; - It will come to all, it’s always gay, - In hovel or hall, it finds its way. - - - - -Love at Dawn - - - The fields are full of flowers, - The sky is very blue; - In these bright morning hours - I’m thinking, love, of you. - If I, with love and laughter, - Could drive away your tears, - I’d chance the whole hereafter - Eternity of years. - - Life offers us but little, - So little we can lose; - My patience you but nettle - When you my love refuse; - Our happiness may vanish - Before the sun will set; - Would you our pleasure banish - And live but to regret? - - - - -Who Was the Fool? - - - A fool there was, so the story goes, - Who fell in love with some feminine clothes, - And a bit of a bone and a hank of hair, - That’s known as the woman that did not care; - But a fool must follow his natural bent, - So it wasn’t long ’fore his goods were spent. - When he was stripped to his foolish hide - It naturally followed she threw him aside, - But memory of happiness still survived-- - So some of him lived, if most of him died. - - A wise man, too, whom everyone knows, - Once fell in love with some feminine clothes - And a bit of a bone and a hank of hair, - That’s known as the woman who did not care, - That the fool had called his lady fair; - But the man of wisdom--he did not dare, - Though he loved as much, his will was strong; - He knew the world would say ’twas wrong, - And say it as though they were sincere, - To love this woman who had a career. - Then she must go, or the world would scoff - If they knew of his love, so he cast her off. - He lived alone and he soon grew rich, - For he hadn’t been tarred by the vampire’s pitch. - To himself he said, he was doing right, - Though he craved for her love both day and night-- - ’Twas then he sought, as he but knows, - For the one he loved in those feminine clothes, - And the hank of hair and the bit of bone - That had gone her way and left him alone, - For she had pride and she’d never forgive-- - He never died--for he never did live; - He had bowed to the world, had been its tool-- - Who was the wise man and who was the fool? - - - - -Alone - - - It’s queer how the seasons affect us sometimes, - And how incidents turn our attention to rhymes, - How sentiment (foolish as most superstition), - Seem very sane under certain conditions. - - So when one’s alone at this time of year, - How gloomy we feel when the holiday’s here; - We think that our life is not worth the living - And forget to give thanks on the day of Thanksgiving. - - Perchance, when we dine, if it be alone, - We’ll crave for the place that we love to call home. - Be angry because other people are glad - While enjoying the pleasures we often have had. - - We should think of the blessings we have even now, - And be thankful for life and for health, anyhow; - Be thankful we have our bread and our meat, - There’s many poor creatures have nothing to eat. - - It’s queer that in most every case we forget - To give thanks for our many blessings--and yet - Unless we have all that our hearts have desired, - We’re ungrateful for that which we have acquired. - - There’s always something we wish to obtain, - Or something we’ve lost that we want to regain; - Some hope that has vanished, some love that has flown - And taught us the meaning of that word, alone. - - - - -Pleading Suitor - - - Give me the love, the love I crave - Or else refuse--don’t bid me wait. - Give or refuse; refusal I can brave - But not suspense; you only hesitate. - - - - -“It’s All Been Done Before” - - - There are many things in this world - To aggravate a man, - And upset almost everything - That he will try and plan. - - He will build castles in the air, - Have prospects by the score, - When everything’s complete he’ll find - Some one’s done it before. - - He’ll think that he’s original, - But ere long he will know - The same thing has been done before-- - Yes, many years ago. - - The author of the novel - Tries to think of something new; - The poet with his lyre, - The same thing tries to do. - - The musical composer - Wants something odd and queer; - When they think they are original, - Find they’ve an old idea. - - The actor tells a funny joke, - But don’t say any more, - When he finds an actor told it - That was there the week before. - - So this thing will continue; - New things are seldom found, - And history will repeat itself - While the world goes ’round. - - But with all of Adam’s trouble, - No one could make him sore - By saying, when he