All men and maids have cause to rue,
  Who on this night dare go abroad
  And touch a foot to fairy sod;
  For naught will save them but to jump
  Right o'er a fire or blazing stump.

  But if you're brave and do not fear
  That for your rashness you'll pay dear,
  Then stand beneath an elder tree
  And King of Fairies you may see.

  Should you then wish to ride afar
  With him to some far distant star,
  Then quickly tread St. John's wort flower
  And he will show you "Fairies' Bower,"
  And also carry you all night
  To many lands, until the light
  Comes with Aurora's face so fair,
  When he will drop you anywhere,
  It matters not where he may be,
  On mountain, desert, or the sea.

  And therefore few men whom I know
  Are brave enough with him to go.
  And think it best to bide at home
  And not with fairies far to roam.

BEWARE OF THE WET

  Johnnie Jones, you'd bettah stop
    Paddlin' in de wet,
  Lest you grow to be a duck
    Or somethin' worser yet
  With a pudgy mushroom head
    Shaped like an umbrella,
  Which would make you, handsome lad,
    Such an ugly fellah.

TO MODERN KNIGHTS

  What would you do, oh, my good brothers,
  Should anyone insult your mothers,
  Your sisters, sweethearts or your wives
  By saying they lived worthless lives
  Because they could not go to fight
  In cruel war with men of might?

  The one who slandered women so,
  Ah, you would treat him as your foe.

  What would you do, oh, my good brothers,
  Should anyone insult your mothers,
  Your sisters, sweethearts or your wives,
  Declaring they lived worthless lives
  And classing them with lunatics
  Or, even worse, with fierce convicts?

  The one who slandered women so,
  Ah, you would treat him as your foe.

  What would you do, oh, my good brothers,
  Should anyone insult your mothers,
  Your sisters, sweethearts or your wives
  By saying they are worthless lives,
  And that all women are inferiors,
  And even black men are superiors?

  The one who slandered women so,
  Ah, you would treat him as your foe.

  What would you do, oh, my good brothers,
  Should anyone insult your mothers,
  Your sisters, sweethearts or your wives
  By calling them mere worthless lives
  Because all men now take the lead,
  E'en though they cannot write or read?

  The one who slandered women so,
  Ah, you would treat him as your foe.

  Awake! Arise! Oh, my good brothers,
  Your country's law insults your mothers,
  Your sisters, sweethearts and your wives,
  And classes them as worthless lives,
  Declaring that no vote have they
  As to who rules this U. S. A.

  So, modern knights, now make new laws
  That bear an equal franchise clause.

A SONG OF THE WOODS

  "My leaves are turning crimson," the giant oak tree said,
  "It's almost time these children should seek their winter's bed,
  But how they still cling to me and gleam with crimson hue,
  They truly are more lovely than cirrus clouds of blue.

  "And now throughout the forest--list! hear their voices ring,
  But 'tis in tones of sadness and sighing they now sing--
  'Alas! 'tis gone, fair summer, and winter's reign is near,
  He cruelly strips the forest of all her summer cheer
  By killing all her lovely leaves and likewise flowers gay
  And driving all her fairy folk to homes of far away.'"

BRICK VERSUS WATCH

  "Nursie, dear, oh, I'ze afraid
  I haz breakt a brick
  In de big old fireplace.
  Please to mend it quick
  'Fore dear Muzzie tums along
  And sees w'at I haz done,
  Poundin' with my Daddy's watch
  Ter make it fasser run."

KOPPA AFTER PI

  I've very little Latin and very little Greek
  Stored away in my small brain, which yet is very weak,
  But one thing I'll remember, I think until I die,
  And that is that the KOPPA follows after Pi.
  And mother says that perhaps this solves the very reason why
  The "Kops" they follow after cooks well trained in baking pie.

THE PAST AND PRESENT EVE

  Where is the maid of the long ago
    Who stayed at home and knit?
  And where is she who won her way
    Having a fainting fit?

  Where is the maid who sat all day
    Waiting a lover to call
  So she might wed and ride away
    Unto his manor hall?

  And where is she who always blushed
    And giggled "Tee-hee-hee!"
  Whene'er a noble "Adamite"
    She even chanced to see?

  Where is she with the wasp-like waist
    And Chinese hobbling feet,
  The maiden fair with light bleached hair
    Who thought she was too sweet?

  Where is the dame who left her babes
    Unto a servant's care,
  While she reposed or tried to make
    Herself look wondrous fair?

  And where is she who wouldn't vote
    And did not care to know
  Who guided this great ship of state
    And saved it from the foe?

  She's gone away to "Has-been-realms,"
    And now we have instead
  Our glorious type of womankind
    Who forges fast ahead.

  Our brothers who now make the laws
    Of this great country fair,
  'Tis they alone who power have
    Their franchise rights to share.

  I pray you show your chivalry,
    Oh, all you worthy knights,
  And vote for equal franchise laws,
    Which are your sisters' rights!

MY IMPRESSIONS OF NEWSPAPER MEN

[_Written by request of a newspaper man._]

  Newspaper men, so I believe,
    Have tongues that roll around
  As if well oiled with labial grease,
    The slickest to be found.

  Most of these men are very nice
    And have a pleasant look,
  But if I utter one wee word
    They make it fill a book.

  Some one has said that simple smiles
    For length can't be surpassed;
  Because there is a whole big mile
    'Twixt letters first and last.

  But I believe newspaper men
    Can make words longer still,
  With oceans rolling in between
    Made out of little rills.

  And as for questioning people
    No Eves would dare compete
  With skilful news reporters
    In any question feat.

  But of all men I most adore
    Are these newspaper men,
  And I would now most loudly cheer
    THESE BRAVE KNIGHTS OF THE PEN.

PETER VISITS AN EPISCOPAL CHURCH

  When Peter who was a country jake
  A visit to a church did make
  He sat with pleased look on his face
  As if indeed in Heaven's place.

  And after service when his Ma
  Praised him aloud to his kind Pa
  He said, "Of course I sat quite still
  And watched the preacher's wives so ill
  All dressed in nighties, though their hair
  Was primped and curled as for a fair."

A GHOST STORY

  On a dreadful stormy night
  My dear Tommy had a fight
  With great Peter Snookum Snee,
  Cat of fighting pedigree.

  In this battle, sad to tell,
  My poor Tom, alas, he fell,
  Ending thus his earthly life
  Through the wicked God of Strife.

  On the next night while in bed,
  Sleepless and with aching head,
  For my Tom, my precious pet,
  My poor eyes with tears were wet.

  Suddenly his voice I heard,
  And in ghostly whispers purred,
  "I am coming, mistress, dear,
  Yes, 'tis true I'm very near.

  "Good cat heaven have I left,
  I would comfort you, bereft
  For your precious Tommy pet,
  I would teach you not to fret.

  "Do you hear me in the hall
  With my ghostly soft footfall?
  Up the stairs I bound to thee,
  Jumping steps from one to three.

  "Now my paw is on your door,
  I turn the knob one-two-three-four,
  And you may see your Tommy now--
  Me-ow! Me-ow! Me-ow! ow! ow!"

AN ESPERANTO POEM PLAIN TO ALL

  Hundido krias--"Bow-wow-wow!"
  Katido krias--"Meow-meow!"
  Bovido krias--"Moo-moo-moo!"
  Kolombo krias--"Coo-coo-coo!"
  Shafido krias--"Baa-baa-baa!"
  Infano krias--"Ma-ma-ma!"

THE WINDS OF MARCH

[_Awarded Gold Medal in April (1912) Issue of St. Nicholas Magazine._]

  Last March, "Imp March Winds" teased me so, I had no peace of mind,
  For when I took a little walk, these imps came close behind,
  And plucked my hat from off my head and hurled it to the ground,
  Or blew my handkerchief so far it never could be found.
  So, thinking of the Tangu rug, I asked it to appear
  And carry me away to Mars, where I need have no fear
  Of being tortured by these imps who love to tease and tease,
  And never let the big or small feel perfectly at ease.
  Then on the magic rug I flew away up in the air,
  And landed on the planet Mars.   Alas, the imps were there!
  And working greater havoc far than they had done on earth,
  For 'twas indeed the warlike Mars that gave these bad imps birth.

A BACHELOR'S OPINION OF A BABY

  Said Auntie to a bachelor--
    "Do look at my fine boy!
  Oh, isn't he a cunning dear--
    His mother's greatest joy."

  "Ah, really," said the bachelor,
    While blushing rosy red,
  "And can he sit on his hind legs
    And beg when he is fed?"

MY COUNTRY

  In this dear land we need not sigh
  And fear as orphans we may die,
  As long as we can look on high
  And see the starry banner fly
  Above the children passing by,
  Who gaze above, salute and cry,
          "MY COUNTRY!"

GREEDY IMPS

  Nine goblins, ten witches, and bad imps galore
  Danced round me last night and made me so sore.
  They pricked and they stabbed, they stung and they clawed
  At my poor "tum-tum," oh, my, how they gnawed.
  I struggled against them while trembling with fear
  And crying out loudly, "Oh, Mother, come here!"

  Just like a good fairy she came to my aid
  And made the bad goblins so quickly to fade
  Away in the darkness of "I-know-not-where,"
  I'm sure that no children would like to go there.

  And as Mother petted my poor aching head
  She looked at me sadly and softly she said,
  "The imps you have seen came but at your call
  As you were so greedy and ate nearly all
  The rich candied cherries your uncle sent you
  Instead of obeying and eating a few."

TO FRIENDS WHO REMEMBERED ME WHEN I WAS ILL

  I thank you for the Fairies, you sent from KINDNESS BOWER,
  Bearing healing messages through thought, or deed, or flower,
  While wicked pains were troubling me and I felt very sad,
  Your loving little messengers, they came and made me glad
  By telling cheerful stories of flowering shrub and tree,
  And driving through forgetfulness the horrid pains from me.

GREETINGS TO NORFOLK

  Greetings to the city of my birth, Norfolk town,
  Proud am I to claim this birthplace of renown,
  In Virginia's realms whose glory antedates
  That of all our country's other states.

ORIENTAL METAPHOR

  Anysing just suits me,
  Makes me happy be,
  All I needs to trinkee
  Is few leaves of tea
  With a drop of water
    No more than you meet
  In ze little holelets
    Made by chickens' feet.
  And as to my eatin'
    Weenty sings suffice,
  All I needs for dinner
    Iz a grain ob rice.
  Oh, I eat so little
    For my biggish size,
  I'ze just like a hound dog
    Only munchin' flies.

A TORPID LIVER 'SPLODED HIM

  Johnnie's father's gone to Heaven
  So his mother told my ma
  Doctor said a torpid liver
  Killed poor Johnnie's sickly pa.

  'Spose it 'sploded and then shot him
  Way up in the clouds above,
  Where his pieces were united
  By the angels' songs of love.

THE SOUL OF A MISER

  'Tis said that the soul of a miserly man,
  So small it becomes that any one can
  Blow it right through a tiny round pill
  Thence through the top of a humming bird's bill
  Into the eye of a wee little bug,
  Which wouldn't cause it to wink or to shrug.

LEARNING THE FRENCH ALPHABET

  PROFESSOR GROS TO HIS PUPILS:

  Répétez, s'il vous plaît,
  Les bonnes lettres a, b, c.

  MAÎTRE CORBEAU:

  Non, ces lettres je n'aime pas,
  Je crie seulement k-k-k.

  PROFESSOR GROS:

  Répétez, s'il vous plaît,
  Les bonnes lettres, a, b, c.

  MAÎTRE COCHON:

  Non, non, non, je seulement dis
  La jolie lettre i-i-i.

  PROFESSOR GROS:

  Répétez, s'il vous plaît,
  Les bonnes lettres, a, b, c.

  MÉCHANT GARCON:

  Non, non, non, je seulement dis
  La comique lettre j-j-j.

  PROFESSOR GROS:

  Répétez, s'il vous plaît,
  Les bonnes lettres, a, b, c.

  LA MÉCHANTE FILLETTE:

  Non, non, non, pour faire bons mots
  Je préfére la grande lettre O----

  PROFESSOR GROS:

  Répétez, s'il vous plaît,
  Les bonnes lettres, a, b, c.

  LA VIELLE FILLE: FRANÇAISE:

  Non, non, non, je seulement sais
  La douce bonne lettre t-t-t.

DANS MA MAISON

  Dans ma maison jolie j'ai
  Un cheval, un perroquet,
  Un crocodile et un taureau,
  Une grande puce et un chevreau,
  Une vache, un âne et une brebis,
  Un papillon, des chauves-souris.

  Dans ma maison jolie j'ai
  Une tigresse, un terrier,
  Un épagneul et un agneau,
  Une girafe et un beau veau,
  Un phoque, un bouc et un chameau,
  Un singe, un boeuf et un corbeau.

