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THE MAN FROM THE MOON 
 
THE MAN 
 FROM THE MOON 
 
 OR 
 
 THE REIGN OF SELF 
 
 A STORY 
 IN RHYME 
 
 For Good Old Boys and Girls 
 
 BY 
 
 P. 0. 
 
^s** 
 
 5 J\3 
 
 a 
 
 .^- 
 
 Copyright, 1909, 
 
 BY 
 
 HAMUONO PRBSa 
 . B. OONKEY OOHPMiT 
 OHIOAOO 
 
 (gCi.A2o60 i 
 
TO THE POST GRADUATES IN THE 
 SCHOOL OF EXPERIENCE 
 
 who have witnessed the parade, 
 ridden on the merry-go-round, 
 been to the show, observed the 
 acrobats, ridden the trick mule, 
 seen the monkey ride the 
 elephant, shot the shutes, and 
 bumped the bumps, these rhymes 
 are respectfully dedicated. 
 
The poet Burns hath said: 
 
 "But thin partitions do divide 
 
 The bounds where good and ill reside;'* 
 
 But when we look and search with care 
 
 We do not find partitions there. 
 
 For woven by the loom of Strife, 
 
 Into one fabric made, 
 
 Are all the varied threads of life 
 
 And interests of trade, 
 
 There in the web revealing, 
 
 In the texture, in the shade. 
 
 Every strand of thought and feeling 
 
 Out of which the web is made. 
 
 And there are threads of sin 
 
 And threads of folly too. 
 
 Together w^oven in; 
 
 And when the web is done. 
 
 The good, the bad, the false and true, 
 
 Are woven into one. 
 
"Self will rule with stern command, 
 Nor yield the power to love; — 
 
 The world will ever feel his hand. 
 Though cased in silken glove." 
 
 Clown's song. 
 
OVERTURE 
 
 I phoned to the Castle of Ivy Green Towers 
 To send me a muse; but they all were em- 
 ployed ; 
 Some weaving chaplets of fancy's bright 
 flowers 
 Plucked in the realms of the mystical void ; — 
 
 Some sat in the twilight and sang of the soul, 
 Or chanted creation's wonderful scheme; 
 
 While some kept an eye on a far away goal 
 Wrapped up in the mists of a dream. 
 
 Some sang of the love that is tender and pure, 
 While some on the violet lavished their 
 praise ; 
 Some gathered wild flowers on meadow and 
 moor 
 And tied them together in little bouquets. 
 
 Some of them went chasing light thistle-down 
 sighs, 
 The soft sad breathings of languishing 
 ladies ; 
 While some of them sat and kept rolling their 
 eyes. 
 Wailing weird songs of death and of Hades. 
 
10 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 
 
 Some sat and knit sonnets as tokens of love; 
 
 Some to the anemone poured their devotion ; 
 Some sang to the stars that twinkle above. 
 
 And some to the foam tossed up by the ocean. 
 
 Some of them were busy just weaving festoons; 
 
 And others the bubbles of fancy were blow- 
 ing; 
 While some went sailing in little balloons 
 
 Who never knew where they were going. 
 
 One hot air balloon out adrift on the breeze 
 Floated up in the dome of the sky, 
 
 Where a muse in pink tights danced on a 
 trapeze 
 And curtsied to clouds that sailed by. 
 
 Some went in pursuit of pale glimmering lights, 
 
 Wild will-o-the-wisps of the fen ; 
 Some sang sweet songs at inaudible heights, 
 
 All unheard by the children of men. 
 
 Some were at work for the newspaper folks 
 
 Who strove to be jolly and gay, 
 Picking up puns, galvanizing old jokes. 
 
 Playing tag with the news of the day. 
 
 While some out afloat on a river of rhyme 
 
 Were drifting along in the wake of a dream. 
 They all were employed and never had time 
 * To adorn or illumine my theme. 
 
THE MAN FROM THE MOON U 
 
 So a message I sent over long distance phone 
 To one of the muses in charge of the stable, 
 
 To send me a Pegasus, — bay or a roan, 
 
 With wings Hke the ones that we read of in 
 fable. 
 
 But promptly the muse phoned back in reply, 
 That all of the Pegasi, all they had there. 
 
 Were jaded and winded, unable to fly, 
 
 Excepting the one she called the Night Mare ; 
 
 That newspaper bards under contract to fill, 
 Day by day, a soul stirring column or more, 
 
 Each used a winged horse to turn a tread mill ; 
 And all the winged horses were jaded and 
 sore. 
 
 Excepting the Night Mare ; and so I took her. 
 
 That will heed neither rowel nor rein ; 
 Sometimes she will fly, sometimes she won't 
 stir, 
 Then madly chase down each by-path and 
 lane. 
 
 And that is the reason my story runs queer ; — 
 The muses were busy, winged horses all 
 bio wed. 
 
 Excepting the one no mortal can steer, 
 Turn from her course or keep in the road. 
 
12 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 
 
 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 
 
 No light but the dim flickering lamps on the 
 street ; 
 
 The stars were asleep in the sky ; — 
 No rumbling of wagons or trampling of feet — 
 
 Only the Night Watch strolling by. 
 
 The City lay slumbering all quiet and still, 
 While I lay awake half adream in my bed 
 
 And odd visions and fancies in spite of my will 
 Held a gay mardigras there in my head. 
 
 And fragments of rhyme, bits of old memories, 
 The fancies of youth's bright hours. 
 
 Came flitting along — kept buzzing like bees, 
 While scenting the fragrance of flowers. 
 
 One busy old bee kept a buzzing to me 
 
 A rhyme of the wind and the old hollow tree, 
 
 The hollow old world and its hollow old 
 crew; 
 All hollow their ways, and hollow their praise, 
 
 And hollow the things that they do. 
 
 And though I kept winking, yet still I kept 
 
 thinking 
 How much of that rhyme is true. 
 The clock on the wall kept a talking to me. 
 
 And whatever my fancy said, 
 That clock on the wall — it would always agree, 
 
THE MAN FROM THE MOON 13 
 
 And keep on repeating the same words to me 
 
 That fancy put into my head. 
 But weary at last of the monotone sound, 
 
 Bo-peep, Bo-peep, Bo-peep, 
 I got out of bed with a spring and a bound 
 
 And put that clock to sleep. 
 
 Then the ghost of the clock came and sat on the 
 
 shelf. 
 And it worried me more than the old clock 
 
 itself; 
 For it whispered its ticks so faint and so low 
 That I couldn't hear, though I wanted to know 
 
 What the ghost of the clock was saying. 
 I thought about angels and thought about men, 
 
 And thought about monkeys playing; 
 I counted a hundred and counted again ; 
 But all of my efforts were futile and vain, 
 
 Till at last I fell into, a snooze 
 While thinking of something that happened in 
 Maine, 
 
 And my thinker went off on a cruise ; 
 Without rudder or sail, went chasing a whale 
 That had a beer garden on top of his back. 
 And had a blue ribbon tied onto his tail ; 
 But when the big creature jumped into my 
 
 smack. 
 It first was a fairy, and then a canary. 
 