did a thing, - It had been done before. - - - - -Boarder’s Soliloquy - -(A Parody) - - - To board or not to board? That is the question, - Whether ’tis nobler for mind and stomach - To suffer pains of outrageous hunger - Or get thee to a hasherie in the city, - And there to masticate tough meat and pie crust, - To eat, to consume stale eggs, to say we end - The stomach ache and thousand shocks - That flesh is heir to in a boarding house. - To eat, to sleep; perchance to dream; aye, there’s the rub, - For in that sleep what nightmare dreams may come; - When we have conquered our dyspepsia - And sought repose upon our bed of corncobs - That makes a burden of our righteous life. - Who could bear this tantor without demur? - The oppressing wrong of the boarding-house mistress, - The pangs of a dyspeptic stomach, - The insolence of the landlady’s daughter, - The stale jokes of her fat husband, - The squalls of her sister’s baby, - The whistling of her ten-year-old son, - The vocalization of the lady in the next room, - The violent piano exercise of the widow boarder, - When we might seek another place? aye, there’s the respect, - Why leave this bedlam, to which no boarder e’er returns? - Puzzles the will and makes us rather bear these ills we have, - Than fly to those we know not of. - Thus hunger makes cowards of us all, - And thus the native hue of resolution - Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought, - And gallantry that strikes us for the moment - Is shattered, and in this respect - We lose the name of action. - - - - -The Ticking of the Clock - - - Far from friends and comrades, - Far away from home, - None to cheer my loneliness - As I sit here alone. - For me there is no cheerful voice, - There’s no familiar knock; - All that breaks the silence - Is the ticking of the clock. - - Ah! what memory comes to me - With that clock ticking there; - It has ticked away our joy; - It will tick away our care. - First, when a little infant, - With instinct shrewd and quick, - I said, “Papa, let me listen - To the tick, tick, tick.” - - As a boy, quite full of mischief, - By teacher called a fool, - I’d watch the old clock on the wall - To let me out of school. - Later, as a youth when courting, - The maid who had my heart, - When I’d hear the clock strike ten, - It meant, “Young man, depart.” - - Next, as a broker, I have watched - The rise and fall of stock; - A fortune lost, another gained, - To the ticking of the clock. - Now that I am old and gray, - With Heaven alone to gain; - Life’s voyage nearly ended, - That old clock ticks the same. - - It ticked through all my sorrow, - It ticked through all my strife, - It ticked through my prosperity, - It ticks away my life. - It ticked when I was healthy, - It ticked when I was sick; - All through life I’ve always heard - That tick, tick, tick. - - There it stands a-ticking, - Ticking night and day; - Ticking us along through life-- - Ticking life away. - These memories now hang o’er me, - As I sit here by myself - And listen to the ticking - Of the clock upon the shelf. - - - - -Loneliness - - - Loneliness is not a pain, - But a feeling that one can’t explain; - A sort of a downcast silent regret, - Or a longing for something we can not get. - A feeling of sorrow, then “don’t care,” - A little encouragement, then despair; - A wish for something we had before - That’s passed away to return no more. - A selfish sympathy, one’s melancholy, - Then tries to cheer up and wants to be jolly. - Next, we’re lost in a reverie, - The joys of life we can not see. - Keep building castles in the air, - ’Till finally one thinks he’s a millionaire-- - Then we suddenly awake to realize - We’re living on earth and not in the skies. - - Forget yourself and move about, - And loneliness will soon “clear out.” - - - - -Who? - - - Who lights the stars that twinkle at night? - Who makes the snow so pure and white? - Who makes the heat, the cold, the air? - Who makes the flowers with beauty so rare? - Who makes the winter wind fiercely blow? - Who makes the water to ebb and flow? - Who makes the hills and valleys so grand? - Who makes the sky, the sea and the land? - Who makes the night? Who makes the day? - Who cheers the traveler on his way? - Who fills the mountains with silver and gold? - Who (when the traveler is weary and old) - Opens the gates, when no more we can roam, - And bids us to enter our Heavenly home? - - - - -Going, Going, Gone - - - Where are you going, my dear young man? - “I’m