  Dans ma maison jolie j'ai,
  Une ânesse, un lévrier,
  Une alouette et un lièvre,
  Une linotte et une bonne chèvre,
  Un boule-dogue et un moineau,
  Mon caniche si bon si beau.

  Dans ma maison jolie j'ai
  Une cigogne, des araignées,
  Une grande chenille, un léopard,
  Une tortue et un canard,
  Un aigle, une taupe, des lionceaux,
  Et un grand Monsieur Crapaud.

  Dans ma maison jolie j'ai
  Une baleine, un fier geai,
  Un éléphant et un bon chat,
  Un renard, beaucoup des rats,
  Une loutre, un tigre et un mulet,
  Un coq, une poule et des poulets.

  Dans ma maison jolie j'ai
  Une perruche, un bélier,
  Une jument et un hibou
  Un vautour et un loulou,
  Une pie, une mouche et une belette,
  Des autruches et une fauvette.

  Dans ma maison jolie j'ai
  Un serpent, un sanglier,
  Une sauterelle et Madame Oie
  Et un grand chien Danois
  Tout le mond vit chez nous
  Bêtes et gens-excepté vous!

DANS MON JOLI JARDIN

  Dans mon joli jardin j'ai
  De belles roses et des oeillets
  Des hyacinthes et des pensées
  Du chevrefeuille, des tulipes gaies
  Des passe-roses, de l'oranger
  De blancs lilacs parfumés.
  Dans mon joli jardin j'ai
  Des muguets et des bluets
  Des campanules très coquettes
  La simple et modeste violette,
  Des marguerites, de rouges pavots
  De beaux arbres si grands et haut!

DANS MA CUISINE

AS AN AID IN MEMORIZING THE ARTICLES IN THE KITCHEN

  Dans ma cuisine joilie j'ai
  Une poèle, et l'évier.
  Des cuilliers, et des couteaux
  Un balai, un fourneau,
  Une bouilloire, et une théière
  Et ma bonne cuisinière.

  Dans ma cuisine jolie j'ai
  Des casseroles et un pass-thé,
  Des porcelaines, un joli moule,
  Beaucoup de plats et une grande boule,
  Des soucoupes une cafetière
  Et ma bonne cuisinière.

  Dans ma cuisine jolie j'ai
  De belles tasses, un pot à lait;
  Beaucoup de sucre et de farine
  Sont toujours dans ma cuisine;
  Et la reine de ma pauvre mère
  Qui est notre cuisinière.

  Dans ma cuisine jolie j'ai
  Une grande armoire, une horloge vraie
  Beaucoup d'eau et bon café
  Du chocolat, aussi du thé,
  Du vin, du lait, et la bìere
  Pour notre bonne cuisinière.

UN PETIT BARBARE POU

[_Written to remember that pou, genou, hibou, joujou, caillou, bijou
and chou take X in the plural._]

  Une fois un petit barbare pou,
  A donné grand mal au genou
  Du très sage et vieux hibou
  Qui a jeté son joujou
  (Un petit, mais dur caillou)
  Qui etait son cher bijou
  À la tête du méchant pou
  Faisant lui un brisé chou.

WISE REPLIES

  "Joan of Arc, and who was she?"
  Asked the teacher of little Leigh.
  "Wife of Noah, of course," said she,
  "Who sailed the ark upon the sea."

  "John's so wise he laughed at Leigh
  When she tried to answer me,
  So in the future for replies
  We'll always go to John the wise.
  Now what is lava, Johnnie, dear,
  Can it be found in places near?"

  "Why, certainly," said smiling John,
  "Most everyday Dad puts it on,
  And covers nearly his whole face
  With lava thick in every place."

I PREFER A LAZY BEE

  Once I saw a little bee
  Sitting very quietly
  On a baby elder tree.

  Coming near to the young bee
  I reproached him scornfully,
  Saying, "You're not busy, bee."

  Instantly the wicked bee
  Made himself to busy be
  By most cruelly stinging me.

  Since that time I never see
  Any busy buzzing bee
  But I wish he'd lazy be.

WHEN WOMEN VOTE

[_Written for the Evansville, Indiana, Courier._]

  When women vote
  On high will float
  The banner of true worth.
  No more Sir Graft
  Or Wily Craft
  Shall rule good Mother Earth.

  Then peace will be
  On land and sea,
  The goddess we adore.
  Not e'en a germ
  Or ugly worm
  Will dare molest us more.

This jingle may be sung to the air of _Auld Lang Syne_.

AN OLD GARDEN

  In my old Savannah garden,
    There roses and jasmine grew
  And many sweet for-get-me-nots
    Of lovely shades of blue.
  Japonica's waxen blossoms
    Of purest white and pink,
  Wistarias with honey cups
    From which the bees could drink.
  Sweet old-time shrubs whose odors
    Filled all the sun-kissed air
  And many another beauty
    Of "Flora" was found there;
  So one would think that garden
    A place of pure delight,
  But, alas, not so since Tom Cat
    Sang ditties there each night.

SPELLING WRONG "RONG"

  To-day I got a lickin'
    And teacher called me bad,
  But I can't see the reason--
    I guess it's just her fad.
  For when in class she asked me,
    "The word wrong will you spell?"
  "R-O-N-G," I quickly cried,
    And thought that I did well.
  "That's wrong!" she cried out fiercely,
    "I know it," I replied,
  While beaming with a pleasant grin
    So very broad and wide.
  And then to think she seized me
    And called me "sassy boy"
  While lashing me with a peach limb
    And blasting all my joy.

LET MA VOTE

(_Spoken at U. S. Arsenal Park on July the Fourth, 1912._)

  Ma can sew and Ma can bake--
  Every sort of thing can make
  Out of thread and wool and yarns,
  And, besides, 'tis she who darns
  All the rents in all our clothes,
  And the holes made by our toes--
  But our Ma she cannot vote
  Any more than Bill, our goat.

  Ma it is who keeps us neat
  From our head down to our feet;
  Watches o'er us night and day
  When we work or when we play;
  Nurses us when we are ill,
  Saving Pa a doctor's bill--
  But our Ma has naught to say
  Who will rule this U. S. A.

  Ma helps Pa, too, with his work.
  For the good soul ne'er will shirk
  From whatever's to be done--
  Our brave Ma will never run.
  But will always do her best,
  And she rarely takes a rest,
  Like our Pa, with pipe alight,
  When he comes from work at night.

  Ma has taught us kids to read--
  In all things our Ma we need.
  The good "Queen of Home" is Ma,
  Though U. S. thinks more of Pa,
  Since he gives him power to rule
  O'er affairs of state and school;
  While concerning laws Ma may
  Ne'er a word have right to say.

  All you boys must truly love
  Your good mother far above
  Anyone upon this earth,
  For 'twas she who gave you birth;
  And you noble, youthful knights,
  Should not wish for any rights
  That your mother does not share--
  Which is only right and fair.

  Won't you work for more just laws,
  With an equal franchise clause,
  So ere one more Fourth has passed
  Ma will win her rights at last,
  And may help to rule this land,
  Which for equal rights will stand?
  Rah! Rah! Rah! Three cheers for Ma
  When she'll vote next year with Pa!

A SONG OF HOME

  There's but one place on this great earth
    Where I can happy be,
  And that is in my own dear home
    Perched on my mother's knee,
  For there I find all that I seek
    Of comfort, love and joy,
  May no dread sorrow come to me
    And my dear home destroy!

THEN AND NOW

[_Published in a suffrage booklet, "A Plea to Gallant Knights."_]

  THEN--

  In ancient days, so I've been told,
  Knights were gallant, kind and bold,
  But ladies e'en though fair and sweet,
  Made the knights kneel at their feet.

  NOW--

  The modern ladies quite compare
  In beauty with these dames so fair,
  But they no longer wish to see
  Bold knights so humbly bending knee,
  They ask only to keep beside
  The modern knight in his bold stride.

THE FIVE BEST FAIRIES

  The joyous CHRISTMAS SPIRIT
    Is flying through the air,
  He's in our homes and in our hearts,
    About us everywhere.
  We see him in the night time
    When we have gone to bed,
  Sitting on our pillow,
    Or floating round our head.
  We hear him in the morning
    As soon as we arise,
  "Don't forget the aged
    And little ones," he cries.
  "If you are well and happy
    Still happier you'll be,
  If you will open wide your heart
    And say 'COME IN' to me.
  I'll tell you of your neighbors
    Who are both ill and sad,
  But who by deeds of kindness
    You may make very glad.
  And for your Christmas presents
    Oh, how I hope and pray
  That Earth's five best good fairies
    To you will come and stay."

  "The first is GOOD HEALTH FAIRY,
    Whose aid all mortals seek,
  For he is life's elixir
    And gives strength to the weak.
  Without this gracious fairy
    No one can ever know
  A single hour of perfect peace
    Away from GOBLIN WOE.
  So treasure this good fairy
    And keep him safe with you,
  For he will be a faithful friend
    And one that's ever true.

  "I'll ask GOOD COMFORT FAIRY
    To all your wants give heed,
  So you may never suffer
    From dreaded SPECTER NEED.

  "A third most precious fairy
    I know will stay with you
  If you have HEALTH to make you smile
    And MEANS so you may do
  The little deeds of kindness
    And little acts of love
  Which bring true gladness to this earth
    From radiant realms above.

  "With health and comfort and true love,
    No fairies, it would seem,
  Would be quite necessary
    To make this life a dream,
  But as most every mortal
    Has hopes of great success,
  Reaching high for certain goals
    Toward which they go in quest.
  I pray SUCCESS, the fairy,
    Will help to win your part
  In everything you undertake,
    In finance, science, art.

  "Now, with good health and comfort
    And love and great success,
  There always travels side by side
    THE FAIRY HAPPINESS.
  Oh, may these five good fairies
    Forever dwell with thee,
  And then you'll be as happy
    As any one can be."

AN EQUAL FRANCHISE VALENTINE

[_Published on valentine cards by the Norfolk, Virginia, Equal
Franchise Association._]

  Oh, noble knight, you oft have said
  That when a maiden you would wed,
  In everything you both should share
  And make a truly happy pair.

  Now, as you vow your love is mine.
  And that I am your Valentine,
  Oh, prove these loving words of thine,
  And make the right of franchise mine!

BEWARE OF STINGS

  Once I heard a Christian Science lady who was very wise,
  Say that love is all about us in all things of every size,
  And if we each day would utter "God is love" to everything
  Not a thing on earth would hurt us with its claws, or horns, or sting.
  So believing what she told me, when a hornet I did meet,
  Graciously I smiled upon him and with words of love did greet
  This most wicked of all insects who refused good friends to be
  But rewarded my advances by most cruelly stinging me.

  So, my little friends, take warning and of love though you may sing
  I am sure you'll never find it in an insect with a sting.

'NEATH NIAGARA FALLS

[_These lines came to me as I stood in the underground tunnel beneath
the Horse Shoe Falls and watched the mighty volumes of water pouring
down upon the rocks beneath._]

  While standing 'neath Niagara Falls
  A voice to me from Heaven calls
  And asks me in deep, thundering tone,
  Mortal, can you stand alone?
  Do you believe there is no God
  Who made these waters at His nod?
  Are works like these but tricks of earth?
  Did nature only give them birth?
  Or was there an immortal hand
  Brought them to life by His command?

  The roaring waters seem to say--
  "To God, our Maker, homage pay."

GRAMMAR IN A NUTSHELL

  The ARTICLES are, oh, so wee,
  These little words are A, AN, THE.
  The nouns are names of anything
  As BOOK or PLAYGROUND, BALL or RING.
  PRONOUNS are used for NOUNS instead--
  MY face, HER hand, YOUR feet, HIS head.
  All adjectives just tell the kind
  Of everything that we may find,
  As GOOD and BAD, and SOFT and SWEET,
  RUDE and NAUGHTY, WISE and NEAT.
  While of manner ADVERBS tell
  As SWEETLY, NEATLY, ILL or WELL.
  The PREPOSITIONS help each day
  IN our work and AT our play.
  When relationship is shown
  They must do the work alone.
  Good CONJUNCTIONS join together
  Man AND woman; plume OR feather.
  INTERJECTIONS will exclaim--
  "OH, ALAS! AH, what a shame!"
  But we cannot get along
  In conversation or in song
  Without the VERB, the subject's fate,
  Expressing action, being, state.

HOW SIMPLE SIMON BECAME WISE

  Simple Simon met young Heiman reading from a book.
  Said Simple Simon to young Heiman, "Let me have a look?"
  Said young Heiman to Simple Simon, "I will not selfish be,
  My great delight, ST. NICHOLAS, I'll gladly let you see."