 Then zip and go-bang! 
 I was over in China, myself and Melvina, 
 
 Talking to Li Hung Chang. 
 
14 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 
 
 And there were the Boxers, and there was boss 
 
 Croker 
 On top of a tiger ; and there was Tsi Ann 
 
 In Purple and yellow. 
 And then I was riding along in a smoker ; — 
 But when the conductor, half monkey, half 
 
 man, 
 A queer looking fellow, 
 Reached out for my ticket, I slipped through a 
 
 wicket 
 Into a park where there was a fair, 
 A fair for all nations on Earth and the Moon, 
 
 People were there from everywhere ; 
 And down from the Moon there came a balloon, 
 And in it a man built on a new plan, 
 Who came to attend the Congress of Nations ; 
 Never stopped on the way ; there were no way 
 
 stations — 
 Except at Chicago, he stopped awhile there 
 To consult the Health Doctor and call on the 
 
 Mayor, 
 And also take on a supply of hot air. 
 
 The Doctor's advice, from A through to 
 Izzard, 
 Was "Open the windows and let in the 
 blizzard 
 To paralyze microbes and things of that ilk," 
 And he had one to show, as big as a lizard. 
 He caught swimming around in a bowl of new 
 . milk. 
 
THE MAN FROM THE MOON 15 
 
 The people, said he, must not drink milk at all, 
 
 Until an M. D., for a penny a quart, 
 
 Has held a post mortem, and made his report ; 
 
 Except from a cow, that can show in her stall. 
 An M. D's certificate tacked on the wall. 
 Duly attested, to let the world know 
 That she's been inspected by Dr. Von Blow, 
 Who has tested her lung, and looked at her 
 
 tongue, 
 And certifies: — "Ann, or Moll, or Marilla, 
 Is now in good health and free from bacilli." 
 
 The Moon-man arose — ^bowed low to the Doc, 
 And said he must leave at two by the clock. 
 But when he had interviewed Evans and Bussie, 
 
 Filled his balloon and was ready to fly. 
 He heard of I Will, a hoydenish hussy, 
 Who danced in the ballet while yet she wore 
 
 bibs, 
 And chucked Opportunity under the ribs, 
 
 At an age when most maidens are shy. 
 
 'Twas at the salon of his Honor, the Mayor, 
 Where above the rattle of schooners was 
 heard 
 
16 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 
 
 The voice of the bar-keep shooting hot air. 
 
 He stoutly affirmed — "I Will was the bird 
 That always stood pat wherever she stood, 
 
 With her feet planted two feet apart ; 
 Who loved to kick just as high as she could, 
 
 And doted on music and art. 
 Who, on occasion, might simper and smile, 
 But was haughty and proud, and talked so loud, 
 
 Her voice could be heard for a mile. 
 
 The boys of the push all avowed she was sweet, 
 
 Her jewels were rich and rare; 
 She put them all on when she went on the 
 street, 
 
 And greeted the world with a stare. 
 And when she was chided or twitted with graft, 
 
 I Will didn't care ; 
 She only just tittered and laughed. 
 
 And wore bigger rats in her hair. 
 
 "I think I must see that marvelous girl," 
 
 Said the Man from the Moon with his head in 
 
 a swirl; 
 So he went out to call on that maiden so pert, 
 Intending to pay his regards; 
 But loitered to see a big fire enjine squirt; — 
 Till along came a friend who proffered to take 
 His Honor to see the big hole in the lake, 
 Right in front of Montgomery Wards. 
 
THE MAN FROM THE MOON 17 
 
 They went off together ; but ere they got far, 
 
 A cop hove in sight, by the name of O'Dowd, 
 Who, just as they turned to enter a car. 
 Asked where they were going. The Moon 
 
 Man replied 
 "To the Hole in the Lake;" the friend stepped 
 aside, 
 Disappeared and was lost in the crowd. 
 
 The Moon Man continued, inquiring of all 
 He met by the way, concerning that wonderful 
 
 hole, 
 And the home of I Will, intending to call 
 At her beautiful palace, the old City Hall. 
 But when he arrived, she'd gone on a stroll. 
 
 And no one knew whether 
 She'd eloped with the Boss, or George E. Cole, 
 
 Or both of her lovers together. 
 
 Or perhaps, at a banquet of liquified corn, wind 
 pudding and fudges. 
 She'd been indiscreet, and was now out of 
 sight. 
 Or may be that in fear of the high Wayman 
 who held up the Judges, 
 She had retired early and blown out the light. 
 
 The Man from the Moon now found his balloon 
 
 Inflated with sterilized air, 
 And rarefied dreams, that swelled out the 
 seams ; 
 
 And he knew that the Doc had been there. 
 
 2 
 
18 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 
 
 So, without a microbe, he sailed round the 
 Globe, 
 And landed next day at the fair. 
 
 THE MAGIC WAND 
 
 This man from the Moon had a wonderful 
 charm, 
 
 A strange and magical wand ; 
 'Twould banish the devil, abolish an evil 
 
 At only the waive of a hand; — 
 Do away with all harm or cause of alarm, 
 When people in unison made the demand ; — 
 Or when by a thousand or more of a trade, 
 Craft or profession, demand should be made. 
 
 The Moon-man was eager at once to begin 
 The work of reform, the extinction of sin. 
 Unshaken his faith in justice and truth, 
 His courage was strong like the courage of 
 
 youth. 
 He had not yet learned by experience sad, 
 The kinship there is 'tween the good and the 
 
 bad; 
 Nor knew he as yet that the wheat and the weed 
 Their roots interweave in the soil where they 
 
 feed. 
 And always at harvest together are found, 
 And in the same sheaves are gathered and 
 
 bound ; — 
 Nor that in the field where is growing the corn. 
 
THE MAN FROM THE MOON 19 
 
 Lie buried the seeds of weed, thistle and thorn ; 
 And ever the rain and the sunlight that fall, 
 Giving life to the one, give life to them all. 
 We cut down the brambles; we pull out the 
 
 weeds — 
 The winds and the birds have scattered the 
 
 seeds ; 
 And the warmer the sunshine, more frequent 
 
 the rain. 
 The sooner the tares are all blooming again. 
 
 The Moon-man had come to set the world 
 
 right. 
 And that he might finish his task before night, 
 He hurried away, in haste to begin 
 The work of reform, the extinction of sin. 
 