going,” he said, “to the prairie land.” - What do you mean, are you going out West? - “I am,” he replied, as he pulled down his vest. - What will you do there, my dear young man? - “I’ll make my fortune, you understand.” - - (Two years later--moral.) - - My dear young man, how do you do? - Why, it’s most two years since I saw you. - I really commenced to think you were dead; - Oh! you were going West, I believe you said. - Well, to be candid, you’re looking sad, - And I must say that your clothes look bad. - It’s the same old hat I saw before, - Your coat, I see, is somewhat tore. - In the knee of your pants another tear, - And your shoes, they look the “worse for wear,” - And what in the world became of your vest? - The young man said, “I’ve been out West.” - - - - -Small Town Hotel - - - A bed, a washstand, a lamp and a chair, - An old broken comb to dress your hair; - Patch on mirror, crack to hide, - Room that’s nearly six feet wide. - Carpet covering half the floor, - Towel you’ll see done service before. - When you want to retire, blow out the light, - Jump into bed and say, “Goodnight.” - Don’t mind the rats if they nibble your toes, - Report at the office when you lose your clothes; - There’s often in soup a small hair pin-- - But don’t mind that, just scramble in. - Next, they’ll serve you cornbeef hash - Flavored with the cook’s mustache. - If in pie there’s button or rim of hat - Don’t worry, they charge nothing extra for that. - Rates are only three dollars a day, - If you want water, by the way, - It’s found in the yard where a well they’ve sunk. - There’s no place for your clothes, so you live in your trunk. - Lots of light, don’t want any more, - All comes from the transom over the door. - All the advantages one can’t tell - That’s found in the good small town hotel. - - - - -The Sea of Life - - - Smoothly we sail o’er life’s mighty sea, - Our pleasant delusion, or rather our dream, - Is a picture of joy that is to be. - Ah! life, yes life, is all serene. - We shout and laugh as we sail along - And as echo returns from o’er the way - Like a mermaid’s song - In warning tone, it seems to say: - Laugh on, ye fool, for you can’t laugh long; - Even now there’s a cloud in sight. - As it passes the sun you’ll change your song, - And life will not be near so bright. - Then we look about through the bright blue sky. - There’s no cloud there that we can see. - We ridicule the mermaid’s cry - And drink long life and prosperity. - - Then the sea grows rough, and our frail bark - Is tossed about in the ocean foam. - The cloud has raised, the sky grows dark, - We are struggling away alone; - We struggle and fight to the very last. - Our ship of life is tempest tossed, - And ere the Golden Harbor’s passed - Our life is spent, our joy is lost. - - So this is life that we are given! - For me, I’ll simply heave a sigh - And say that it’s not worth the living, - And nurse the thought that we must die. - - - - -Songs of Long Ago - - - Deep in my heart I cherish memories of the past, - And think of happy moments that have flown away so fast; - I see again the old homestead and my mother dear - Seated by the fireside in her old armchair. - When the springtime flowers bloomed and sweet fragrance filled - the air, - When the song of joyous birds made all the world seem fair, - She’d take me on her knee and in accent sweet and low, - She’d sing me many pretty songs--sweet songs of long ago. - - When I left home and mother, I was but a lad, - To go and battle with the world, it made her poor heart sad; - The struggle was a hard one, ere I a fortune earned, - But mother dear had passed away when homeward I returned. - For what had been my struggle, and the money I had saved? - With all I could not call her back from the cold, cold grave. - The memory of my childhood days came back to me again, - I prayed to hear the old, old songs, but prayer was all in vain. - - - - -My Lady Fair - - - My lady loves the poems that are old; - No verse or art she calls complete - Unless for many golden ducats sold - And in addition quite antique. - I want your praise, I want your approbation; - To earn it I most anything would try, - But we will likely have an altercation - If to obtain your favor I must die. - - - - -That’s My Beau - - - A great big fellow, - Loves a gun; - Always laughing, - Full of fun. - Plays at billiards - And at pool; - Also poker, - Always cool. - Likes theaters, - Loves a race; - Knows the deuce - From the ace. - Spends