  Then Simple Simon and young Heiman spent an hour or two
  Reading from this wondrous book, so full of all that's true,
  And when they'd finished, Simon lad of Mother Goose's fame,
  By virtue of his knowledge great, WISE SIMON, he became.

THE B. O. K. FAIRY

BRINGER OF JOY

  In far away Persia of long, long ago
  Lived GOOD FAIRY BOK, BAD TROUBLE'S great foe.
  Wherever he went there was sunshine and joy
  For all of the grown-ups and each girl and boy.

  He knew that the secrets of happiness lay
  In knowing just how one should work and should play;
  And he taught big and little how they could well use
  Their minds and their bodies with no time to lose.

  Then "TROUBLE" at last drove GOOD BOK from the earth
  But wise men revived this great giver of mirth
  In THE BOOK OF KNOWLEDGE which points out the way
  To lead useful lives and be happy all day,

  Since this wholesome fairy is the dreaded foe
  Of IDLENESS, first cause of all earthly woe;
  So one never finds a bad girl or boy
  In homes where BOK FAIRY radiates joy.

  And in every home where BOK has a shelf[B]
  He brings as his helper N. E., goodly elf,[C]
  Who knows how to open all good parents' eyes
  And help them make kiddies glad, wealthy and wise.

[Footnote B: _The Book of Knowledge._]

[Footnote C: _Natural Education._]

PAPA'S SAINTED LEG

  "My papa has one wicked leg,
    Which troubles him with aches.
  He has also a second leg,
    He calls "a wooden fake,"
  And still another sainted leg
    Which he most gladly gave
  When fighting in the cruel war
    His country's flag to save.

AN APPEAL TO THE FAIRIES

[_This poem was written in the hope of saving a beautiful forest near
my home in Evansville, Indiana._]

  Good Fairies, save the lovely trees, which live on Coal Mine Hill!
  Their home has been your home so long, your hearts with grief would fill
  Should stout men armed with axes come and fell them to the earth,
  These monarchs of the forest, these jewels of great worth.
  The giant oaks and stately elms, the rulers of this wood
  Have watched the growth of Evansville and helped it as they could.
  They gave their shade and soft bright leaves to make a downy nest
  To shelter the first baby boy that Evansville possessed.
  Before this city had a church in which both bad and good
  Could ask forgiveness of the Lord, they worshipped in this wood;
  And those who love the beautiful and lovely scenes to see
  They climb upon this grassy hill and stand beneath some tree,
  While gazing far as eye can reach to fair Kentucky's lands,
  Or looking at the river shore on which our city stands.
  Above their heads the bright blue sky, green grass beneath their feet,
  And all around a lovely scene such as we seldom meet;
  Green pastures with cows grazing, broad river flowing by,
  And many tall church spires lifted toward the sky,
  No fitter place for children nor grown-up folks could be
  Than on this lovely Coal Mine Hill where NATURE we can see.
  'Tis here the little orphans and poor children all around
  Find the greatest pleasures which in this woods abound.
  So dearest, kindest FAIRIES, please rescue these grand trees,
  And save them for the children, we ask you on our knees.

IN INDIA

[_To the air of "We Won't Go Home Till Morning."_]

  To India we now will go
  To India we now will go
  To India we now will go
  To see a monkey show.
  To see a monkey show.
  To see a monkey show.

  We cannot travel there by rail,
  We cannot travel there by rail,
  We cannot travel there by rail.
  And so we'll have to sail.

  And there Mount Everest we'll see
  And there Mount Everest we'll see
  And there Mount Everest we'll see
  And lowly bend the knee.

  In India the sun's so hot
  In India the sun's so hot
  In India the sun's so hot
  We may melt on the spot.

  And when it rains great torrents fall
  And when it rains great torrents fall
  And when it rains great torrents fall
  To soak the great and small.

  In India we'll have a fright
  In India we'll have a fright
  In India we'll have a fright
  If cobras try to bite.

  Or maybe a cruel tiger beast
  Or maybe a cruel tiger beast
  Or maybe a cruel tiger beast
  Upon our bones will feast.

  Or even worse a crocodile
  Or even worse a crocodile
  Or even worse a crocodile
  May come too close and smile.

  If we escape his awful jaws
  If we escape his awful jaws
  If we escape his awful jaws
  We may feel the leopard's claws.

  But I am glad as I can be
  But I am glad as I can be
  But I am glad as I can be
  No juggernaut we'll see.

  And no harm will come our way
  And no harm will come our way
  And no harm will come our way
  If fairies with us stay.

  Agra, Calcutta, old Delhi,
  Agra, Calcutta, old Delhi,
  Agra, Calcutta, old Delhi,
  And Bombay we will see.

  But I'm so sad we won't behold
  But I'm so sad we won't behold
  But I'm so sad we won't behold
  The peacock throne of gold.

  Still we may see the Taj Mahal
  Still we may see the Taj Mahal
  Still we may see the Taj Mahal
  Called beautiful by all.

  Indigo, cotton, tobacco and tea
  Indigo, cotton, tobacco and tea
  Indigo, cotton, tobacco and tea
  In India we will see.

  Well find in Burma rubies red
  Well find in Burma rubies red
  Well find in Burma rubies red
  And copper, tin and lead.

  Mahogany and teakwood too,
  Mahogany and teakwood too,
  Mahogany and teakwood too,
  And plenty of bamboo,

  With ebony and sandalwood
  With ebony and sandalwood
  With ebony and sandalwood
  And other trees as good.

  And here we find the humped zebu
  And here we find the humped zebu
  And here we find the humped zebu
  Which makes a funny moo.

  And in this pearl of the far East
  And in this pearl of the far East
  And in this pearl of the far East
  On mangoes we will feast.

  And lots of sugar we will eat,
  And lots of sugar we will eat,
  And lots of sugar we will eat,
  Our rice we'll make so sweet.

  And lovely silken robes we'll wear
  And lovely silken robes we'll wear
  And lovely silken robes we'll wear
  With turbans round our hair.

  But in the Ganges we'll not wash
  But in the Ganges we'll not wash
  But in the Ganges we'll not wash
  For that is silly bosh.

  Instead we'll take an elephant ride
  Instead we'll take an elephant ride
  Instead we'll take an elephant ride
  Upon his trunk astride.

THE BEST MONTH OF ALL

  Of flowery spring
  The poets sing,
    Or else of bright September,
  But girls and boys
  Who love nice toys
    Will always praise December;
  For that's the time
  In every clime
    Us Santa doth remember.

A PLEA TO KNIGHTS AND LADIES FAIR

  TO LADIES FAIR:

  Would you be classed with lunatics,
  Or, even worse, with fierce convicts?
  Then work for equal franchise laws.

  TO GALLANT KNIGHTS:

  Do you wish rights, oh, my good brothers,
  Denied your sisters, wives and mothers?
  Then give them equal franchise laws.

SAYING HIS SPEECH

  One day last week good Mrs. Jones
    Sat making a new gown
  When home from school her young son came
    And strode first up, then down.
  He waved his arms and muttered much
    And frightened the pet cat
  And every time he neared the fire
    Right into it he spat.
  "Why, Jimmie," said his frightened ma,
    "Oh, what makes you act so?
  And if you do not soon behave
    Right straight to bed you'll go!"
  "Ah, mother," said the wise young lad,
    "I'm neither bad nor bold.
  I'm just rehearsing a short speech
    So don't begin to scold.
  To-day at school the teacher gave
    These lines to every one
  And bade us all learn them to-night
    Or else the stick would come."
  "Well, Jimmie, dear," his mother said,
    Recite these lines to me.
  And why do you when by the fire
    Spit out so furiously?"
  "The reason, Ma," said Jimmie Jones,
    "You very soon shall see.
  When I recite these lines to you
    You'll know that act must be.
  'The embers glow, the fire burns
    The kid turns on the spit!'
  And now you see, my mother dear,
    That gesture well does fit."

A PLEA TO EDITORS

  Mary Jane's so lachrymosy
    She won't laugh and she won't sing
  Since the cruel newspaper people
    Would not print her poem SPRING.

  Won't you be more tender-hearted
    To the rhymesters who must sing,
  E'en though they fill your waste baskets
    Full of poems on sweet spring?

TASMANIA

[_To the air of "Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush."_]

  To Tasmania, we will go, we will go, we will go,
  And there we will not see much snow, see much snow, see much snow.

  To Tasmania we will sail, we will sail, we will sail
  And catch a kangaroo's big tail, his big tail, his big tail.

  To Tasmania we will fly, we will fly, we will fly
  And see the wheat which grows this high, grows this high, grows
        this high.

  In Tasmania we have heard, we have heard, we have heard
  Lives the funny penguin bird, penguin bird, penguin bird.

  In Tasmania we will spy, we will spy, we will spy
  An emu bird which cannot fly, cannot fly, cannot fly.

  In Tasmania we will see, we will see, we will see
  Many a eucalyptus tree, 'lyptus tree, 'lyptus tree.

  In Tasmania we are told, we are told, we are told
  There are heaps and heaps of gold, heaps of gold, heaps of gold.

  In Tasmania we will keep, we will keep, we will keep
  A big flock of lovely sheep, lovely sheep, lovely sheep.

ESPERANTO GRAMMAR

  All the nouns must end in O,
  Akvo (water), Banto (bow),
  While adjectives all end in A,
  Bona patro (good papa),
  And adverbs end in letter E,
  Rapide in a rapid way.
  Soon I'll teach the vowels to you,
  Saying, "Pa, may we go too?"
  And the diphthongs au, aj, oj
  We pronounce as "Thou, my boy."
  Best of all the charming verbs,
  They can never wreck our nerves
  With exceptions cruel, unkind,
  For the same you'll always find
  Blessed AS, IS, OS, US, U,
  Endings that are ever true.

THE ARMADILLO

  If I would fight on land and sea,
  And all my armor take with me,
  An ARMADILLO I would be.

  Then I could wear as my best clothes
  To cover me from tail to nose,
  Strong armor to ward off my foes.

  And dig, ah, my, but I could dig!
  Much swifter than a rooting pig,
  With my sharp claws so strong and big.

  And eat, ah, yes, but I would eat
  All things bitter and all things sweet,
  For feasting would be my best feat!

FIVE GOOD GIANTS

  ARITHMETIC GIANT, most wise, never slumbers;
  His is the science which teaches of numbers.
  His cousin GEOGRAPHY treats of Ma Earth
  And all of her children to whom she gave birth.
  His aunt PHYSIOLOGY brings to us wealth,
  Describing our bodies and how to have health.
  His grandma called GRAMMAR tells how to use
  Good language at all times in spreading the news.
  Great LITERATURE teaches of many a work
  Written by authors who never would shirk
  From learning a little just day after day
  By listening to what the wise giants would say
  Who led them to drink from the great Knowledge Fount
  And thus to FAME'S LADDER helped them to mount.

A BOOK MARK

  So very happy I shall be,
  If you'll permit poor humble me
  To keep your place by my poor art
  Within your bookfriend's gracious heart.

UNCLE SAM'S PITTSBURGH ARSENAL

[_Spoken at the Centenary Celebration, April 17th._]

  These hoary walls if they could speak
    What wondrous tales they'd tell!
  Of many strange encounters
    That long ago befell
  Good Pittsburgh folks who laid these stones
    One hundred years ago
  When Uncle Sam looked at John Bull
    As his most hated foe.
  The builders in those good old days,
    Who fashioned this old wall
  Knew naught of graft or cheap cement:
    They built things not to fall.
  And so we see the magazines
    And walls are just as good
  As when in days of Lafayette
    These sturdy bulwarks stood
  And frowned on him as he passed by
    As if they wished to say,
  "Your day will pass but we will stand
    Till centuries roll away."
  They heard the dread explosion
    That shook their very ground
  But firm they stood as bulwarks
    When stones fell all around.
  Again when dreadful RIOT
    Brought bloodshed in its path
  These walls though dyed with crimson
    Looked coldly on man's wrath.
  Not even blood of soldiers
    Could make them shed a tear
  And that is why these sturdy walls
    Have reached their hundredth year.

  The moral of this little tale
  Is that we should not weep and wail
  But ever put away all fears
  So we may live a hundred years.

DUX FEMINA VIA

  My wise Professor Kurniker
    Has not quite wisely said
  That masculines in German
    Will ever rank ahead.

  But how about good Mother Earth,
    The sun, air and the sea,
  Without which not a single soul
    Could in existence be?

  Depending on the masculines
    We could not even speak
  For we would have no lips, lung, tongue
    Or voices strong or weak.

  What sights we'd be without our skin
    And none of us could write
  Sans pen and hand and without fists
    We could not even fight.

  What freaks we'd be without our cheeks,
    Our shoulders, chest and nose
  And how could we walk all about
    Unless we had our toes?

