Part 17 (1/2)

They talk of the money I spent out there-- They hint at the pace that I went out there-- But they all forget I was sent out there Alone as a rich man's son.

So I was a mark for plunder at once, And lost my cash (can you wonder?) at once, But I didn't give up and knock under at once, I worked in the Yards, for a spell.

Where I spent my nights and my days with hogs, And shared their milk and maize with hogs, Till, I guess, I have learned what pays with hogs And--I have that knowledge to sell!

So back I go to my job again, Not so easy to rob again, Or quite so ready to sob again On any neck that's around.

I'm leaving, Pater. Good-bye to you!

G.o.d bless you, Mater! I'll write to you....

I wouldn't be impolite to you, But, Brother, you _are_ a hound!

THE NECESSITARIAN

I know not in Whose hands are laid To empty upon earth From unsuspected ambuscade The very Urns of Mirth;

Who bids the Heavenly Lark arise And cheer our solemn round-- The Jest beheld with streaming eyes And grovellings on the ground;

Who joins the flats of Time and Chance Behind the prey preferred, And thrones on Shrieking Circ.u.mstance The Sacredly Absurd,

Till Laughter, voiceless through excess, Waves mute appeal and sore, Above the midriff's deep distress, For breath to laugh once more.

No creed hath dared to hail Him Lord, No raptured choirs proclaim, And Nature's strenuous Overword Hath nowhere breathed His Name.

Yet, it must be, on wayside j.a.pe, The selfsame Power bestows The selfsame power as went to shape His Planet or His Rose.

THE JESTER

There are three degrees of bliss At the foot of Allah's Throne, And the highest place is his Who saves a brother's soul At peril of his own.

There is the Power made known!

There are three degrees of bliss In the Gardens of Paradise, And the second place is his Who saves his brother's soul By excellent advice.

For there the Glory lies!

There are three degrees of bliss And three abodes of the Blest, And the lowest place is his Who has saved a soul by a jest And a brother's soul in sport ...

But there do the Angels resort!

A SONG OF TRAVEL

Where's the lamp that Hero lit Once to call Leander home?

Equal Time hath shovelled it 'Neath the wrack of Greece and Rome.

Neither wait we any more That worn sail which Argo bore.