The Bee's Bayonet (a Little Honey and a Little Sting)

And thus her framework waxed like iron; I trust
'Twas ne'er assailed or undermined by rust.
So, fill the gourd and pass it to your friend!
It's Safety First and safety to the end.
No headaches lurk within, no tinge of sorrow,
No dark forebodings or remorse to-morrow!
And furthermore, it isn't hard to take:
If you've not tried it, do, for Mercy's sake!
Behold the Oaken Bucket, hanging high,
By Bards and Singers lauded to the sky.
It never touched, in all its useful days,
A thing but water. Here fair Psyche plays
Beside the spring that mirrors all her graces.
(Would you object to water in such cases?)
Now mark the fate befalling Jack and Jill
Because they slipped and let the water spill;
And see poor Tantalus for water crying,
Thus punished for his sins,—athirst and dying!
And note this "Titian," called "The Drunkard's Fate,"
In which the crimson hues predominate.
He holds the lamp-post in his close embrace
And has a package from Pat Murphy's place
To carry home. His eyes are red and dim,
So close the bar and turn the hose on him!
This drink was ever priceless, yet it's free;
The Source and Fountain of Sobriety;
And so we offer without bar or price
Enough of THIS to put your thirst on ice.
So drink to WATER, while the billows swell:
The World wants Prohibition—and all's WELL!

RUSSIA

Canst Thou, in all this babel, build aright
Freedom's Palladium? The long, black night
That, ages thru, hath dimmed your yearning eyes
And dulled your minds, still hovers o'er your skies.
A rift there was, disclosing to your view
The Dawn of Day, but then the darkness grew
Yet more intense, as if the Sun rebelled
At such a cheerless greeting and withheld
Its Light. And now again Night reigns supreme,
But just beyond the Day is all agleam.

BELGIUM

Sad-eyed and weary, Thou must suffer more,
Until thy supermen have paid the score
For outraged daughters, murdered sons and wives;
For ravaged homesteads, and brave soldiers' lives.
Be not dismayed! Altho your Cup of Woe
Is full to overflowing from the blow;
Tho Justice seems indifferent to your prayer,
And ruin stalks about you everywhere.
The day of reckoning is near at hand,
When Justice will restore your pillaged Land,
And Vengeance will unsheath its righteous blade
And flay the Teutons till your score is paid.

OUR FRIENDS ACROSS THE STREET

(To S. and W. A.)

When we're tired of reading essays,
Tho they be a mental treat;
When we're bored by social callers,
Be they ever so elite;
When we crave some relaxation
Or the Foursome's incomplete,
We S. O. S. or telephone
To our Friends across the Street.

When our larder needs renewing
Or our ice succumbs to heat;
When the signs of Drought are brewing
'Cause our "stock" is incomplete;
And our chairs are insufficient
When we have some guests to seat,
Why, we just go out and borrow
From our Friends across the Street.

When we're worried or in trouble,
And our projects meet defeat;
When our prospects seem quite hopeless,—
Life seems bitter that was sweet;
When we lose our nerve and falter
'Cause the rough way wounds our feet,
We can always find sweet comfort
In our Friends across the Street.

When we end, at last, our journey
And the saintly Peter greet,
Or descend to Realms Infernal
Where the Goats, rejected, bleat,
We would never feel contented,
Whether mixed with Chaff or Wheat,
If we couldn't be together
With our Friends across the Street.

EPITAPHS