20 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 
 
 THE MOON MAN AND THE LAWYERS 
 
 He called on the Lawyers who there were in 
 
 session 
 Extolling their noble and learned profession 
 In words that were grand and sonorous — 
 An occasion on which the lawyers agree 
 In an "I tickle you, and you tickle me," 
 
 And lustily join in the chorus: — 
 That, "while the Lawyers are true to their 
 
 mission, 
 Justice is sure, the right will prevail ; 
 But the Country would go with a plunge to 
 
 perdition 
 The instant the Lawyers let go of the tail." 
 The Moon Man approached — he was sure of 
 
 success ; 
 With confident air he began his address, 
 
 And told of the magical wand. 
 Then made an appeal to that noble profession 
 To take it and drive from the land 
 All fraud and all evil, all wrong and oppression, 
 All bickering strife and needless contention. 
 That noble profession in great apprehension 
 Sat nervously fidgeting there in their seats, 
 As judges sometimes when a lawyer repeats 
 ■> Or fumbles his logic and law, 
 Until an old fellow too genially mellow 
 To feel either reverence or awe 
 Jumped up and thus curtly but frankly replied ; 
 
THE MAN FROM THE MOON 21 
 
 "O go to the devil ; we'll keep the world level" ; 
 And then, sotto voce, said in an aside: 
 "We don't want his stick ; it does it too quick ; 
 The longer the road is the longer the ride." 
 Then the Man from the Moon undaunted and 
 
 calm 
 Bade the lawyers good day with a sweeping 
 
 salaam. 
 
 In an aside. 
 
22 THE MAN FROM THE MOON. 
 
 THE MOON MAN AND THE DOCTORS 
 
 There's no poetry in doctors and diseases, 
 
 Drugs, ill smelling herbs and erysipilas, 
 Sprains and fractures, phthisis, coughs and 
 sneezes ; 
 
 So, if you like, skip over this. 
 Skip and pass ; this is only an emulsion 
 
 Of rhyme and measure pounded into 
 blending, 
 iWhich to read, you are under no compulsion; 
 
 If you skip, there are no penalities attending. 
 
 The doctors in convention 
 Were all gathered there discussing human ills. 
 
 They had a big contention 
 About bacteria, the fever and the chills ; 
 
 Were engaged in polemics 
 About sore throat, croup, influenza and roup, 
 
 And other epidemics ; 
 Splints, lints and turpentine, and also porous 
 I* plasters ; — 
 Some things to cool the blood, and some to 
 
 make caloric; 
 Prescriptions for diseases and disasters, 
 
 And also paregoric. 
 
THE MAN FROM THE MOON 23 
 
 How they had progressed! They had learned 
 to diagnose, 
 
 To nominate the trouble, though they didn't 
 know the dose. 
 
 And they had found the germs, the naughty 
 httle worms, 
 
 That wriggle through the viscera of the human 
 system ; 
 And they had 'em christened!- 
 
 Though when they tried to spear 'em, somehow 
 they always missed 'em. 
 Yet still they had 'em christened, 
 
 And rattled off their names while he stood 
 there and listened. 
 
 The Man from the Moon was posted in phi- 
 losophy, 
 
 Had heard a woman there who talked about 
 theosophy. 
 
 Had been to seances where ghosts come out and 
 walk, 
 
 Seen spirit forms, and heard dead "injuns" 
 talk; 
 
 But nothing just like this, never such a chatter. 
 
 He listened; thought they talked of anthro- 
 pology 
 
 Or else, perhaps, they talked about mythology, 
 
 Until a doctor there explained to him the clatter. 
 Then waiving his wand 
 
 The Man from the Moon began to explain 
 
 How to cure sickness and drive away pain 
 Just at the wave of a hand. 
 
24 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 
 
 But not a word more was permitted to utter : 
 The doctors began all to spit and to sputter : 
 "He wants to take from us our bread and our 
 
 butter. 
 We 'never kill the goose that lays the golden 
 
 ^gg— 
 He who kills his goose will surely starve or 
 
 beg." 
 
THE MAN FROM THE MOON 25 
 
 HE SEES THEM ALL 
 
 He saw the Eclectics and Allopathists, 
 
 Dietestists, Homeopathists, 
 Hydropathists, Osteopathists, 
 Surgeons, Dentists, Dermatologists, 
 
 Gynecologists, Phlebottomists, 
 Nosologists, Aurists and Oculists, 
 Christian Scientists, Chiropodists, 
 
 Neurologists and Alienists — 
 All of them philanthropists. 
 But at us they shook their fists. 
 
 And answered back with heat, 
 That they meant to toll their grists. 
 
 And did not want a wand 
 That would grind up all the wheat 
 
 At the waving of a hand. 
 
 The Scientists, they had a charm they said, 
 A rosary of words strung on a slender thread, 
 And guaranteed to cure a fever or a phthisic, 
 Mend a wooden peg, or grow another leg, 
 
26 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 
 
 Or wake the sleeping dead, without one grain 
 
 of physic. 
 Disease is but a notion that gets into one's 
 
 head ; — 
 People do not die; they only think they're dead; 
 
 "Thinks he's dead." 
 
 And all they need to do is just be blythe and 
 
 gay, 
 Give "mortal mind" a twist and think the other 
 
 way. 
 A scientist, by means of silent prayer, 
 Can stop an aching tooth, turn old age into 
 
 youth. 
 Or cover old bald heads with coats of shining 
 
 hair ; — 
 One at a time though ; and while they cure the 
 
 soul, 
 Mortal mind does not forget to gather in the 
 
 toll. 
 
THE MAN FROM THE MOON 27 
 
 HE CALLS ON DOWIE 
 
 And then he called on Dowie, 
 The Lord's own chief commander. 
 
 And I will tell you how he, 
 This faith cure Alexander, 
 
 Listened to the story, 
 The story of the wand. 
 
 Instead of shouting glory, 
 He pranced and he cavorted; 
 
28 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 
 
 He ranted and he snorted; 
 
 Then grandly waved his hand; 
 And we knew it was no use. 
 
 For Dowie rode on top, 
 And Dowie had a goose 
 
 That laid a golden tgg, 
 And always let one drop 
 
 When Dowie pulled its leg. 
 
 THE MOON MAN AND THE 
 PREACHERS 
 
 The Man from the Moon then went round 
 where the teachers 
 
 Of Faith, Hope and Charity met at 
 the fair; 
 The story he told of the wand to the 
 preachers, 
 And then they united in prayer. 
 *'A11 they who by sorrow and sin are 
 enslaved, 
 By means of this magical wand, 
 Will all be redeemed, their souls will be 
 saved 
 At only the wave of a hand." 
 The preachers clapped hands and 
 
 shouted "Amen" ! 
 "Salvation is free"; then shouted 
 again : 
 
THE MAN FROM THE MOON 29 
 
 "Salvation is free ; praise be to the Lord ! 
 And blessed be He, and blessed his Word" ! 
 And then they got thinking: — 
 They could not afford 
 To save the whole people in one big 
 
 herd. 
 So they hemmed and they hawed — 
 Kept saying: "Praise Gawd" ! 
 But 'twas plain they were vexed. 
 And racking their wits for a biblical 
 text, 
 To frame an excuse, some pretext or 
 other. 
 Some side track on which they might 
 shunt the dear brother. 
 Get him away or make him let loose ; — 
 Don't know how they did it; but they 
 
 saved their goose. cot thinking. 
 