his money - Left and right; - Boys say, - “He’s out of sight.” - Helps a friend - Who’s in distress, - Cheers them - In their loneliness. - “Hail-fellow-well-met” - Sort of way. - Always happy, - Always gay. - Handsome features, - Eyes that glow; - Splendid figure, - That’s my beau. - - - - -Lawyer Taffy and Dr. Pill - - - There are two distinguished gentlemen, - Who are very easily found; - They inhabit every borough, - Every village, city and town. - One will slowly take your life, - The other draws your will; - But the people all write to praise - Lawyer Taffy and Dr. Pill. - - You think yourself in trouble, - The lawyer you must see; - But ere he imparts advice - There’s the retainer fee. - The amount will always vary, - According to your pile; - Ten dollars makes him crabbed-- - Ten thousand makes him smile. - - You have a little headache, - For the doctor you will send; - He’ll drive up to your domicile - And to you he will pretend - Your case is very serious; - He’ll have to call next day-- - Then these visits will continue - As long as you can pay. - - So the lawyer and the doctor - Are very much the same, - And while the world continues - I suppose they will remain. - They leave us in our happiness, - But when we have our ills, - The lawyer gives us taffy - And the doctor gives us pills. - - - - -The Old and New - - - The old oaken bucket, - The iron-bound bucket, - The moss-covered bucket, - That hangs in the well. - - A beautiful song is “The Old Oaken Bucket,” - The old oaken bucket that hangs in the well; - It’s pleasing in verse and in sentiment, too, - But to moss-covered buckets we’ve long bid farewell. - Old oaken buckets, all covered with moss, - No doubt were quite nice in their day; - But now all we want of the moss or the bucket, - Is to hear it in some minstrel lay. - - Give us the pitcher of silver and gold, - Containing ice water, refreshing and cold; - We love the new pitcher; we know it is clean; - Not buried in mud, worn mossy and green. - Who wants the old bucket? It’s gone with its time, - Remembered alone by the bard in his rhyme; - So we’ll sing to the new and not to the old-- - Give us the pitcher of silver and gold. - - Away with the bucket, - The iron-bound bucket, - The moss-covered bucket, - The hangs in the well. - Give us the pitcher, - The golden-bound pitcher, - The bright silver pitcher-- - To buckets farewell. - - - - -Little Life - - - Little infants, - Little toys; - Little playmates, - Little boys. - Little falsehood, - Little truth; - Little studious, - Little youth. - Little dancing, - Little life; - Little courting, - Little wife. - Little happy, - Little gay; - Little sorrow, - Little gray. - Little aged, - Little bent, - Little tottering, - Life near spent. - Little aching, - Little sore; - Little sickness, - Life is o’er. - - - - -My Wife - - - What? You ask me if I’m happy - Up here in my mountain home? - Why, stranger, trouble’s a thing - That I have never known. - I’m happy as a chipmunk, - Or the little mountain squirrel; - For my wife in yonder cabin - Is the sweetest kind of a girl. - - Our home I know ain’t handsome, - It’s a little bit out of repairs; - But, you see, we folks in the mountains - Ain’t them what put on airs. - I’m happier than them fellows - What carry a walking stick, - And live down there in the city - In a great big house of brick. - - Neighbors? No, there ain’t many, - But them what we have are good. - If any of us was ever sick - I know they’d do all they could. - Why you folks down in the city - Just dread this mountain life, - While I! I’m the happiest man alive, - Up here with my little wife. - - Maybe she’s not a beauty, - But she’s as good as she can be; - She ain’t so well educated, - But I tell you, she just suits me. - I can’t express my feelings; - Fine words I can’t recall, - But there’s just this much about it-- - I love her--that’s all. - - - - -The School House on the Plain - - - ’Tis not far from the foothills - Of the Rocky Mountain range, - There stands a quaint old school house, - Withered, odd and strange. - Without a thought you’d pass it by, - For it stands off from the lane; - So it is but few who notice - That old school house on the plain. - - To this structure there’s no beauty, - But this thought came to me; - To how many little children - Has it taught the A, B, C. - Ah! how many must be thankful - For instructions that they gain, - Within that old and rustic room - Of the school house on the plain. - - ’Tis not alone