  We'd have no milk to keep us well,
    No butter for our bread.
  On most of the delicious fruits
    We could not then be fed.

  But few sweet flowers we would have
    To cheer the sick and sad;
  No lovely pearls of greatest price
    To make the ladies glad.

  We would not have a church or bank
    Post-office or good school;
  No linen, silk or wool to wear
    When Jack Frost makes us cool.

  We could not patriotic be
    With no flag for our own
  And without a good naval fleet
    We could not stand alone.

  Without a purse or library,
    Without a cup for tea,
  Sans the ETERNAL FEMININE
    What would this poor world be?

  Without the seasons and the week,
    Without the night and stars,
  We'd better leave this mundane sphere
    And fly right up to Mars.

A BIRTHDAY WISH

  "Long years, full seven score and ten,"
  The gods have said, "we give to men!"
  Though since Methuselah was here
  No one has reached this age, I fear.

  On this, your birthday, I invoke
  The wondrous little fairy folk
  And ask them that they give to you
  A chance to live man's whole life through.
  One hundred fifty years or more
  Be kept for you in Long-Life-Shop.

THE MILLER ON THE DEE

  Sur la DE-O rivereto,
  Pitoreska en dometo,
  Loĝis bona muelisto
  Kiu estas fabrikisto
  De feliĉa vera ĝojo
  En la grandanima koro.

  Ĉiutage li kantadis,
  Ke por ĉiam li rabados
  Bedaŭregojn de kun-homoj
  Kaj metos ĝojon en la domoj.

BAA! BAA! BLACK SHEEP

  Bleku, bleku, nigra ŝafo!
  Ĉu lanon havas vi?
  Jes Sinjoro, jes Sinjor', mi havas sakojn tri.
  Por la bona mastro kaj la mastrineto
  Ankaŭ por la knab' kiu loĝas en vojeto.

THE OLD WOMAN, MOTHER GOOSE

  La maljuna virino,
  Patrino Anserino,
  Loĝis en domego
  En granda arbarego.
  Tie je pordego
  Estas la strigego,
  Gardostarantino
  De la Anserino.

  La maljuna virino,
  Patrino Anserino,
  Ofte tre deziris
  Vojaĝi, kaj ekiris
  For de la domego;
  Sur bona anserego
  Rajdis ŝi trans la ĉielojn
  Vidis ĉiujn brilajn stelojn.

SIX LITTLE MICE SAT DOWN TO SPIN

  Por ŝpini sidis ses musetoj
  Sur siaj belaj ses seĝetoj;
  Malbona venis katinego
  Terure ruĝa ĉe buŝego:
  Diris ŝi, "Permesu min
  Ke mi nun' vizitu vin!"
  Musetoj kriis--"Savu nin!
  Ho, ni ne deziras vin!"

THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM

  En Gotham' estas tri saĝuloj,
  Kiuj estis ja kunuloj;
  Unufoje en pelvego
  Iris ili sur marego.

  Jen fino de la tri kunuloj,
  Kiuj estis saĝeguloj.

BO-PEEP

  Dolĉa Bo-Peepo estis knabineto
  Kiu kun lerta kaj sprita hundeto
  Ĉiam gardadis pri belaj ŝafetoj,
  Kiujn ŝi nomis siaj amatoj.
  Sed unufoje perdinte la vojon
  Ili ekrompis de Bo-Peep' la koron.

THE LITTLE MAN WITH THE LITTLE GUN

  Foje estis juna homo,
  Kiu logis en la domo;
  Kiu havis pafileton
  Kaj rondan plumban kugleton.

  Li ekiris rivereton,
  Tie vidis anaseton;
  Ĝin li pafis je l' kapeto,
  Donis ĝin al Joaneto,
  Ordonante, "Rostu vi
  L' anaseton nun por mi."

PRETTY MAID, WHERE ARE YOU GOING?

  "Ho bela knabino, mi multe deziras
  Lerni de vi kien vi iras."

  "Por melki" respondis la juna fraŭlino,
  La bela kaj dolĉa kaj lerta knabino.

  La Sinjoro diris--"Ho, donos al mi
  Tre grandan plezuron iri kun vi!"

  Tiam ŝi diris, "Ho jes, se vi volas,
  Permeson al vi kuniri mi donas."

  "Ĉu grandan riĉaĵon posedas do vi?"
  De tiu knabino demandis nun li.

  "Jen estas la sola riĉaĵo la mia,
  Nur la vizaĝo," respond' estis sia.

  "Do nepre mi ne edziĝos kun vi."
  La mono-serĉisto diris al ŝi.

  "Ho ne, certe ne," respondis ŝi,
  "Ĉar tion neniam mi petis de vi."

A FROG WHO WOULD A-WOOING GO

  Unufoje estis rano,
  Kiu estis la infano
  De tre bona Patrineto
  Kiu loĝis en marĉeto.

  Patrineto al li diris--;
  "Ranideto, mi deziras,
  Ke ne estu vi amanto
  De Fraŭlino Musobanto.
  Ŝi ne havas bonon sangon
  Ĉar ŝi manĝas buterpanon,
  Kaj ne ŝatas bonajn vermojn,
  Muŝojn, cimojn kaj la herbojn.

  "Kaj se vi kun ŝi edziĝos
  Tre malĝoja vi fariĝos."

GOOSEY, GOOSEY GANDER

  Anserino, anserego,
  Unufoje en ĉambrego
  Estis viro, kaj al li
  "Preĝu, preĝu" diris mi.
  Sed li ne obeis min
  Kaj mi tuj elĵetis lin.

LITTLE MISS MUFFET

  Fraŭlineto Muffet sidis
  Sur herbaĵo, kaj ekridis,
  Dum ŝi manĝis el pelveto
  Multe da la kazeaĵo
  Kun selakto kaj fruktaĵo.

  Sed ŝi sentis teruregon
  Ekvidinte aranegon
  Kaj rapide kuris ŝi
  Tiam for de tie ĉi.

KITTY, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?

  Katino, katino, kien vi iris?
  Sciigon pri tio mi certe deziras.
  "Mi iris Londonon
  (Ĉar mi havis monon)
  Kaj vidis feinon,
  La bonan reĝinon."

  "Kaj tie, katino, kion vi faris,
  Dum apud la trono fiere vi staris?"
  "Mi havis plezuron timigi museton,
  Kiu forkuris sub la seĝeton."

ROCK-A-BYE, BABY

  Ho dormu nun, dormu, infano mia,
  En la supro de alta arbo via;
  Kiam blovos dolca vento suda,
  Tiam lulos via lulilo kruda;
  Kiam blovos norda ventego terura,
  Tiam falos vi de l' arb-lito velura.

JACK SPRATT

  "Sole la grason donu al mi,"
  Jako Spratt petegis al ni,
  "Ĉar mia edzino ne kuiros ĝin,
  Kvankam humile mi petas ŝin."

SIMPLE SIMON

  Malsaĝa Simono iris foiron,
  Kaj je la foiro renkontis la viron,
  Kiu al knaboj vendis pasteĉojn
  Ankaŭ aliajn bonajn aĉetojn.

  Malsaĝa Simono ne havis "Bon-senson"
  Ankaŭ ne havis unu "Bon-pencon"
  Sed al la viro tre brave li diris,
  "Bonvolu, pasteĉon mi multe deziras."

  La viro respondis ĝentile al li.
  "Unue, vi montru la pencon al mi."

MOTHER HUBBARD

  Maljuna Patrino Hubbard', laŭ bona singardo,
  Enmetis en ŝrankon pecon da lardo,
  Por doni al sia tre bona hundido,
  Kaj ankaŭ al sia tre bela katido.

  Sed tre malfeliĉe por tiuj dorlotitoj
  Estis en ŝranko musoj ne timigitaj;
  Kaj ĉar la ŝrank-pordo ne havis fortecon,
  La malbonaj musoj formanĝis la lardpecon.

LITTLE BOY BLUE

  Ho veku, ho veku, Bluvesta Knabeto,
  Ho venu, ho venu kun via korneto:
  En nia herbejo jen estas bovinoj,
  Kaj en la grenejo estas ŝafinoj.
  Veku, ho veku, dormema knabeto,
  Kaj blovu tre laŭte per via korneto.

MULTIPLICATION IS VEXATION

  Malbona estas MULTOBLIGADO,
  Ĝi estas ĉagrenigo;
  Simile malbona
  Estas DIVIDADO
  Kaj PRAKTIKO faras min
  Frenezul' sen sentoj kvin.

PETER PUMPKIN EATER

  Petro, Petro, Manĝanto de kukurbo,
  Edzinon havis, sed en sia urbo
  Por edzino ne havis domon,
  Nek la buterpanon, nek eĉ pomon.

  Tiam de la bela Esperanto
  Petro ekfarigis ameganto;
  Tiam Kukurb-Petro havis domon,
  Ankaŭ buterpanon, kaj eĉ pomon.

DOCTOR FOSTER

  Sinjorino Cikonio
  Kiu loĝis en tilio
  Unufoje tre deziris
  Ke iu kium ŝi admiris
  (La senhara Doktor' Foster')
  Venu helpi ŝin ĉe Gloucester.
  Porti sakon da infanoj,
  Por du bonaj samurbanoj;
  Sed malĝoje, Doktor' Foster'
  Ne povis veni eĉ al Gloucester'
  Ĉar la koto plutis lin,
  Kiel diris saĝa virin'.

JACK BE NIMBLE

  Estu lerta, Jako mia,
  Kaj agema, knabo mia,
  Kandelingon ho transsaltu,
  Nun do! Nun do! Ne, ne haltu!

SING JOYFULLY ON YOUR WAY

  Skuiru ĝojege malglatajn vojegojn,
  Transsaltu ĝojege la altajn montegojn,
  Ĉar estas neniam lacega la koro
  En kiu ekzistas multe da ĝojo.
  La gajkoraj viroj estas karuloj,
  Sed malĝojaj viroj estas teduloj.

PUSSEY IN THE WELL

  "_DINGA-dongo-duto!_"
  Katido en la puto!
  Kiu enmetis ŝin?
  Malgrando Tomaso Green.

  Kiu eltiris ŝin?
  Bonvole sciigu nin.
  Tomaso "Trout" estis li;
  "Bona knabo" diris ni.

PEAS PUDDING HOT

  Pizpudingo varma,
  Aŭ malvarma ĝi,
  Aŭ eĉ de naŭ tagoj
  En poto tiu ĉi.

  Kelkaj varma ŝatas ĝin,
  Malvarma kelkaj volas ĝin;
  "En la poto," iuj diras
  Ke ĝin ili ja deziras.

TOM THE PIPER'S SON

  Tomaso la filo de Kantosakisto,
  Ho certe le estis tre granda rabisto.
  Ĉar li unufoje la porkon deziris
  Li ŝtelis la porkon kaj tiam foriris.
  La malĝoja pork' tuj estis manĝata
  Kaj tiam Tomaso li estis batata,
  De lia kolera sed tre bona patro.
  Kaj tiam ekkriis Tomas' laŭ la strato.

LITTLE MARY WITH HER CANARY

  Tiu ĉi kanarieto
  Apartenas al Manjeto;
  Bona kiel eĉ knabeto,
  Kun la nomo "Birdeto,"
  Kaj li kantas dolĉan kanton
  Ĉar li havas bonan sanon.
  Tial juna bela Manjo
  Amon havas por "Birdeto."

MARY, QUITE CONTRARY

  Via ĝardeno, kiel kreskas ĝi?
  Kontraŭema Mario, diru al ni!

  Kun arĝentaj sonoriloj,
  Kaj kun konkoj por bariloj
  Kaj la kokeloj de belaj konketoj.
  En rekta linio, ankaŭ fraŭlinoj
  Tiel belegaj kiel feinoj.

BUTCHER, BAKER, CANDLE-STICK MAKER

  "_RUBO-dubo-dubo!_"
  Viroj tri en kuvo.
  Mi petas nun' de vi
  Nomojn de la tri.

  Jen estas la buĉisto,
  Kune kun la panbakisto,
  Ankaŭ tiu kandelisto
  Kiu estas ja rabisto.

  Emfaze diru al la tri,
  "Iru, iru for de ni!"

RAIN, RAIN, GO AWAY

  Pluvo, foriru de tie ĉi,
  Krias Johaneto nun de vi:
  Je Aprila tago, tiam al ni
  Venu, bona pluvo, tien ĉi.

SING A SONG OF SIXPENCE

  Kantu kanton de sespenco
  Kaj pri peco de sensenco;
  De sekalo en saketoj,
  Kaj bakado de merletoj;
  En la reĝaj pudingetoj
  Ili kantas ĉe festetoj.