30 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 
 
 n\m 
 
 WOMAN'S CLUBS 
 
 He called upon the ladies 
 Of all the woman's clubs. 
 Trigged out in fine array- 
 He found these social hubs 
 All whirling in the play 
 "Society's reform." 
 But the bewitching elves, 
 They told him "Go to Hades! 
 They wanted no reform 
 They did not run themselves." 
 For by their moral capers, 
 Fighting slums and booze, 
 They got into the papers 
 Among the "Who-is-whos" ; 
 And never were they sadder 
 Than when the Moon Man came 
 
THE MAN FROM THE MOON 31 
 
 To carry ofif the ladder 
 
 On which they cHmbed to fame. 
 
 He saw a notice there 
 
 Somewhat obscured by flowers, 
 
 "Please do not trespass here 
 
 On these preserves of ours." 
 
 And there he saw a man 
 
 With a turban on his head, 
 
 "A Prince from Indoostan" — 
 
 So all the ladies said — 
 
 Who made a gracious bow, 
 
 Explained the unexplainable, 
 
 And taught the ladies how 
 
 To attain the unattainable. 
 
 He saw some little creatures 
 
 With strange peculiar features, 
 
 But soft and sleek of fur. 
 
 And of some little lads 
 
 Asked what the creatures were. 
 
 "Them things," replied the lads, 
 
 "That only has one eye ? 
 
 Why, them there things is fads. 
 
 Belong to Miss O Mye." 
 
 Of ladies there, a few 
 
 Compounded from aesthetics 
 
 As pure as mountain dew, 
 
 A species of cosmetics, 
 
 With which they either hid 
 
 Or gave a rosy hue 
 
 To naughty things they did. 
 
 They overflowed with zeal 
 
32 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 
 
 For what is good and true, 
 
 And for the common weal. 
 
 They had a lofty aim, 
 
 And always pointed high 
 
 At some celestial game 
 
 They saw up in the sky. 
 
 But they did not want the charm ; 
 
 For the wand they had no use. 
 
 They rallied in alarm 
 
 To save their little goose. 
 
 HE APPEALS TO THE 
 JUDGES 
 
 He called on the judges, wise men of high 
 
 station. 
 All dressed in black gowns and wearing big 
 
 wigs, 
 There sitting en bank and, in deep cogitation. 
 
 Inspiring great awe; 
 Devising more ways to make lawyers dance 
 
 jigs, 
 Legal contortions, the cause of abortions 
 In justice and law. 
 
 And while we were waiting a lawyer rushed 
 
 out 
 His face flushed with anger, and I heard him 
 
 shout : 
 
 "The pompous old fudges 
 
THE MAN FROM THE MOON '33 
 
 Make use of spy glasses just hunting up 
 
 quibbles, 
 While justice they deal out in very small 
 
 dribbles. 
 
 We ought to have judges 
 With some breadth of vision, who know that 
 
 the law 
 
 Is not to be quirked 
 Or turned from its course by some petty flaw 
 
 Or trick that is worked. 
 They miss the plain sense, on the letter lay 
 
 stress ; 
 A jungle of precedents hinders their view; 
 The law they conceive as a play of finesse 
 Like Japanese game of jiujitsu. 
 The rules of procedure they turn into snares, 
 And, Justice is caught in the technical noose, 
 While judges adept in the splitting of hairs 
 Are ever alert to find legal excuse. 
 And he who appeals to the court for redress. 
 He watches, he waits, while the years roll 
 
 away ; 
 And all that he gains in the game of finesse 
 Is wasted, or lost in the end, by delay. 
 They fumble their calendars, plan and contrive 
 
 Your case on some call to dismiss ; 
 You never can tell when the time may arrive, 
 
 They'll serve you with justice like this. 
 The man with a pull though, may bet on his 
 
 toss; 
 For even the judges kow-tow to the boss." 
 
34 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 
 
 "The slippery old fakirs, they fuss and they 
 fumble, 
 
 And some of them shirk. 
 The lawyers don't like it, they fret and they 
 grumble, 
 
 But most of them work. 
 The pokey old codgers have so fiddle-faddled, 
 Though the goose is alive, the eggs are all 
 addled." 
 
 The Moon man approached, and he bowed very 
 low. 
 
 "Your Honors," said he, 
 "To right, truth and justice devoted, I know 
 
 Will listen to me." 
 And then he discoursed of the wonderful 
 charm 
 
 Of the wand that he bore. 
 The judges grew restless and showed their 
 
 alarm ; 
 For it was like nothing they'd heard of before; 
 And one fuddy fuddy. 
 
THE MAN FROM THE MOON 35 
 
 Who for thirty long years had sat at the 
 
 fountain 
 And kept the pool muddy. 
 Who knew no distinction 'tween mole hill and 
 
 mountain, 
 
 Said, "Can you some precedent cite?" 
 From precedents sir, we do never depart ; 
 
 We thereby make sure zve are right, 
 We follow the trail of our grandfather's cart. 
 
 The Man from the Moon then made haste to 
 
 depart, 
 And the judges rode on in their grand-daddy's 
 
 cart. 
 
36 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 
 
 HE SEES THE NEWSPAPER MEN 
 
 The Man from the Moon now gave his atten- 
 tion 
 To newspaper men who there in convention 
 Were gathered; — about three acres 
 Of editors, writers, reporters and fakirs. 
 They listened, took notes as paper men do — 
 The best of attention until he got through. 
 And then they arose in the wildest uproar 
 And all tried at once to get out at the door ; 
 And every man ran with a shout and a whoop 
 To beat all the others and send in a scoop. 
 Then raucous and loud came the newsboy's 
 
 shout : 
 "Here's your Daily Alarm and Evening Blow 
 
 Out." 
 "Latest edition" — The Moon Man took two, 
 One of them pink, the other one blue, 
 And scanning the head lines over he read : 
 "Great Railway Disaster, Twenty-Three 
 
 Dead"; 
 "England and Prance Preparing for War"; 
 "Miss Van Tassel Blopes with the Prince of 
 
 Jahore" ; 
 "Dr. Hopkinson Shadd says the Ladies Get 
 
 Drunk; 
 And Pulpits are Pidl of Rusty Old Junk" ; 
 "Coyotes and Weasels, — Score Seven to Ten" ; 
 "Professor von Skeesics is Talking Again" ; 
 
THE MAN FROM THE MOON 37 
 
 "The Kaiser is Captured by Bandits in Greece," 
 "King Edward Arrested by Irish Police"; 
 "Dazed by the Lime-light, Monseignieur kicks 
 
 high, 
 The Toe of his Boot makes a Hole in the Sky; 
 And Twenty-nine Millions will have to be Paid, 
 To Cover the Hole Monseignieur has Made." 
 The Moon Man read on in silence awhile, 
 Then looking away, with a weary, sad smile, 
 Said aloud to himself : 
 "The men who are shapers of thought and 
 
 opinion, 
 The men who run papers and wield a dominion 
 Over the grandest domain in the world. 
 Hurling their spears and javelins at sin 
 Wherever the lance of free thought may be 
 
 hurled, 
 Making a fearful and deafening din, 
 You think it must be that they're fighting the 
 
 devil, 
 
 Or at least are pursuing 
 Some one of his imps, some monster of evil, 
 At whom they all shout and incessantly rail; 
 
 But what they are doing 
 Is whooping the hounds on an anise seed trail. 
 At every tame goose they go banging away : 
 They fire in the thicket at every blue jay, 
 At every tame bunny that crosses the track : 
 Don't care for the game — they're after the 
 
 crack. 
 
