"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.