THE OLD WOMAN IN A SHOE

  Jam de longe loĝis en ŝuego
  Tre maljuna grasa virinego,
  Kiu havis multajn infanetojn
  Dek knabinojn kaj knabetojn.
  Certe la geinfanetoj
  Estas ofte turmentetoj.

  Ĉiunokte al la geinfana grupo
  Estis donata la senpana supo;
  Tiam forte batis ŝi la infanetojn
  Ĝis kuris ili en siajn litetojn.

THE LITTLE BOY AND THE LITTLE SPARROW

  Unufoje pasereto
  Sidis bele sur branĉeto:
  Venis tre malbona knabo,
  Kun pafarko kaj la sago,
  Dins li--"Vin pafos mi;
  Pasteĉ' nun fariĝos vi!
  Pasereto, tie ĉi."
  "Per knabeto mortos mi,
  Se mi restus sur la branĉo
  Apud tre malbona knabo."
  Tial for de la branĉeto
  Li forflugis de knabeto.

SNAIL, SNAIL, COME OUT OF YOUR HOLE

  Limako, ho limako mia,
  Elvenu do el truo via!
  Se vi ne obeis min
  Tiam mi ja batos vin.

PATTI CAKE

  Ho Sinjoro Panbakisto, mi petegas vin,
  Faru bonan kuketon nun por mi!
  Frapetu kaj piku, kaj marku ĝin per I,
  Kaj enmetu ĝin en fornon por Petro kaj mi.

THREE BLIND MICE

  Tri blindaj musoj!
  Tri blindaj musoj!
  Per dek-du kruroj,
  Per dek-du kruroj,
  Kuris post virino
  Kiu estis edzino
  De la bona farmmastro
  Aprobita de l' pastro.
  Tiam ŝia filo
  Per granda tranĉilo
  Mallongigis la vostojn
  Kaj ricevis ties kostojn.

OLD KING COLE

  Maljuna Reĝo-KOL,
  De Reĝlando Ĝojo,
  Animon gajan ja posedas,
  Almenaŭ tiel ni mem kredas.

  Pipo kaj pelvo da vin'
  Ĉiam multe plaĉas lin,
  Ankaŭ la belaj sonoj
  De la tri violonoj--
  _Tui, diddel, diddel, di!_
  Dins la violonoj tri.

MY SON JOHN

  _Didel, pudingeto_
  Iris en liton, ŝtrumpojn portante,
  Sur la piedoj unu ŝuon havante,
  _Didel, pudingeto_, mia filo Johan'.

DICKORY DOCK

  _Dikeri, dikeri_
  Supren flugis la porketo.
  Tiam vir' en aerŝipo
  Flugis post la pork' kun vipo;
  Kaptis voston de porkido,
  Jen por ni tre gaja rido!

BARBER, BARBER, SHAVE A PIG

  Ho, barbiro, razu vi,
  Tiun porkon nun por mi,
  Ĉar tre multe mi deziras
  Antaŭ ol la pork' foriras,
  Havi nigrajn harojn liajn,
  Dankojn vi ricevos miajn:
  Kaj pinĉprenon donos mi
  De la flartabak' al vi;
  Perukon por la senharulo
  Faru vi, ho bonegulo.

JACK AND JILL

  Grimpante sur monteton Jako kaj Jilo,
  Portante la akvon en akvoĉerpilo;
  Havis renverson Jakoto kaj Jilo,
  Kune kun la akvo en akvoĉerpilo;
  Kaj tre granda ŝtono rompis la verton
  De juna, Jako, kiu timis tiun sperton.

OLD MOTHER GOOSE

  Sinjorino Anserino,
  Ho vi estas papagino!
  Ĉu la plumojn havas vi,
  Por donaci nun al mi?

  Jes mi havas, knabineto,
  Plumojn por flugilplumeto,
  Kaj por via fratineto
  Plumojn por l'ark-pafileto.

LITTLE TOM TUCKER

  Tomaseto florojn kantis?
  Por akiri manĝon;
  Ĉu li florojn plantis?
  Ĉu li portis franĝon?

  Kion vere manĝos li?
  Tion ja demandas ni.
  Eble bonan buterpanon
  Ankaŭ dolĉgustan bananon.

HARK! HARK! THE DOGS DO BARK

  Ho aŭskultu geknabetoj
  Je bojado de hundetoj!
  Almozuloj kun kuraĝo
  Venas nun al la vilaĝo;
  Kelkaj en la ĉifonetoj
  Aliaj en velurrobetoj
  Jen la kaŭzo de bojado,
  La maldolĉa hund-kantado.

JACK SPRATT

  Jako Spratt' porketon havis,
  Grandegecon ĝi ne havis;
  Ne grasa estas ĝi
  Kaj Jako diris li
  "Mezampleksa porketo
  Vi estas ja grunteto!"

TAFFY WAS A THIEF

  "Taffy" estis Kimro kaj granda rabisto,
  Eble li deziris esti la buĉisto,
  Ĉar se mi ne restus ĉiufoje ĉe mi
  Tre kviete venus fripono tiu ĉi;
  Li forŝtelis pecon de l' ostinternaĵo;
  Kaj malgrandan pecon de bona bovaĵo.

  Tiam iris mi al ties eta domo:
  Dormis en la lito la kanajla homo.
  Kaj mi multe batis lin sur la kapo lia,
  Per armilo bona, bovost' en mano mia.

CURLY LOCKS

  Ho Bukloharuleto,
  Mia dolĉa knabineto,
  Estu mia edzineto;
  Kaj nenia ĉagrenajo
  Venos por turmenti vin
  Se vi nur akceptos min.

  Tiam vi ne pladojn lavos
  Nek aliajn taskojn havos,
  Sur kuseno mola sidos
  Sole min vi ĉiam vidos,
  Kaj vi manĝos fragoberojn
  Kaj la kremon kaj sukeron.

HOT CROSS BUNS

  Vasmegaj krucaj bulketoj,
  Unu por nur du pencetoj,
  Donu ilin al la filoj,
  Se ne manĝos la filinoj.

FIVE LITTLE PIGS

  Unu porketo, vendejon iris li,
  La dua porket' restas hejme ĉe si,
  Tria ja havis bonan rostbefon,
  Kvara porko havis, ho nenion;
  Sed la malbona infaneto,
  Kiu estas grasa porketo,
  Ciutage krias li,
  "_Pi-vi, pi-vi, pi-vi, pi-vi-vi!_"

HUMPTY DUMPTY

  Humpto-Dumpto sur la muro sidis,
  Sed Humpto-Dumpto sendube ne vidis
  Ke la muro havis nenian forton
  Ĝis post li enfalis en la ŝtonan korton.
  Mi malĝoje diras ĝin:
  Neniu povis levi lin,
  Neniu el la grandaj reĝoj
  Nek la multaj longaj preĝoj.

TO MARKET

  Vendejon, vendejon, iru vi,
  Kaj aĉetu, kaj aĉetu, ho por mi!
  Grasan porketon, grasan porketon
  Ho alportu en dometon!

  Vendejon, vendejon iru vi,
  Kaj aĉetu, kaj aĉetu, ho por mi!
  Grasan porkegon, grasan porkegon,
  Ho alportu en domegon!

OH, PRETTY LITTLE GIRL, WHERE ARE YOU GOING?

  Ho bela knabineto, kien iras vi?
  "Mi iras al ĝardeno kaj laboros mi
  Tranĉante belajn rozojn por reĝino kara
  Kiu estas dolĉa, ankaŭ tre bonfara.
  Grandan kiel ŝuo diamanton donos ŝi.
  Tiam mi salutos ŝin, dirante 'dank' al vi'."

THE MAN IN THE MOON

  La Viro en la Luno, malsupren falis li,
  Kaj la vojon al Norwich' demandis li de mi.
  Mi plezure lin direktis trans la belan sudon
  Kaj la Viro de la Luno tie brulis sian buŝon,
  Kun apetit' manĝante de la bona avensupo,
  Kiu estas la manĝeto tre malvarma por la pupo.

MARJORY DAW

  Kun Margarito Daŭ
  Sur la balancilo,
  Mi sidas babilante,--
  Kiel bela veturilo!

WHO IS MOTHER GOOSE?

  Patrino Anserino
  Ŝi estas la diino
  De la geknabetoj
  Kaj la infanetoj

MARY HAD A LAMB SONG

  Manjo kun la bela saf', bela saf', bela saf'
  Manjo kun la bela ŝaf' mi tre amas vin.

  Ĉu vi amas, amas min? amas min? amas min?
  Ĉu vi vere amas min, mia belulin'?

MY BLACK HEN

  _Hiketi, Piketi_, nigra kokino
  Ovojn demetis por la fraŭlino.
  Kaj ĉiutage la riĉa Sinjoro
  Volas aĉeti per multe da oro.

GREAT A, LITTLE A

  Granda kaj malgranda A,
  Kaj saltanta Bo:
  El la ŝrank' mi volas ke
  Iru katino.

MARY HAD A LITTLE LAMB

  Ŝafidineton havis Mario,
  La kapridineton Mario,
  Kaj ĉie kaj ĉiam kiam ŝi foriris
  La ŝafidineto tre multe deziris
  Veni kun ŝi al la eta lernejo;
  Ankaŭ kun ŝi al la bona preĝejo.

PRETTY LITTLE MAID WITH PRETTY LITTLE BONNET

  La bela ĉapeleto
  De la knabineto
  Tre malsaĝa faris sin
  Ĉar ŝi sole ŝatis ĝin.

ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE

  Unu, du, kun la tri, kvar, kvin,
  La kaptita fiŝo mordis min.
  Kaŭze de tio liberigis ĝin
  Mi pro tim' ke ĝi elmordos min.

THE LITTLE GIRL WITH THE LITTLE CURL

  Estis knabineto, kiu portis belan bukleton,
  Ankaŭ belan falbaleton kaj veluran kapoteton.
  Kiam ajn ŝi estas bona, bonega estas ŝi;
  Sed tre ofte malbonega estas ŝi al ni.

A GERMAN JINGLETTE

  Dieser Hund ist ja so klein
  Er sollt virklich grosser sein
  Aber er sagt; "Nein! nein! nein!"

THE GLORIOUS O

  How plain the sound of common tea,
    And plainer still LE THE,
  But TEO, lovely TEO
    All linguists love to say!

  How common sounds--cup coffee.
    Le café floats in air
  With Kafo, Bona Kafo
    No drink can quite compare.

  How vulgar the word butter
    Le beurre is just as bad,
  But the good word butero
    Will always make us glad.

  We Esperantists modest are,
    But this one thing we know:
  That all earth's wisest children
    Adore our letter O.

ADAM'S FUNNY BONE

  When Solomon Eusebius Josephus Alfred Jones
  Was asked to give a lecture on the origin of bones
  He solemnly declared to all the story was not true
  That Eve was made from Adam's rib, since he, the learned, knew
  That woman, who is all the cause of trouble on the earth
  Yet rules the world and all mankind lo, from her very birth,
  Was made by the Creator great from Adam's funny bone,
  And that is why she giggles so when men are wont to groan.

QUEEN OF FLOWERHOOD

  Ah, rose, sweet rose, majestic flower,
  To rule as queen thou hast the power.
  Within the realms of Flowerhood
  In gardens, fields and in the wood.
  Your sweetest perfume, Mother Earth,
  For your first gift gave at your birth.
  Your velvet touch she gave to you,
  Your graceful form and varied hue.

  But for thy beauty thou dost pay
  By bringing joy on life's pathway.
  You cheer the sick, console the sad
  And make us mortals all feel glad.

NORTH POLE JINGLE

[_To the Tune of "London Bridge Is Falling Down."_]

  To the North Pole we will go, we will go, we will go,
  On a dog sledge o'er the snow, over the white snow.

  There we'll see an Esquimau, Esquimau, Esquimau,
  Sitting in his house of snow, in his house of snow.

  And maybe a big polar bear, polar bear, polar bear,
  With huge claws and long white hair, huge claws and white hair.

  Walrus, reindeer, seal live there, seal live there, seal live there,
  They think their land is wondrous fair, oh, so wondrous fair.

AN EATABLE ALPHABET

  A for APPLE BUTTER stands,
  B for BEANS known in all lands,
  C for CHOW-CHOW, oh, how good!
  D for DILL has ever stood,
  E for EUCHRED PICKLES fine,
  F for FIGS for which we pine,
  G for GHERKINS to our taste,
  H HORSERADISH none would waste,
  I for INDIA RELISH sweet,
  J for JELLIES none can beat,
  K for KETCHUP for gods fit,
  L for LADIES who make it.
  M for MINCEMEAT that doth please,
  N for NEW VARIETIES,
  O for ONIONS that won't spoil,
  P for PUREST OLIVE OIL.
  Q QUEEN OLIVES we adore,
  R for RELISH we cry more,
  S for SOUP and SAUERKRAUT,
  T TOMATO SAUCE we shout!
  U for ALL WHO LOVE TO EAT
  HEINZ DISHES NON COMPETE.
  V for VINEGAR, the boss,
  W WORCESTERSHIRE'S great sauce.
  All the letters used you see
  Except L, N, U, X, Y, Z.
  And soon these letters Heinz will seize
  To use for NEW VARIETIES.
  The FIFTY-SEVENS' home will then
  Give place to GREAT ONE HUNDRED TEN.