38 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 
 
 Reform ! You think they are eager at once to 
 
 begin it; 
 But they shout reform for the noise there is in 
 
 it; 
 Not that some evil they seek to destroy, 
 But that themselves they may keep in employ. 
 They kill the devil? or drive him away? 
 Wouldn't give him sick leave for half of a day. 
 What a strange world ! Everything is so fixed 
 The good and the bad are all tangled and 
 
 mixed." 
 
 HIS LAST APPEAL 
 
 The Moon Man's appeals as yet had been vain, 
 For every profession made answer the same ; 
 Some motive of self shaped the life of each 
 
 man, 
 And ran through and through the entire social 
 
 plan; 
 And though hid by the woof of fancies' bright 
 
 dreams. 
 Was plain to be seen in the raveled out seams, 
 Where the hard twisted threads of the warp 
 
 were revealed. 
 That the fluff and the sheen of the woof had 
 
 concealed. 
 Even Religion had self for its goal. 
 Every man scheming to save his own soul 
 From a menacing spectre that dwelt in the 
 
 clouds 
 
THE MAN FROM THE MOON 39 
 
 And took men in charge when they got in their 
 
 shrouds ; 
 Whose favor they ever were striving to win, 
 Not by foregoing the profits of sin, 
 But by converting the Turk and Hindoo, 
 Chastising the skeptic and baiting the Jew, 
 Bewaihng their sorrows, their troubles and 
 
 cares. 
 Counting their beads and muttering their 
 
 prayers 
 To an Ogre so jealous, self-centered and grim, 
 Every soul was constrained to pay tribute to 
 
 him. 
 So to an unseen impalpable ghost 
 Men bowed and paid homage, a myriad host ; 
 And cringing in fear of his chastening rod. 
 They slaughtered each other defending their 
 
 god. 
 The sinner, in fear for the peace of his wraith. 
 Fell in the procession and joined in the faith ; 
 The vilest of sinners knelt down and confessed. 
 Jumped in the band wagon and rode with the 
 
 rest; 
 Rode to escape from the merciless ire 
 Of the Czar in the clouds with his furnace of 
 
 fire. 
 Where the soul of the skeptic who ventures to 
 
 doubt 
 Is roasted forever and never gets out. 
 And men were afraid lest a flaw in belief 
 Might anger the Spectre and bring them to 
 
 grief. 
 
40 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 
 
 So smothered their doubts, or hid them away 
 
 And viewed them askance with a wink, 
 
 Gave no heed to what reason might say. 
 
 And never dared venture to think ; 
 
 But bowed to the ghost that scowled in the sky, 
 
 Accepted the creed and never asked why ; 
 
 For the weak in the faith, who faltered and fell, 
 
 Were banished by solemn decree, 
 
 Imprisoned in Hades like frogs in a well, 
 
 Until the good priest with indulgence to sell 
 
 Secured their release for a fee. 
 
 The gates of Heaven were closed and barred ; 
 
 No skeptic could ever get through ; 
 
 For vigilant priests were mounted on guard ; 
 
 The guard never slept and never withdrew. 
 
 But when an old rounder was shrived of his sin, 
 
 By Father O'Leary or Father O'Rouke, 
 
 He had no trouble at all to get in 
 
 On a pass from a friend of the Spook. 
 
 The Man from the Moon nid-nodded his head 
 
 As he talked to himself. "This world," he 
 
 said 
 "Is a very queer world where cunning and craft 
 Harness the ghosts in the service of graft ; 
 Where all talk reform, but never agree, 
 Since each for himself prefers to be free. 
 In a strenuous life they prey on each other. 
 Each wanting reform but to hobble his brother. 
 Each eager to strike every species of pelf. 
 But wanting no change that might hinder him- 
 self ; — 
 
THE MAN FROM THE MOON 41 
 
 Wants his neighbors dehorned; for then there 
 
 would be 
 More room for himself at the trough; — 
 He wants reform, but will never agree 
 To have his own antlers sawed off." 
 The Man from the Moon was sore and per- 
 plexed, 
 In doubt what to do, or where to go next. 
 But hearing just then of a meeting of builders, 
 Carpenters, masons, painters and gilders. 
 Met to consider the wrongs they endure. 
 Capital robbing and grinding the poor, 
 The Moon Man addressed them and told of the 
 
 wand 
 For these evils a cure. 
 And how, at the waive of the hand. 
 Homes would arise for the rich and the poor, 
 And buildings majestic and grand! 
 And there would be dwellings for all ; 
 And nothing to pay. 
 
 "What, nothing to pay ? Nothing to pay ?" 
 They shouting replied from all over the hall, — 
 "Nothing to pay?" 
 
 Two hundred or more, in a concert of blab. 
 Stood out on the floor and shouted "scab, 
 scab" ! 
 
 The Moon Man said no more, they all began to 
 
 scoff. 
 And climbed upon the stage intent to pull him 
 
 oflF; 
 
42 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 
 
 They gathered round the Moon Man, each 
 
 eager to get to him, 
 And striking wild and fierce they ran their fists 
 
 right through him, 
 And landed on the other side, each on a solid 
 
 brother. 
 So, aiming at the man of mist, they pounded 
 
 one another. 
 Each thinking that the Moon man was striking 
 
 straight at him. 
 While Mike was pounding Pat and Pat was 
 
 thumping Tim. 
 And thus the builders fought and won, and so 
 
 were quite content. 
 While Capital looked on and smiled ; for Labor 
 
 pays the rent. 
 
THE MAN FROM THE M00l\ 43 
 
 Just what the Moon Man thought of this I 
 
 never heard him say, 
 For in a form of floating mist the Moon Man 
 
 blew away. 
 
 I saw the Moon Man blow out at the door, 
 
 And quickly pursued, but saw him no more. 
 I wandered about in eager pursuit, 
 
 In search of the strange, mysterious guest, 
 And heard, as I passed, the sound of a lute. 
 
 I entered a hall ; suspending my quest, 
 I sat for a time in the midst of a throng 
 
 That always clapped hands at the end of a 
 song. 
 
 A minstrel sat strumming a banjo awhile. 
 Keeping time to the tune that he picked on 
 the strings; 
 
44 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 
 
 And then, with a broad Senegambian smile, 
 And many flip-flops, contortions and flings; 
 
 Sang three or four stanzas of doggeral verse ; 
 And these are the hnes that I heard him re- 
 hearse : — • 
 
 "hitchin to a hole in The ground/' 
 
 Away out dar on de Arizona plain 
 
 Whar trees don't grow, for it seldom ebber 
 rain, 
 Whar de plain reaches out to de sky all aroun, 
 
 And dar's not a fence nor a post to be foun, 
 De cowboy dar, when he gwine to take a nap. 
 
