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

Who, when we fall, will help us to our feet;
Who finds with us contentment most complete;
Whose pocket-book and heart are open thrown
Whether we need affection or a loan,
And makes no record of the favor done,
But gives, with equal pleasure, either one—
That's Friendship true! If I had twenty such,
With all their purses open to my touch,
And each disposed to "stake" me and forget
The circumstance and measure of the debt,
I'd soon be on the road to ease and plenty,
But wish I had such friendships more than twenty.

PARAMOUNT PROBLEMS

Shall Women vote? Shall Demon Rum survive
Or be, thru Woman Suffrage, flayed alive?
These are the questions that engross the nation:
Shall Women vote or be kept on probation?
Are they not gentle, honest, sweet and kind?
A single missing virtue we can't find,
And yet we say—"Stay home and can the cherries!
You're far too frail and fine for statecraft worries!
The Sacred Home for you! Just 'tend your chicks!
You'd soil your hands to mix in Politics!
And then there's scrubbing, cooking and a few
Odd jobs besides: you couldn't ballot too!"
But how absurd! Fair Woman, in her wrath,
Will make our future course a thorny path:
Unless we meet her fairly in these matters,
She'll tear our senseless arguments to tatters,
And rule both Home and State to suit herself,
Putting deceitful man upon the shelf.
As sure as death or taxes, day or night,
She'll have the vote without, or with a fight;
And those of us who counsel Peace, as best,
Should not oppose and put her to the test;
And when she gets the vote, by force or gift,
The clouds obscuring Temperance will lift;
For all the Wets will vanish, ev'ry one!
Evaporate like mists before the sun.
True, Women drink; it's foolish to deny it!
But not as men do—as a steady diet;
They'll take a punch, or sip a little claret,
But when it comes to liquor—they can't bear it.
And so we ask again—shall Women vote?
Shall men surrender to the petticoat
And give up all their freedom and their tipples
Just to return to Lacteal Life and Nipples?
The War is on! Nebraska bids defiance
To Rum Dispensers and the Booze Alliance:
Hereafter all our barley, wheat and corn
Will be quite unresponsive to the horn.
The essence of the grain will be tabooed
And ev'ry seed accounted for as food.
No more will Barleycorn assail our vitals
Or be the Leader in our Song Recitals:
No more will Liquor check our ardent thirst,
And so we'll go from bad, perhaps, to worst.
If we must eat, perforce, and never rum it,
What will befall the man who has to gum it;
Whose teeth are absent and who food eschews,
Drawing his daily nourishment from booze;
Who can't obtain a single drop of gin
To comfort and sustain the man within?
Pleading for drinks, unheeded he'll grow wheezy,
But he'll improve his breath if he'll Speak Easy.
The Drunkard's fate would be a dreadful warning,
Who, having "opened" Riley's place each morning
Found, one cold dawn, the foot-rail gone and read—
"Soft Drinks for Sale" where Schnapps was sold instead.
Picture his sorrow! See him pallid grow
When told the facts: a spectacle of woe!
Back to his wife he slinks: he couldn't face her!
Because he missed his usual "morning bracer."
The Place is sold: it's now a candy store
Where Schnapps will be dispensed with evermore.
Good-bye, Old Demijohn; Decanters, too!
His life will empty be—and so are you!
Where once the Canteen flourished 'neath our flag,
Now Prohibition flags the soldier's jag;
And where Josephus keeps his arid log
The water-pitcher has succeeded grog.
Some Commonwealths already have the pluck
To ban, humanely, those who chase the duck;
And other States have punished Rum enough
To have compassion on the boot-leg stuff.
Thus Prohibition grows: but so does wheat
And corn and rye: I wonder which will beat?
But what of Woman? Where's her rightful freedom?
They ought to have the vote, because we need 'em
To purge our land of drunkenness and crime
And save our striplings from the slough and slime.
Why shouldn't Women vote? Perhaps they may!
Should Drunkards or Illiterates say nay?
Could citizens of foreign birth refuse
To give our Native Daughters what they choose?
Our Native Sons with chivalry invoke
Fair play for women,—freedom from the yoke;
And shouldn't other Freemen rise in flocks