AT EASTER

  As Easter breathes hope for a joyous to-morrow
    E'en out of the depths of despair,
  So may this day banish from you every sorrow
    And make you feel free as the air.

  While hearing grand anthems that swell to the sky,
    And breathing sweet lilies' perfume,
  May you feel assured that your soul will not die
    As life does not end in the tomb.

THE GIRLS' ALPHABET

  A for Adaline, so neat,
  B for Bess, so clean and neat
  C for Clara, always gay,
  D for Doris, full of play.
  E for Edith, with blue eyes
  F for Flora, very wise.
  G for Gertrude, called the good,
  H for Helen, ever stood.
  I for Ida, laughing maid,
  J for Jenny, staunch and staid.
  K for Kate, with golden locks,
  L for Lucy, who wears socks.
  M for Margaret, so straight,
  N for Nell, who's never late.
  O for Olive, always clean,
  P for Polly, full of spleen.
  Q for Queenie, who rules all,
  R for Rhoda, straight and tall.
  S for Sally, naughty girl,
  T for Thelma, mother's pearl.
  U for Ursula, the fair,
  V for Vida, with black hair.
  W for Winnie stands,
  X for Xenia, of far lands.
  Y for Yoda, funny name,
  Z for Zoe, who ends our game.

TO MY LEAP YEAR VALENTINE

  Saint Bridget in the long ago
  Won for all maids the right to go
  Once in four years and seek a beau.

  This year is leap year, as you know,
  But as I've many a lovely bow
  In quest of one I will not go.

  But your dear image I enshrine
  Within my heart, sweet valentine.
  Have you a little place for mine?

I'M GLAD I'M NOT AN EXO

[_One of Doctor M. V. O'Shea's Stories Jingled._]

  The framework of the body is
    The bones, so teachers say;
  And if we didn't have 'em
    Our shape it wouldn't stay.
  Besides sans bones my liver
    And brains and even heart
  Would get some awful hurtin's
    And maybe come apart.
  If my poor bones were badly burned
    All brittle I would be,
  Since flames will kill the animal
    That was born in me;
  If I were soaked in acid
    No tender sapling tree
  Would be one-half so limber
    As just poor little me.
  But, thinking it all over,
    If I should choose my fate
  I'd rather soak in acid
    Than burn in a hot grate.

  Some of my bones, the wise men say,
    Are very far apart,
  While others cling together
    Like jelly in a tart.
  That is because the bones have joints,
    And joints are good to have,
  They help me be a pitcher
    And save me lots of salve.

  When all my bones are gathered
    And put in their right place
  They make a so-called skeleton,
    A grinnin' in his face.
  But if you leave out one small bone
    Or put one in not right,
  It won't be any skeleton,
    But a big bony fright.

  The Exo critters' skeletons
    Are placed on the outside,
  I'm glad I'm not an EXO,
    For if my Jane espied
  Me lookin' like the skeleton
    That's shown on teacher's chart,
  I know she'd turn her nose right up
    And say that we must part.

THREE CHEERS FOR TYPEWRITERS

  Three cheers! the joyful children cried
  When fierce and raging flames they spied
  Destroying spellers, cause of woes,
  And grammars, children's hated foes!

  Three cheers again we hear them say,
  The typewriters have come to stay,
  To teach us all to read and spell
  And punctuate so very well.

THE WORLD'S A MIRROR

  If to the world we give our best
    Of heart and soul and mind,
  The world will render back to us
    The best of every kind
  Of thoughts and words and deeds of love
    Which let us live on plains above
  The sordid, ugly roads of life
    Befouled with mud of hate and strife.

  For life is but a mirror bright
    Which smiles when we would smile
  And tells us with a happy face
    That everything's worth while,
  But if we frown she frowns at us
    And stirs up such a dreadful fuss
  In all our ether rays around
    That JOY for us cannot be found.

  If we but fill our aura round
    With brightest rays of love
  For every little living thing
    Then we will win Peace Dove,
  To safely guard us where we go
    So we can never have a foe,
  Since all will see our bright rays shine
    As part of the Great Love Divine.

A MEMORY JOGGER FOR YOUR DESK

  The wicked IMP called I FORGOT
  To mortals ever woes has brought
  By washing from their mental slate
  Engagement dates--until too late,
  These mortals waken in dismay
  And we won't quote the things they say.

  But if you'll keep ME ever near,
  Bad "I FORGOT" cannot appear
  For I will help you to remember
  From January through December
  Every promise, every date,
  So "I FORGOT" can't make you late.

WILMINGTON'S SANTA CLAUS

  In far away Alaska
    By all it is believed
  That Santa is a big white bear
    From whom gifts are received.

  And Wilmington's wee kiddies
    Begin to think the same,
  That a good BEAR is Santa--
    At least that's Santa's name.

  For when they need a playground,
    A school, or book, or toy,
  'Tis SAMUEL BEAR who grants each wish
    And makes kids dance for joy.

  So let all of us children
    Invoke the powers above
  To grant him long life, health and wealth,
    And gratitude and love.

WILMINGTON'S GOOD FAIRY

  There's a Santy in good Wilmington,
    And a good fairy too,
  Who brings all comforts to the poor
    And proves a friend so true
  To all the poor and needy,
    Both the big and small.
  He's always willing, ready
    To help them one and all--
  With kind words and with money,
    With deeds of love and smiles
  He helps men on Life's journey
    To cross old Trouble's stiles.
  And to this real live Fairy
    The noble knight JAMES SPRUNT
  Living in old Wilmington
    On the street called Front
  I dedicate this little song
    And wish him every joy
  In the melting pot of life
    Without dread Woe's alloy.

MOTHER WOTSAT, OF WANAMAKERLAND

  Of MOTHER WOTSAT you've heard tell
  And if you've met this lovely belle,
  You know she is not an old dame
  Wrinkled, humpbacked, sadly lame.

  Ah, no, she is a fine young maid
  Who puts her sisters in the shade
  With sparkling eyes and sylph-like form,
  No wonder for her heart men storm.

  But best of all, she has the art
  To win each naughty kiddie's heart
  By telling tales in rhyme and prose
  Such tales as only WOTSAT knows.

  And she is, oh, so very wise;
  She answers kids of every size
  When they call out, "Wotsat, and why?"
  She never passes questions by.

  For she knows well just how to find
  Answers for each thirsty mind,
  And BOOK OF KNOWLEDGE FAIRY WELL
  Is at her hand, great truths to tell.

TITANIA'S TOYLAND

  Of fairies I've heard since the day of my birth,
  Toystore makers, and givers of mirth;
  But ne'er have I gazed on a real fairy-land
  Till I came to Sterns' store--Titania's stand.

  And there, as I entered, there burst on my view
  A wonderful, marvelous, gigantic zoo
  With camels and horses and elephants big,
  Monkeys and donkeys, and even a pig,
  Lions and tigers and great woolly bears
  Looking as real as if in their lairs.

  There were dolls of all nations and dolls of each size,
  With black, brown and hazel, and even gray eyes.
  There were balls big and little, wonderful toys
  To please all the children, both good girls and boys;
  For within Sterns' fairy-land we can all find
  Titania's toys--of just every kind.

THE FAIRY CENTAPHRASE

  If you would learn to speak good French
    Without each awful rule
  That all the would-be Frencheys use
    When they attend French school,
  Then seek the FAIRY CENTAPHRASE
    He'll teach you how to say
  Just everything you want to know
    And in the proper way.

  Through his delightful training box
    Almost within a week
  The best of French expressions
    You will learn to speak
  And ask for all the goodies
    On menu cards we see
  With just the proper accent
    For breakfast, dinner, tea.

  Through CENTAPHRASE, great system,
    You may make your own
  The ever dreaded idioms
    To a Frenchman known,
  By carrying in your pocket
    Within a small neat case
  A few for your digestion
    As you go any place.

THE CHILDREN'S PRAYER

  GODDESS PEACE, most gracious,
    Give heed unto the prayer
  Of all the little children
    Who cry from everywhere,
  And beg that you come quickly
    To banish hateful WAR,
  Whose bloody deeds barbaric
    The children all abhor!

  Oh, gladly we'll work with you
    By loving one and all
  Dear children of all races,
    Of nations great and small.
  And we all hope to bring on earth
    Your messenger, PEACE-DOVE,
  Through throwing out our ether rays
      OF UNIVERSAL LOVE.

AN ODE TO A FAITHFUL DOG DUBBED PICKLES

[_Best Friend of Mr. Thomas Shipp, Washington, D. C._]

  Not half so cute is any maid
  As PICKLES.
  He puts us all deep in the shade,
  Does PICKLES.
  For though he boasts of years not four
  To canine heights he well can soar
  On wings he's found in Knowledge-Store,
  Wise PICKLES.

  He always has a wagging tail,
  KIND PICKLES.
  His Master Shipp he'll never fail,
  Staunch PICKLES.
  And that is why all folks who meet
  This clever dog in home or street
  Declare there is no one so sweet
  AS PICKLES.

PEACE FORERUNNER--"LOVE MANKIND."

  Little birdie, whispering here,
  Tell me, does sweet peace draw near?

  Little girl, I sadly fear
  Peace will not bring Christmas cheer
  While you mortals are so blind
  To love your country, not your kind,
  Peace can never dwell on earth,
  Bringing comfort, joy and mirth,
  Until UNIVERSAL LOVE
  Paves the way for sweet Peace Dove.

  Then, sweet bird, help me to bear
  Your good message everywhere,
  Begging friends to keep in mind
  PEACE FORERUNNER--"LOVE MANKIND."

MUSIC

[_These musical jingles were written for my teacher, Miss Matilda Orr
Hays, of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania._]

  There's music, music everywhere
  On sea and land and in the air.
  It sounds from all things far and near
  And brings the weary rest and cheer.
  'Tis in the rose and every flower;
  'Tis in the storm and gentle shower;
  'Tis in the waters of the brook
  And every pleasant shady nook.
  We hear its notes within the trees
  And in the hum of busy bees.
  'Tis in the song of every bird
  And in the voice of woman heard.
  But best of all 'tis in our hearts
  And there Love's message it imparts,
  For MUSIC is the tongue of Love,
  The fairest gift from realms above.

ROBERT FRANZ

[_1815-1892._]

  By sweet love, the angel's gift,
    Was Robert Franz inspired
  To write sweet songs of home and love
    Of which we're never tired.

  Since Schubert's time no other man
    Produced sweet songs so many
  And for a number of these songs
    He did not get a penny.

  Songs two hundred seventy-nine
    This music genius wrote
  But ere he died like Beethoven
    He could not hear a note.

  And with his right arm paralyzed
    He could not even play
  And Liszt for him gave concerts
    To keep the wolf away.

  He died in abject poverty,
    From grief almost insane
  But left his songs to cheer us
    And drive away our pain.

NATURE'S MUSIC

  Where is Nature's music heard?
  In hum of insect, song of bird,
  In wailing of the wind at night,
  In splashing of the wavelets bright
  In angry howls when breakers roar
  Against the rocks upon the shore.

  'Tis in the Storm God's tearful moan;
  In human voices' every tone.
  When Jupiter his thunder rolls
  'Tis Nature's music bell that tolls,
  But only those with perfect ear
  True sounds of Nature's Music hear.

FRÉDÉRIC FRANÇOIS CHOPIN

[_Born at Zelazowa-Wola, near Warsaw, Poland--1809-1849._]

  Though French blood flowed in Chopin's veins
  His music was of Polish strains
  As he was born in a Polish town,
  Which for its name should win renown;
  And Zelazowa-Wola stood
  Above all cities great and good
  In favor with great Chopin who
  Was to his birthplace ever true.

  When scarcely eight great Fame began
  To court him ere he was a man.
  But Fate was cruel as well as kind.
  In love affairs he did not find
  The comfort that his great soul sought
  And which to him could have been brought
  By only one, a lady wise,
  George Sand, with "hazel, big cow eyes."

  Oft when we hear his waltzes sweet,
  "Come dance, come dance," call to our feet
  'Tis hard indeed for us to think
  That Chopin oft stood on the brink
  Of dreadful Melancholy's lair,
  Where in great anguish and despair,
  So sick in body, mind and soul,
  With only Death as his sure goal,
  Sweet and lively airs he wrote
  And filled with joy his every note.