 He des tie a knot on de end ob de strap, 
 And right whar he stan, on de berry same spot, 
 Cut a hole in de ground ; den he drop in de 
 knot, 
 De plug on de top, and he den stamp it down, 
 And de boss, it am hitched to a hole in de 
 groun. 
 De waxum soil dar, it hoi him so tight. 
 
 He can't get away though he pull all his 
 might. 
 Dey calls dat a hitchin to a hole in de groun. 
 
 Dar was a man had a silber mounted saddle, 
 Flung it on a donk, and he rode away a 
 straddle ; — 
 Goin to de White-house, dat's what he say ; 
 And he rode and he rode; but he rode de 
 odder way. 
 
THE MAN FROM THE MOON 45 
 
 Rode way out on de bad Ian plain 
 
 Whar nuffin ebber grow, for it seldom ebber 
 rain ; — 
 Rode and he rode, and he nebber look aroun 
 
 Till he hitch dat donk to a hole in de groun. 
 
 Who am dat man, banjo aint a gwine to say; 
 But he done hitch de donk and he can't get 
 away ; — 
 All he can do is to paw and to bray, 
 Away out dar on de bad Ian plain, 
 Whar nuffin ebber grow, for it seldom ebber 
 rain. 
 Des hitched out dar to a hole in de ground. 
 
 Poor ole donk ! poor old donk ! hab'nt any hay, 
 Nebber break de strap and he can't get 
 away. 
 All he can do is to paw and to bray, 
 Away out dar whar de streams run dry, 
 And de prairies are panting for rain, 
 
46 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 
 
 And de silber dome ob a cloudless sky 
 
 Hang ober de sun parched plain — 
 Des hitched out dar a pawin in de ground. 
 
 Big fat man went a foolin aroun 
 
 Huntin for de donk, but de fat man foun 
 Nuffin but de tail sticken out ob de groun ; 
 
 But de tail keep a floppin, and de tail say to 
 Grober : 
 "Sixteen to one, sixteen to one," ober and ober; 
 
 Away out dar whar de silber moon 
 Hang ober de track ob the hot monsoon; 
 
 Whar de coyotes cry and de prairie dogs 
 howl, 
 Den cuddle in togedder wid de snake an de owl, 
 
 Des chucked in de hole dat he pawed in de 
 
 groun. 
 ^ ^ i/^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 
 
THE MAN FROM THE MOON 47 
 
 A shining black minstrel then danced to the 
 fore, 
 Sang a gay song, then one or two more ; — 
 And this is the song that he sang for en core: 
 
 PUNCH AND JUDY. 
 
 A Punch and Judy sparring match 
 
 It come one year in four ; 
 And den dey knock and bite and scratch 
 
 And poun each odder sore. 
 
 Punch for protection firmly hoi, 
 
 An Judy for free-trade, 
 Also for silber shout an scol 
 
 Until dat play am played. 
 
48 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 
 
 "Down wid de Trusts" ol Punch he shout, 
 And Jude, she shout de same. 
 
 Ol Punch and Judy turn about! 
 Dem people watch de game. 
 
 An des to hear dem puppets talk, 
 
 An see dem puppets fight, 
 Dem people all stan roun and gawk 
 
 From mornin unto night. 
 
 But dar's a man behin de screen; 
 
 An when a puppet squeak, 
 Aldo dat man am seldom seen, 
 
 It am de man dat speak. 
 
 He make dem puppets bounce an flop. 
 
 Make Judy rant an tear ; — 
 Ol Punch, he make him jump on top 
 
 An tousle Judy's hair. 
 
 Dat man to whom I now alude. 
 He make dem puppets fight. 
 
 For in his lef hand he hoi Jude 
 And hoi Punch in his right. 
 
 And so dis Punch and Judy riot:— 
 
 Ole Money-bags, you know, 
 Des to keep dem people quiet, 
 
 He run dis puppet show. 
 
 ^F 'T* *!* ■!* 'T ^ 
 
 And then a minstrel grey and gaunt 
 Came out and sang: 
 
THE MAN FROM THE MOON 49 
 
 TOTING FOR THE ELEPHANT. 
 
 v<f fj;* t/UX:iep/tavth, 
 
 When I was a confiding lad and wonders yet 
 
 were new, 
 And I believed the stories of the flaming posters 
 
 true, 
 Out watching for the Elephant, I waited half a 
 
 day, 
 And then I saw the Elephant about a mile 
 
 away ; — 
 And Oh, but I was happy when the band began 
 
 to play! 
 
50 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 
 
 And I made up my mind right then that I would 
 
 see the show, 
 But wouldn't tell my daddy lest he might not 
 
 let me go. 
 So I slipped off and ran away; but when I 
 
 found the tent, 
 My pocket-book was empty and I didn't have a 
 
 cent. 
 
 I asked the boss "could I go in"? The boss 
 
 said : "If I could 
 Tote water for the Elephant" — Of course I 
 
 said I would. 
 And so I toted water for the Elephant to sip. 
 Until I'd brought enough, I thought, enough 
 
 to float a ship. 
 
 And then I humbly asked the boss : "How much 
 
 does Jumbo drink?" 
 The boss, he made no answer; but I saw the 
 
 fellow wink. 
 And so I toted water till my back began to ache ; 
 Then humbly asked the boss again how much 
 
 he thought 'twould take; 
 I didn't mind a tub or two, but couldn't tote the 
 
 lake. 
 
 And then the boss, he said to me, "Just run 
 
 along my sonny, 
 Tote water for the Elephant, unless you have 
 
 the money." 
 
THE MAN FROM THE MOON 51 
 
 And so I toted water for the Elephant to 
 
 drink ; 
 I toted and I toted ; but I couldn't fill the sink. 
 
 And so I've found it ever since; — 'tis "run 
 
 along my sonny, 
 Tote water for the Elephant" ; Unless you have 
 
 the money. 
 With men the same as little boys who don't 
 
 save up their chink, — 
 They all are toting water for the Elephant to 
 
 drink. 
 
 On easy payments they begin; they have no 
 
 cash in bank, 
 And toting for the Elephant they must fill up 
 
 the tank. 
 You're toting for the Elephant whenever you 
 
 pay rent. 
 And toting for the Elephant you pay your cent 
 
 per cent. 
 And so, forever toting on, grow weary, old and 
 
 bent. 
 
 You tote and tote and trust at last the boss may 
 
 let you in 
 To see the strut and swagger of the painted 
 
 harlequin, 
 And see the gilded chariot go racing round the 
 
 ring; 
 
52 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 
 
 But still the boss keeps calling, and silent voices 
 
 sing: 
 "J«st run along my sonny, every bucketful you 
 
 bring." 
 
 Professor Abner Darwin Jones 
 Then gave a recitation. 
 
