Part 6 (1/2)

Sing a song of sixpence, Country going dry, Four and twenty booze shops Selling no more rye.

When the bars were open, Whiskey had its fling, Now we ride the water cart, Along with George, our king.

Once dad, in the bar room, Counted out his money, Weary mother sat at home, Patching clothes for sonny.

Now dad's in the garden Wearing out his clothes, Money in his pocket, Bloom all off his nose.

=Miscellaneous=

BEDLAM

October, 1914

”The world is mad, my masters,”

The poet had the facts To prove this sweeping statement, In man's punk-headed acts; For since the day when Adam Partook of the wrong tree, We've toiled, and slipped, and blundered; ”What fools these mortals be”.

Take out your horse or auto, And drive the country roads, And see the fields and orchards Bearing their precious loads.

Old Mother Earth produces With lavish hand and free, But half is lost or ruined By man's stupidity.

Ten thousand tons of apples Will surely go to waste While poor folk in the cities Will hardly get a taste.

We take good wheat and barley And manufacture b.u.ms, Whose wives and little children Are starving in the slums.

The man that's poor as woodwork, And nearly always broke, Can somehow find a nickel To puff away in smoke; While those who have the money To eat and drink their fills, Are sure to over-do it, And run up doctor bills.

If, when the times are peaceful I kill one man, by heck!

They'll call it b.l.o.o.d.y murder, And hang me by the neck.

In war-time he's a hero, Who sends through air or sea A bomb to blow a thousand Into Eternity.

And so, dear gentle reader, You see, by all the rules, That earth's whole population Except ourselves are fools.

THE CERTAINTIES

When icy blasts blow fierce and wild, Cutting the face like steel, And summer's heart is trodden down 'Neath winter's iron heel, It's all a part of Nature's plan, So stay and play the game; Next Spring will bring the violets, And roses just the same.

When Pharaoh's lean ill-favored kine Have grazed the pastures brown.

And, on a parched and starving world The brazen sun glares down; Though Canaan's forests, fields and farms, Are scorched, as with a flame, There's food in Joseph's granaries In Egypt just the same.

When Pharaoh makes the task more hard For overburdened hands, And stubble fields refuse the straw His tale of bricks demands; What matter if our little lives Go out in fear and shame?

The waters of the mighty Nile Flow onward just the same.