  For ten long years the white plague sought
  To take his life--for health he fought,
  But when his sweetheart left his side
  He ceased his fight and soon he died.

THE GREATEST KINGS OF MUSIC LAND

  The six greatest kings of sweet Music Land
  Are Beethoven, Mozart and Wagner the grand;
  Great Handel and Bach and Haydn as well,
  Who cast o'er the earth its musical spell.

GEORGE FREDERICK HANDEL

[_Born at Halle in Saxony--1685-1759._]

  Of all music masters of whom you've heard tell
  Great Handel was happiest for he was well,
  Tall, handsome and wealthy, generous and kind,
  Cheerful in heart and clever in mind.
  Pinching dread poverty he never knew;
  Surrounded by comforts from childhood he grew;
  Though early in life as a very small lad
  He wasn't content nor yet very glad
  Because his stern father treated with scorn
  His belief that for music he had been born.
  Alone in an attic he practised each day;
  Without any teacher he learned how to play
  Until he was heard by a good kindly duke,
  Who gave to Herr Handel a stinging rebuke
  And made him consent, this father so stern,
  That technique of music the young son should learn.

  To England George went when to manhood grown,
  Adopting this country as his very own.
  He was loved by the people of most every clime
  And busy and happy just all of the time.
  In days scarcely fifteen he wrote his great _Saul_,
  And in nineteen more he had finished all
  Of _Israel in Egypt_ in whose every tone
  The work of a master of music is shown.
  And in but two weeks 'tis said that he wrote
  His wondrous _Messiah_ complete in each note.

  But work without rest from morning till night
  Deprived him, like Bach, of precious eye-sight.
  For seven long years great Handel was blind,
  But lost not his genius nor bright cheerful mind.
  He worked every hour until his last breath
  Was taken away by the cold Angel Death.
  His body in Westminster Abbey was laid,
  But the works of his genius will no, never fade.

LUDWIG VON BEETHOVEN

[_Born in Bonn, Germany--1770-1827._]

  Life is a blossom of sorrow and fun
  And Beethoven's sorrow was early begun.
  His father was cruel, no pleasure he had,
  No wonder that much of his music is sad.
  He lived in Vienna, which seldom he left;
  Of most earthly joys this poor soul bereft.
  The gods had deprived him of beauty of face,
  His manners atrocious brought him disgrace.
  No money had he and for many a year
  Of music he loved no sound could he hear.

  No wife to adore him, no children had he
  To bring to his home "The Good Fairy Glee."
  In rags and in sorrow and always alone
  He walked in the fields where, with pitying moan,
  He prayed he might hear the song of the trees
  And sweet fairy whispers as borne on the breeze.
  His prayers were not answered and no sound he heard
  Of brooklets or breezes or sweet singing bird.
  No wonder from earth he was glad to depart,
  Dying, 'tis said, from a real broken heart.

JOHANNES BRAHMS

[_Germany--1833-1897._]

  Wagner once said "There are but three B's
    In musical circles known,
  Beethoven, Bach and Brahms the good
    As masters stand alone."

  Brahms's mother was a real old maid
    Whom his young father wed.
  In years full seventeen or more
    She well could rank ahead.

  But peace and love reigned in this home
    And so Johannes grew
  Into a gentle kindly lad
    Who loved all whom he knew.

  When Schumann heard this boy play
    In rapture he cried out--
  "Behold our new Messiah,
    For him the world should shout!"

  For many years this good man stood
    At Clara Schumann's side
  While she was fighting poverty
    When her dear husband died.

  He helped her rear her children,
    With her in concerts played
  And loved her with a pure true love
    By the immortal made.

  And when she died he had no wish
    To live his life alone
  And welcomed Death to come his way
    And claim him as his own.

JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH

[_Born at Eisenbach in Germany--1685-1750._]

  In sixteen hundred eighty-five
  Long, long before you were alive,
  In the town of Eisenbach
  Was born Johann Sebastian Bach.

  From his father ever kind
  And his brother he did find
  The key to enter Music Land,
  Which he found so sweet and grand.

  No more industrious lad could be
  Than Johann, who loved "Industry."
  "The Mighty Master" he is known
  Of the organ's every tone.

  Twice this music master wed
  And he was happy so 'tis said;
  But he worked both day and night
  Until at last he lost his sight.

  Though he was blind he cheerful kept
  And o'er his sorrow never wept,
  And when he died he left a son,
  To shine for him when his work was done.

FRANZ JOSEPH HAYDN

[_Born in Rohrau, Austria--1732-1809._]

  How often when a little chap
  On Haydn's shoulders fell the strap.
  E'er he was six as if a man
  His struggles with the world began.
  His parents could not write nor read.
  A cousin said, "I'll gladly feed
  And clothe young Joseph, who can sing
  And to my pockets money bring."
  But little food he gave to him
  And plenty of the sharp peach limb.

  When Joe then lost his tuneful voice
  His cousin gave to him no choice
  But turned him out to earn his way--
  'Tis said he worked both night and day,
  And, working thus, young Haydn rose
  Far, far above his friends and foes.

  Rich he became and gained great fame
  While all musicians love his name.
  His greatest work was _The Creation_
  And artists of most every nation
  Ever bow down at his knee
  As "Father of the SYMPHONY."

WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART

[_Born in Salzburg, Austria--1756-1791._]

  Mozart, "The Glorious Boy", Rubenstein named him well,
  Was born with the gift of music, on him the mantel fell
  Of many great composers, who justly won a name,
  Though Mozart soared above them on pinnacles of fame.
  When as a tiny kiddie with birthdays not yet five
  He played his little violin as if it were alive,
  Composing wondrous music which was so grand and sweet
  That even queens and princes would fall down at his feet.
  His music flowed as easily as waters in a brook,
  And sparkled as bright sunbeams peeping in a nook.
  An opera he finished before his thirteenth year
  And when he was but fourteen musicians came to hear
  La Scala, greatest orchestra, which the world then had,
  As it was well directed by this inspired lad.
  The Pope conferred upon him the order "Golden Spur."
  Until he reached his sixteenth year nothing did deter
  This clever lad from mounting to highest realms of fame,
  Flowers rained upon him and life seemed but a game.
  And then came years of suffering when through Envy's stings
  And malice of musicians, who wished to clip his wings,
  He saw the dark and dreary and rocky road of life
  And soon he grew awearied of sickness, hunger, strife
  And discontent within his home, for Constance whom he wed,
  Was ever cross and ailing and spent her days in bed.
  And though he was still youthful, not more than thirty-five,
  When most of earthly children are glad to be alive,
  Poor Mozart, worn by constant work and worried by his wife,
  One dreary, dark December day to Death gave up his life.
  This great soul's earthly castle not one friend tried to save
  From an ignoble burial within a pauper's grave;
  And no one put a marker to show where it was laid,
  But the glory of great Mozart's works will never, never fade.

WILHELM RICHARD WAGNER

[_Born in Leipsic, Germany--1813-1883._]

  In the midst of tumult and mixed up with strife
  The world renowned great Wagner spent most all his life.
  All around his birthplace the day that he was born
  Many thousand soldiers lay bleeding, cut and torn
  By the fiendish war god, who delights to slay.
  And after him came "Pestilence," who bore with her away
  The father of young Wagner, and as his mother had
  Seven other children no wonder that this lad
  Should grow up just like Topsy without a guiding hand,
  With no one to direct his steps and no one to command.

  Then Fever wracked his body and he was very ill,
  But fairies came to comfort, sweet music to instil
  Into his wondrous fingers and in his kindly heart,
  Henceforth of all his life work to take the biggest part;
  Although in spite of music in rebel plans he mixed,
  And exile to Herr Wagner's name for long years was affixed.

  Twice he sailed on Hymen's sea, and I have heard it said
  His first wife, Wilhelmina, proposed that he should wed.
  With her he knew no happiness in all his married life,
  For she was ever brewing the noxious stew of strife.
  But when Liszt's lovely daughter, the fair Casima, came,
  She filled his home with joy and also brought him fame.
  From her sweet inspiration his greatest work was made,
  The soul inspiring _Parsifal_, whose fame will never fade.

  Death took him from the arms of his adoring wife.
  He passed away so peacefully, but left behind him strife
  Concerning the real merit of all he ever wrote.
  Some class him with divinities, some put him with the goat;
  Some love his mimic thunder and sighing of the breeze,
  While others say his music is but a bang and wheeze.

FRANZ PETER SCHUBERT

[_Born in Vienna, Austria--1797-1828._]

  A poor schoolmaster was his pa,
  A common cook his scolding ma,
  Who was not one bit glad to see
  Her thirteenth child a boy wee,
  Who came one blustering wintry day
  Within her crowded house to stay.

  Though Franz was cold and hungry too
  The Music Sprites his soul would woo
  And oft he wrote as in a trance
  Some lovely song in which perchance
  The singer seemed as blithe could be
  And filled with joyful ecstasy.

  He loved a maid of high degree
  With whom he could not married be
  And while for this maid Caroline
  His beating heart with love did pine
  In one short year this song bird wrote
  Two symphonies in every note,

  Five operas and many more
  Airs that stamp of genius bore,
  One hundred thirty-seven songs
  Depicting hopes, and joys and wrongs.
  Of these immortal songs 'tis said
  Six were sold for a loaf of bread.

  Full ten great symphonies he made
  But no one to them honor paid
  While he was yet upon this earth,
  And never courted by True Mirth,
  But ever hungry, weak and ill
  Though working with his great soul's will
  Until the age of thirty-one
  When Death said "Rest, your work is done."

ROBERT SCHUMANN

[_Born in Zwickau, Germany--1810-1856._]

  To most great music makers
    The fates have been unkind
  And in the life of Schumann
    Few joys we can find
  Except in the great love
    Of Clara, his dear wife,
  Who helped him in his struggles
    Throughout his married life.

  He lost the power of playing
    Through dread paralysis.
  But Clara said, "Don't worry
    For nothing you need miss
  Since you can write sweet lovely airs
    And I'll play them for you
  And thus we two together
    The Music Muse can woo."

  One hundred songs and thirty-eight
    He wrote in one short year,
  Inspired by his loving wife
    Who brought him hope and cheer.
  And when he died at forty-six
    And left her very poor
  With her eight children Clara went
    Upon a concert tour.

  And with her wondrous playing
    Of airs her husband made
  She earned her bread and butter
    And glory ne'er to fade,
  For Schumann's magic music
    And songs that reach the heart,
  Showing they are tempered
    With great Apollo's art.

GIUSEPPE VERDI

[_Born in Duchy of Parma, Italy--1813-1901._]

  The life of Verdi reads as well
    As any fairy tale;
  To interest a girl or boy
    I'm sure it could not fail.
  The stork brought him to Mother Earth
    In time of dreadful strife.
  Hid in an ancient church belfry
    His mother saved his life.
  And in this church which sheltered him
    From cruel blood-thirsty men
  He played as the church organist
    When he was only ten.
  The imps of evil troubled him
    But fairies came along
  To help him in his sorrows
    And fill his heart with song.

  Like the proverbial mother cat
    Nine lives he seemed to have
  And for each injury received
    There always was some salve.
  Into the water once he fell
    And down he went times three
  Then some one rescued this young lad
    As if by Fate's decree.

  The poor child yearned for music land
    And also longed for bread.
  And for a girdle round his waist
    He often wore, 'tis said,
  A bit of rope which he pulled taut
    When hunger did assail.
  And yet this lad all poorly clad
    And weak and wan and pale
  Forgot his hunger and his wants
    When Music's tones he heard
  In rippling of the waters bright,
    In songs of every bird.

  Close to the fence of a rich man
    Whose daughter played each night
  Verdi when only six years old
    Would listen with delight.
  This hungry lad prayed often there
    That some day he might own
  A lovely spinet in whose keys
    Were fairies' magic tones.

  One night while it was raining hard
    O'er the high fence he crawled
  Of an Italian wealthy man,
    Signor Barezzi called.
  He heard the daughter sweetly play
    A grand Beethoven air
  And while he lay enraptured there
    A coachman found his lair
  And beat the poor starved youngster whom
    He called a "dirty thief,"
  And drove him from the music's reach
    Despite the poor child's grief.

  But on the next night Verdi went
    Though filled with quaking fear
  And crawled again beneath the fence
    Sweet music there to hear.
  And here Barezzi found the lad
    As by the fence he lay
  And took the boy into his home
    To hear his daughter play.

  He took an interest in this child
    And placed him in a school
  Where he could learn of music
    Each necessary rule.
  But disappointed he became
    When all the teachers said
  This boy who plays so queerly
    Will never rank ahead;
  As a musician of true worth
    He cannot hold his own
  And in Apollo's circle
    He never will be known.