 THE SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST, 
 
 In a neglected garden grew 
 All alone, and fair to view 
 
 A tender fragrant flower. 
 But in the soil there lay the seed 
 Of every kind of noxious weed ; 
 And warmed by sunshine and by 
 shower, 
 The weeds came pushing through. 
 There came the Mullen and the 
 Dock, 
 And came the Rag-weed too. 
 The weeds were strong; they grew apace, 
 
 Such sturdy growth they made, 
 The flower grew pale and wan, and soon 
 
 Stood drooping in the shade. 
 Then to the Rag-weed said the Dock 
 "Indeed it gives me quite a shock. 
 
 To see our gentle friend the Flower, 
 So early droop and fade." 
 
THE MAN FROM THE MOON 63 
 
 The Flower heard and breathed a sigh, 
 And gently then made this reply: 
 
 "The reason is quite plain to see; 
 
 You lusty weeds o'ershadow me" ; 
 You spread your roots and branches round, 
 
 Shut out the sun, shut out the dew, 
 
 As though this world were made for you ; 
 You cover all the ground." 
 
 Then said the Mullen to the Dock : 
 
 "Our quiet friend must hustle ; 
 I never hear her make a stir, 
 
 I never hear a rustle. 
 It is the strong that live and thrive ; 
 Always the fittest do survive. 
 Our friend must do as we do, strive; 
 
 Our little friend must hustle". 
 
 So spake the Mullen to the crowd — 
 For Mullens all are frank — 
 To give assent the Rag-weed bowed ; 
 The weeds grew tall and rank ; 
 
 And underneath their clammy shade, 
 The earth was cold and dank. 
 
 The Flower faded day by day. 
 
 Drooped and died and passed away. 
 The Rag-weed, Mullen and the Dock 
 
 Survived and bloomed and stank. 
 
54 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 
 
 Then came an old man with white flowing hair 
 Whose smile danced a waltz with the wrinkles 
 
 of care. 
 He sang a queer song, and sang in a tone 
 Half gay and half sad, a laugh and a moan 
 Commingling in one. He ambled along, 
 And then, in these words, concluded his song: 
 
 THK TOLL GATES. 
 
 In Rome we do as Romans do; 
 
 We kiss the pontiff's toe; 
 ^nd still the traveled way pursue 
 
 As on through life we go. 
 
THE MAN FROM THE MOON 55 
 
 'Tis true, my friends ; — if you would like 
 
 To reach the happy goal, 
 You all must travel on the pike, 
 
 You all must pay the toll. 
 
 For selfishness stands at the gate, 
 
 To gather toll his trade; 
 And even Mercy there must wait 
 
 Until the toll is paid. 
 
 And through his gate no one may pass, 
 
 Who bears an empty purse; — 
 The priest is paid for saying mass. 
 
 The tollman halts the hearse. 
 
 And many gates are on the way; 
 
 At each a tollman stands, 
 Who, even while he kneels to pray. 
 
 Keeps holding out his hands. 
 
 Though while his eyes are upward rolled 
 
 He sees you not, but when 
 His palm is crossed with coin of gold. 
 
 The gate swings open then. 
 
 O many gates are on the way. 
 
 At each a tollman stands. 
 Who, even while he kneels to pray, 
 
 Keeps holding out his hands. 
 * * * 
 
66 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 
 
 The minstrel bowed at the end of his song 
 And turned to go ; but a clamoring throng 
 Called the old man back. He came with gentle 
 grace, 
 
 A smile playing over his care wrinkled face, 
 And then, in a far away lingering tone, 
 Like one who sings to himself all alone, 
 He sang this song: — 
 
 THE OI.D man's song. 
 
 Far o'er the wide expanding plain 
 
 Light hearted buoyant youth, 
 Now gazing, looks and looks again; 
 
 And there, in very truth, 
 
 He sees the mountains looming high, 
 
 The verdure on their slopes, 
 And just beyond, a painted sky, 
 
 The sunrise of his hopes. 
 
 The mountain seems so very near. 
 
 So short the way between, 
 He bounds away with hearty cheer 
 
 To climb its slopes of green. 
 
 The woodland bloom with fragrance fills 
 
 His pathway through the glen; 
 His song, re-echoed from the hills. 
 
 Comes laughing back again. 
 
THE MAN FROM THE MOON 57 
 
 And then across the plain he sees, 
 
 As far as sight is borne, 
 The hill tops and the clustered trees, 
 
 That hill and vale adorn. 
 
 But just beyond, in clearer light, 
 
 He sees the shining goal, 
 And thinks, to reach that mountain height 
 
 Is but a morning's stroll. 
 
 But there are things he hath not seen. 
 Though bright and clear the morn — 
 
 The sterile sands, the deep ravine, 
 The bramble and the thorn. 
 
 For underneath the glittering sheen 
 
 Of morning's rosy light, 
 The long and winding path between 
 
 Lay hidden from his sight. 
 
 So he goes singing on his way, 
 
 And shouts a glad refrain; 
 But sinks to rest at noon of day, 
 
 Still on the level plain. 
 
 Revived again, he trusts, ere long, 
 
 That mountain slope to climb ; 
 But sings no more the gladsome song 
 
 He sang at morning's prime. 
 
58 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 
 
 And when the sun is in the West 
 And half way down the sky, 
 
 He looks upon that mountain crest 
 And checks a rising sigh. 
 
 Still trudging on at eve of day. 
 
 He weary is, and worn; 
 That mountain seems as far away 
 
 As when he looked at morn. 
 
 The sun goes down ; on comes the Night ; 
 
 The way is long between; 
 He will not scale that mountain height 
 
 Nor climb its slopes of green. 
 
 Upon the plain he lies asleep, 
 
 The clouds go drifting by ; 
 Their trailing shadows o'er him creep, 
 
 The Night winds moan and sigh. 
 
 The old man retired ; the orchestra played, 
 
 And then I withdrew ; for I was afraid 
 
 The Man from the Moon would escape if I 
 
 stayed. 
 The search I continued all over the ground ; 
 But of the Moon Man no trace could be found ; 
 And no one knew in what manner he went. 
 I found his balloon ; it was changed to a tent ; 
 Within was a show; 
 
THE MAN FROM THE MOON 59 
 
 A throng of ten thousand encircled a ring 
 
 Where a painted clown 
 Stood bowing and waiting, and ready to sing ; 
 
 And he sang this song: — 
 
 THS song 01^ THE CLOWN. 
 
 "This world Is all a fleeting show 
 
 For man's illusion given." 
 So sang the poet long ago, 
 
 To this conclusion driven. 
 
 The clown has been behind the scenes; 
 
 He knows the mystic lore. 
 Knows how they make up kings and queens, 
 
 And make the thunder roar. 
 
60 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 
 
 He knows the way the play is played, 
 Has worn the gilded crown, 
 
 And coat all decked with tinsel braid, 
 Seen Fortune smile and frown. 
 
 And now he tells you while he sings, 
 
 That queens are made of gowns; 
 
 That angels all wear paper wings, 
 
 And kings are made of clowns. 
 * * * 
 
 Always through scenes of toil and strife 
 
 It is his fate to roam ; — 
 The clown, he leads a wandering life ; 
 
 He makes the world his home. 
 