the children - Who its benefits enjoy, - For we see among its scholars - The typical cowboy; - The young, the old, the rich and poor, - All manage to obtain - A little education - At the school house on the plain. - - - - -The Actor’s Farewell - - - The actor stood with his only love, - Alone by the foaming sea; - Breathing vows of affection, - Devotion and constancy. - The season, it had opened, - Long months she’d have to wait; - For the company’s out for forty weeks, - From Maine to the Golden Gate. - - To his darling little Katie, - In confidence he has told; - From the state of California - He will steal the Gate of Gold - (For his purse it is not heavy); - Then he also will have time - To pick up the Free Silver - In the Colorado clime. - - He whispers then a last “good-bye.” - He will return with the June bug. - Then with a kiss and loving sigh, - They took their parting hug. - - (The following June--The Actor’s return.) - - Shoes all gone; clothes all torn; - Actor now feels quite forlorn. - Life’s a pest, needs a rest, - Had to walk from way out West. - Watch in soak, heart is broke, - Plans have vanished just like smoke; - Katie’s pet, busted yet, - Couldn’t buy a cigarette. - People slow, got no go, - A good actor they don’t know; - Have to work like a Turk, - No more acting--dry goods clerk. - - - - -That’s My Wife - - - Rich brown hair, - Amber eyes; - Angel fit - For paradise. - Helpmate - Where trouble’s rife, - Guides me through - The busy strife. - Ruby lips, - Angelic form; - Pretty hands, - Soft and warm. - Disposition - That’s superb, - Always has - A gentle word. - Sweetest smiles - That cheer my life. - Rosy cheeks-- - That’s my wife. - - - - -That’s My Pa - - - Always stern, - Likes no fun; - Sits and reads - When home he’ll come. - Says the light - Is awful dim; - Tells me not - To bother him. - Smokes his pipe, - Don’t say a word; - Says boys should be seen, - Not heard. - Makes me go - To bed at eight, - While he and ma - Both sit up late. - Looks at me - So awfully grave; - Tells me that - I must behave. - Thinks of no one - ’Cepting ma. - Oh! he’s cranky-- - That’s my pa. - - - - -Escaped from the Law - -(In Three Acts) - - - ACT I--COMEDY - - They started out all bright and gay, - The circuit they were going to play; - The manager to each man said-- - “We’re dated forty weeks ahead; - Next week we play at Omaha, - With our great play, ‘Escaped from the Law.’” - - - ACT II--ROMANCE - - At Omaha you hear folks tell, - Actors came to a hotel, - Hung their lithographs all around, - Played to empty seats and jumped the town; - Left their trunks all filled with straw, - And that same night escaped from the law. - - - ACT III--PATHOS - - Everything seems to go wrong; - Actors’ shoes are almost gone. - Trudging down the track alone, - A thousand miles away from home; - Counting ties the last we saw - Of the company called, “Escaped from the Law.” - - - (Curtain) - - - - -The Wild and Woolly West - - - You call us wild--just tell me why; - ’Cause we look sort of rough? - You’ll find the boys in this here camp - A good long ways from tough. - We got no use for lawyers; - Judge Lynch we all respect, - But no one needs to fear the Judge - If he carries hisself correct. - - There was that man Tim Haskins-- - Tim you know’s a scamp-- - Well, he took us for tenderfoots - And tried to run the camp. - Joe Grant took objections, then - ’Fore anyone could tell, - Haskins knifed him through the heart - And struck him again as he fell. - - That set our blood to biling; - We were sore as we could be. - We dragged Tim to yon canon - And strung him to a tree. - You’ll see him as you’re passing; - He’s near the road down there-- - Unless he’s served as dinner - For wolves or grizzly bear. - - Now, back East this ain’t justice, - But as like as like can be, - If Tim had got a court trial - The jury would have set him free. - We don’t want no law like that, - So when a man’s a pest - We hook him to the nearest tree, - In the wild and woolly West. - - - - -Our Last Goodnight - - - “Goodnight! goodnight!” Our last “goodnight!” - To some these words seem sad, - But in this case they’re quite the reverse; - They seem to make us glad. - Our hearts they are not heavy, - No tears to dim our sight. - ’Tis with a kiss and loving smile - We breathe our last “goodnight.” - - We speak again, our last “goodnight,” - And seal it with a kiss. - We’ve parted--yes, we’ve parted, - Yet both are filled with bliss. - Our last “goodnight” we’ve