  And so discouraged, this poor lad
    Became a grocer boy
  Though every night he practised hard--
    This was his only joy.
  And then quite foolishly alas
    The grocer's daughter wed
  And two small children came to him;
    For them there was no bread,
  And his young wife and children too
    From dreadful hunger died
  Just when his first great opera
    Most loudly was decried
  And he himself hissed off the stage.
    No wonder that he thought
  This life for him with sorrow's face
    Forever would be fraught,
  And it were better now to cross
    The Border-Land's dark path
  Through Suicide's short awful route
    Than live 'neath dark Fate's wrath.

  But after two sad dreary years
    Of darkness and despair
  His operas succeeded
    And life seemed much more fair.
  He married a good second wife
    And wealthy he became;
  Legion of Honor given him
    Was added to his fame.
  In the Italian parliament
    Verdi received a seat
  And many other honors great
    Were cast down at his feet.
  While his _Il Trovatore_ great
    When first 'twas sung in Rome
  Became so very popular
    'Twas heard in every home,
  And e'en to-day in every land
    This opera is played
  And glory for its author
    Will never, never fade.

  The name Giuseppe Verdi
    Stands for composer great
  And one whose heart was ever filled
    With love instead of hate.
  But one bad fault this genius had
    Of flying into fits,
  And in great anger once he broke
    A spinet into bits.
  And when he taught his pupils
    He often boxed their ears,
  So of the music master
    Their hearts were filled with fears.

  But he was always good and kind
    To all the poor and weak,
  And to help his fellow men
    He would ever seek.
  And when his works brought fame and wealth
    Barezzi's house he bought,
  Tore down the fence and made the grounds
    Into a music lot.
  And there this benefactor
    Invited one and all
  To come on every pleasant night
    And hear Apollo's call.

FRANZ LISZT

[_Born in Raiding, Hungary--1811-1886._]

  Like Goddess Minerva so it is said
  Liszt sprang fully armed from Jupiter's head.
  Master of every silvery note
  Of the hum of the bee or the human throat.

  Ere he was nine, on the ladder of fame
  He climbed, never stumbling and never once lame,
  Until he had reached the rung at the top
  When Death interfered with "Time now to stop."

  Wealth flowed to this genius from his symphonies
  His teachings, his concerts, and grand rhapsodies.
  And as he went lauded on many a tour
  He scattered his money to those who were poor.

  Neat in his dress and with manners polite
  Courting sweet friendship, avoiding a fight,
  This great man was loved by one and by all,
  The rich and the poor and the great and the small.

ANTON RUBINSTEIN

[_Born in Volhynia, Russia--1829-1894._]

  When precious gifts gods give to men,
    A great price they require,
  As we have seen in all the lives
    Of those they did inspire
  With Music's wondrous magic charm
    That all true men adore
  Be they of wild and savage state
    Or wise men full of lore.
  And so with Anton Rubinstein
    Who many sorrows had
  Not only when to manhood grown
    But when he was a lad.

  His parents were of Jewish birth
    Though Christians they became
  When cruelly persecuted
    Alas! in Christ's good name.
  His mother gave unto her boys
    In music their first start,
  And trained their minds to travel
    In realms of Music-Art.
  And later on she took her sons
    To Paris, there to learn
  To bring forth the great music
    Which in their souls did burn.

  When but a very little chap
    Anton wrote wondrous songs
  Describing joys and sorrows
    And depicting wrongs,
  Which when he played in public
    Made all his hearers sigh,
  Laugh aloud or clap their hands
    And sometimes even cry.

  Young Nicholas, his brother,
    Composed almost as well
  For both these music lovers
    Had touched Apollo's shell.
  But white plague took poor Nicholas
    Ere he could finish quite
  The songs the fairies whispered
    Oft in the stilly night.

  While Anton worked for many a year
    And on the ladder FAME
  As a sensation player
    Securely placed his name.

  To every realm of music
    Some work this master gave
  And o'er his _Ocean Symphony_
    All of the nations rave.

  But all his thoughts were not of love,
    And Liszt and Wagner airs
  Were classed by him as discords
    Not fit for country fairs.

  He hated also our good land,
    Though when upon our shore
  He gathered in the golden streams
    And held his hand for more.

  He traveled in most every land,
    Was steeped in music lore,
  And his great songs in number
    Will almost make eight score.

  But he was never happy
    As in his heart was "Hate,"
  Which shut out Fairy Happiness
    All mortals' proper mate.

CHRISTOPHER WILLIBALD GLÜCK

[_Born in Weidenwang, Germany--1714-1787._]

  Though Glück himself lived a peaceful life
  His _Iphigénie_ caused much strife
  As on its merits Frenchmen fought
  Against Italians who had sought
  To down the so-called Glucist school
  And call each follower a fool.

  The Picinists and Glucists then
  Agreed to a great contest when
  Each faction said that it would show
  The 'tother ought to Lethe go
  But after all harsh words were spent
  Both factions gladly gave consent
  That Glück's dramatic opera grand
  Ruled then o'er all great Music Land.

LOUIS HECTOR BERLIOZ

[_France--1803-1869._]

  A prophet without honor
    In his own country known
  Was Louis Hector Berlioz
    Who yearned but for a bone
  Of French approval for his works
    Which strangers always praised
  But which in his own country
    No great applause would raise.

  "A doctor you must be, my son,"
    His father sternly said,
  But Louis tried to prove to him
    That music ranks ahead
  Of all this life's professions
    And he would like to try
  To win the famous Prix de Rome--
    Oh, he would aim so high!

  His father laughed his son to scorn,
    His teachers quarreled with him,
  They said he was eccentric
    And music was a whim.
  Then poor and hungry he left home
    And three times bravely tried
  To win the longed for Prix de Rome
    For which ambition cried,
  The third time proved to him a charm
    And with his laurels crowned
  He hastened to his much loved France
    But there no praise he found.

  An English actress he adored
    And made her his first wife--
  But little happiness she brought--
    Naught but complaints and strife,
  As a sad accident befell
    This one time actress great
  And as she lay so ill and cross
    She ever cursed her fate.
  A baby came into this home;
    The hunger wolf came too,
  And when the mother left this home
    He knew not what to do.
  He married then a second time
    And sorrows thicker came
  And soon he lost his only boy
    In War God's awful game.
  As he was born 'neath planet Mars
    For him there was no peace,
  His life was one fierce conflict
    Where troubles never cease.

KARL MARIA FRIEDRICH ERNST VON WEBER

[_Born at Eutin, near Lubeck, in Germany--1786-1826._]

  To ancestors all of a musical race
  The genius of Weber we easily trace.
  And from early training in babyhood days
  His thoughts were all turned to musical lays.
  At fourteen an opera little Karl wrote,
  Finished completely in its every note.
  Creator of "ROMANTIC OPERA," he
  Gained a position on Life's Stellar Sea.
  Like other great artists he never was blessed
  With habits of knowing just how to take rest.
  While writing _Der Freischutz_, his great masterpiece,
  He cut many years from Nature's life lease.
  And when working constantly without a rest,
  Despite every signal of health in distress,
  The wonderful Oberon opera he wrote,
  He sounded, alas, his Death calling note.

JAKOB LUDWIG FELIX MENDELSSOHN

[_Born at Hamburg, Germany--1809-1847._]

  By the composer Mendelssohn
  Cruel poverty was never known.
  A genius born and with great wealth
  With loving parents and good health
  And with his heart so full of fun
  We christen him "The happy one."

  When as a baby very small
  His family he delighted all
  By cooing sweetly in each key
  Of _a_ or _b_ or _c_ or _d_.

  Ere he had passed his ninth milestone
  He played in public all alone.
  As a composer he won fame
  And for himself an artist's name.

  His genius showed in his brown eyes
  Large and lustrous, deep and wise,
  And all who saw him loved him well;
  On each he cast a happy spell.
  His "Songs Without Words" we all love;
  They carry us to realms above.

LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK

[_New Orleans--1829-1869._]

  When I'm playing _The Last Hope_
    It carries me away
  To other realms than Mother Earth,
    And sometimes I would stay
  In Music Land with its sweet tones
    That banish from our hearts
  All petty horrid troubled cares
    That stab us with their darts.

  Gottschalk, I'm very proud to own,
    Was a real Dixie lad,
  And as I am a Dixie girl
    This makes me very glad.

  When he was only twelve years old
    He went abroad to learn
  How to make sweet music sounds
    For which his soul did yearn.

  And while abroad his parents lost
    Their filthy lucre all,
  And on his talents this young lad
    Was then compelled to call
  And ask their aid to earn his bread
    And help his parents dear.
  And he then traveled, so 'tis said,
    In lands both far and near
  Far more than any other man
    In music circles known.
  He gave his life to those who called,
    No minutes were his own.
  And so he wore out the good frame
    Which nature to him gave
  And when he was but forty
    Was claimed by the cruel grave.

JOHANN STRAUSS

[_Austria--1804-1849._]

  Oh, the good bandmaster Strauss
  He is loved in every house
  As he makes us, oh, so merry
  With his cunning waltzing fairy,
  And he drives away the blues
  Putting dance sprites in our shoes.

  When he was a little lad
  He was neither good nor bad
  But he ran away from home
  And for years and years did roam.

  When but fourteen years of age
  He was loved by dunce and sage,
  And great kings would kiss his hand
  When they heard his wondrous band.

  When dread Fever sealed his doom
  Bandmen stood above his tomb
  Playing farewell songs of love
  Which they thought would go above,
  To that far off mystic land
  Where they hoped there was "a band."

ALESSANDRO SCARLATTI

[_Born in Sicily--1659-1725._]

  Scarlatti dwelt upon this earth
    Before the masters came.
  In Sicily he had his birth
    And gained an artist's name.
  The Order of the Golden Spur
    The Pope gave unto him,
  And princes often did bestir
    To satisfy his whim.

  His famous work, _The Cat's Fugue_ dubbed,
    He named for his pet cat.
  One night her fur by dogship rubbed
    The right way for a spat,
  Upon the spinet keys she sprang,
    Wild music made her feet;
  And in Scarlatti's soul their rang
    The tones for music sweet.

KARL CZERNY

[_Born in Vienna, Austria--1791-1857._]

  Born in seventeen ninety-one,
  Karl Czerny early honor won
  As a master of technique
  And to help those who are weak
  And of striking notes afraid,
  Many an exercise he made.
  At nine he won an artist's name
  Beethoven added to his fame,
  From all artists of his day
  Electing him his works to play.

  King of teachers he is known,
  Master of each fairy tone.
  At fourteen he began to teach
  And many pupils he saw reach
  To heights of music masters' fame
  As Liszt, who won a glorious name
  When at sixty-six he died
  All great music lovers cried,
  But as a gift he left behind
  Works of his great heart and mind,
  Full nine hundred forty-nine
  And every one the world calls fine.

ARE ALL ANGELS BLONDS?

  "I want to be an angel and with the angels stand,"
  So loudly sang the children in our church mission band,
  But as I chanted with them this lovely little strain
  I wished to ask the teacher if she could quite explain
  Why all the angel pictures are painted with light hair,
  And blue eyes soft and tender and skin so very fair,
  While half the little children and grown-up people, too,
  Have hair and eyes and even skin of very darkest hue?
  And as I have such dark brown eyes and also dark brown hair,
  Most naturally I feel quite sad to learn that only fair
  And blue-eyed little children can ever angels be,
  So now, alas, I'm thinking--what will become of me?

GOOD PEOPLE EVERYWHERE

  Since coming to earth it has been my fate
  Not to be able to cling to one state.
  My birthplace, Virginia, we all know is fair
  And when a wee kiddie I was happy there.
  But when my good UNCLE sent us away
  To Delaware's pastures, I was still gay.
  And then to dear Hoosierland I went to dwell,
  And, oh, how I loved it--alas too well.
  I wept when I left my Evansville home
  To Washington State I longed not to roam.
  But there fairies helped me always to find
  Flowers and friends both sweet and kind.

  And so in "God's Country," the land of the rose
  A real earthly heaven as everyone knows.
  Again in far Georgia and Florida too
  Pleasure were mine in landscapes quite new;
  And though to Penn's country I wended my way
  With dreadful misgivings in Pittsburgh to stay.

  I found that sweet music and kindest of deeds
  Conquered the smoke as salt kills the weeds.
  In New York I found all life's stirring joys
  For each of the grown-ups and all girls and boys.
  And North Carolina, my present home state,
  Proves to me truly that kind MOTHER FATE
  Places good people in each spot on earth
  To radiate kindness and sunshine and mirth.

FINIS

End of Project Gutenberg's Facts in Jingles, by Winifred Sackville Stoner