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
[Pg 13]
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
[Pg 14]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 Illiad;
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!)
[Pg 15]
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
[Pg 16]
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
[Pg 17]
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.
[Pg 18]
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.
[Pg 19]
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,
[Pg 20]
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
[Pg 21]
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,
[Pg 22]
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.
[Pg 23]
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.
[Pg 24]
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.
[Pg 25]
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!"
[Pg 26]
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!
[Pg 27]
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
[Pg 28]
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.
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)
[Pg 67]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:
[Pg 68]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!
[Pg 69]
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.
(To S. and W. A.)
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!
[Pg 89]
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,
[Pg 90]
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
[Pg 91]
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,
[Pg 92]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!
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,
[Pg 126]
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;
[Pg 127]
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
[Pg 128]
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.
[Pg 129]
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,
[Pg 130]
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.
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,
[Pg 148]
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
[Pg 149]
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,
[Pg 150]
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.
[Pg 151]
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.