whispered, - And yet our hearts are light. - A fond embrace, a loving kiss - And then we said “goodnight.” - - You think it strange we’re happy, - Yet the world ne’er seemed so bright, - And though she’s all the world to me, - We said our last “goodnight.” - These sad words I have whispered - To the one that I adore, - But tomorrow is our wedding day; - We’ll say “goodnight” no more. - - - - -Her Gentleman Friend - - - He’s tall, handsome; eyes of blue; - Her gentleman friend. - A careless swing, but his heart is true, - Her gentleman friend. - Every night at the hour of eight - She’ll lightly trip to the garden gate, - And there with throbbing heart await - Her gentleman friend. - - She’ll calmly gaze through the dewy night - For her gentleman friend. - Then down the lane who dawns in sight? - Her gentleman friend. - As he comes near her eyes they glow; - Their hearts with love now overflow. - Who says he loves this little girl so? - Her gentleman friend. - - Whose mellow voice has a silvery tone? - Her gentleman friend. - Who tells her he loves her alone? - Her gentleman friend. - Who, with a kiss and a fond caress, - Asks her his future life to bless? - To whom does she softly answer “yes”? - Her gentleman friend. - - - - -“I’s Oo Boy” - - - I hug him closely to my breast, - I smooth his golden curls. - I’m happy when I’m with him, - And proud as any earl. - When I ask, “Whose boy are you?” - He’ll drop his little toy, - And running to my arms will cry, - “I’s oo boy.” - - See his eyes jump with delight - When he is on my knee; - The world is full of sunshine - Since he has come to me. - My happiness is quite complete, - My peace none could destroy, - When I hear his sweet lips murmur, - “I’s oo boy.” - - He is just sixteen months old; - He can say “Mama;” - Rub his eyes when sleepy - And just lisp, “Papa.” - As he bears us these little words - It fills our hearts with joy. - This is all he knows, except, - “I’s oo boy.” - - - - -’Twas Not To Be - - - I’ve been thinking of the many things - That’s happened since we met; - Of the many, many happy days - That I will not forget. - With my sweetheart in the mountains - And out upon the plain, - In the country and the city, - In the sunshine and the rain. - Thinking of the kisses stolen - And the kisses you returned, - The latter, dear, upon my lips, - Indelibly are burned. - Thinking, dear, of love’s sweet nothings - We’d to each other say, - And how we’d sit in silence, - Holding hands ’most every day, - Thinking of the happiness we’ve had - ’Till now I can not see - Another girl in all the world - That looks so good to me, - As my sweetheart in the country, - Who stole from me my heart. - And then the cruel hour arrived-- - The time we had to part. - - But what’s the use of talking, - I know those days have past. - They say that there is happiness - That is too good to last. - We all must have our troubles; - Each must have their share, - And each in turn believes their own - The hardest ones to bear. - So, thinking of the past, tonight, - And of the present too, - With all my love I fear that I - Was never meant for you. - - - - -Truth - - - If in life you would succeed, - Start in early youth; - To this warning now pay heed - Always speak the truth. - Let others do what e’er they may; - In your dealings it will pay - To have your neighbors gladly say, - You always speak the truth. - - It’s your one great asset, boy, - Do not be deterred - By temptation to deny a truth - You’ve said or heard. - So be sure, keep this in view; - Always be exact and true, - And no matter what you do, - Never break your word. - - - - -Parting - - - Tonight we part forever, though it fills my heart with pain; - Love’s ties tonight you sever, my cup of joy you drain. - Pondering o’er the past I weep--no smiles for me you’ve shown; - Where roses grew now dark weeds creep, and I am sad and lone. - - Though tonight we part, I shed no tears, so strange to you - ’twill seem, - That I think of departed years and all that might have been; - Of happy days and faded flowers, of a heart that once was true; - Of joyful and dreary hours as I bid you, my love, adieu. - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - - -Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - -Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - -Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JINGLES *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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