 He mingles with the passing throng ; 
 
 He gayly plays his part. 
 And ever sings a merry song 
 
 To cheer the weary heart. 
 
 And though at times a sober strain 
 May thread his rhymes along ; 
 
 And though, sometimes, a sad refrain 
 May creep into his song. 
 
 Yet still, the old and battered clown 
 
 Will strive to do his best. 
 And help this sad old world to drown 
 
 Its sorrow in a jest. 
 
THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 
 
 61 
 
 OI.D DOC BROWN. 
 
 Old Jones falls down 
 And sprains his back : — 
 He calls in Doctor Brown, 
 A glib old quack, 
 Who tests his lung. 
 Inspects his tongue 
 
 And looks tremendous wise. 
 And poor old Jones 
 Lies there and moans 
 While Doc looks on and sighs. 
 With right good will 
 Jones takes a pill 
 And every day takes four, 
 With greatest punctuality, 
 And every night three more. 
 
62 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 
 
 That is the way, you know, 
 
 Although in reality, 
 The pills are made of dough ; — 
 
 And so the doctors do. 
 
 When Jones gets well 
 
 He loves to tell 
 How old Doc "pulled him through. 
 
 The old, old play. 
 
 The doctor and the pill. 
 
 The world is run that way ; 
 
 And Jones, he pays the bill. 
 * * * 
 
 Men will get tight, 
 And then they fight; 
 And that is right; 
 For men were made that way. 
 Then in the jug 
 They go ker-chug, 
 Each ugly niug, 
 
THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 63 
 
 But don't have long to stay. 
 
 Some lawyer bright 
 
 Hears of that fight, 
 And they are out next day. 
 
 And that is right ; 
 'Tis but a splash of spray, 
 
 A broken rift 
 
 Of foam and drift, 
 The wind and waves at play. 
 
 And what were life 
 
 Without its strife, 
 Its eager throb and thrill, 
 
 Its surge and splash, 
 
 Its dare and dash — 
 Without its San Juan hill. 
 * * * 
 
64 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 
 
 THE REFORMER. 
 
 Erect upon a big white horse 
 With flowing tail and mane, 
 
 He splurges round the quarter course 
 And then goes round again. 
 
 He loves to trail across the mead 
 
 And toot his hunting horn; 
 To ride a prancing foam flecked steed 
 And trample down the corn. 
 
 He loves to hunt the OCTOPUS, 
 So big and fierce and black ; 
 Fire his resounding blunderbuss; 
 He loves to hear it crack. 
 
THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 65 
 
 He loves to shoot, he loves to toot; 
 
 And shout the brave defy. 
 And all trigged out in grand array, 
 
 Adorned with sash and big cockade, 
 Adown the line on muster day. 
 
 He loves to ride on dress parade 
 And give the crowd the grand salute, 
 
 As he goes prancing by. 
 * * * 
 
 Thus love of self supplies the spring 
 That makes the wheels go round, 
 
 And vanity is but the key 
 
 With which the spring is wound. 
 
 THE FAKIRS. 
 
 Some measure of fiction doth help to advance 
 Scheme of religion or scheme of finance — 
 We like the wine better when told it's from 
 France. 
 
 In ways of the world a man may be wise, 
 
 Yet hunt up a fakir to pilot the skies, 
 
 And trust him the more for his marvelous lies. 
 
 The crowd must have leaders like Dowie or 
 
 Moses 
 Who understand how to put rings in their noses, 
 And lead them and guide them where figs grow, 
 
 and roses. 
 
 5 
 
66 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 
 
 The truth we revere and adore ; but alas ! 
 The people will bow to an image of brass. 
 Hear the voice of the Lord in the bray of an 
 ass. 
 
 Give faith to a story that mystics have told, 
 Chase after rainbows for kettles of gold, 
 And follow the fakir like sheep to the fold. 
 
 While reason and sense with candor may plead 
 Some "friend of the Lord" will bounce in the 
 
 lead, 
 Whose trumpet's loud blare the people will 
 
 heed ; — 
 
 Some Eddy, Joe Smith or Dowie or Teed; 
 And the noblest religion can never succeed 
 Unless some alloy be mixed in the creed. 
 
 And though you may think that my notion is 
 
 quaint. 
 Yet when he is dead and memory faint, 
 The fakir may pass for a very good saint. 
 
 For many a saint, if measured and weighed, 
 Would be found to be only the lingering shade 
 Of one who, alive, was a fakir by trade. 
 
 A Fakir, though not a bad shepherd for that, 
 Who, luring his flock to pastures fat, 
 Dipped phantom salt from an empty hat. 
 
THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 67 
 
 The Clown Makes A Sonnet. 
 
 With downy feathers dropped from Fancy's 
 
 wing 
 Faith builds her nest, wherein she rears her 
 
 brood, 
 Bright plumaged Hopes, that ever chirp and 
 
 sing 
 The cheery notes that through hfe's forest ring, 
 To keep the traveler in helpful mood 
 As through the lonely glen of solitude 
 He wends his way to life's Eternal Spring — 
 Along the traveled path where Reason stops 
 To note each bud and bloom with curious eye, 
 And into every hidden secret pry, 
 Faith builds no nest, but in sequestered copse 
 Where meddling science rarely passeth by. 
 And here she rears her brood till "fleet and 
 
 strong" 
 They fly away to fill the world with song. 
 
 WHAT The wagon SAID. 
 
 When you hear a wagon screech, 
 
 As some old wagons do, 
 It is the wagon's speech. 
 
 That wagon talks to you. 
 Talks on and on without surcease; 
 
 And many a squeaking byke 
 Is calling out for grease 
 
 As it goes down the pike. 
 
68 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 
 
 So when a cop comes fierce and gruff, 
 
 Grouchy, loud and talking rough. 
 Don't get hot, 
 
 Don't lose your head. 
 But just remember what 
 
 The wise old wagon said. 
 For if to court you fare 
 
 Like a confiding goose, 
 They'll surely pluck your feathers there 
 
 Before they turn you loose. 
 
 JUSTICE IN CHICAGO. 
 
 Did you ever watch the law go 
 
 Dealing justice in Chicago? 
 Grand procession, plumes on the hearse! 
 A splendid show, moving slow — 
 All comes out of the dead man's purse. 
 
 Ever have a case on call. 
 Six long weeks through Summer and through 
 Fall? 
 
 Ever drive a balky mare 
 'Long a swampy road through mud and slush, 
 Have her stop stone still and just stand there 
 In the mud, when you were on a rush? 
 Ever see a man who had chorea? 
 Then, perhaps, you may have some idea 
 
 Of the way they make the law go 
 
 Dealing justice in Chicago. 
 
 Ever run the gauntlet of the law ? 
 Years of waiting, quibble quirk and flaw ? 
 
THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 69 
 
 Where behind a mask of rules 
 The cunning craftsman plies his tools, 
 Or prowls the legal byways and commands 
 Belated Justice to hold up her hands? 
 Did'st ever run that gauntlet through, 
 And then the gauntlet of review 
 In tribunal of Appeals ? 
 A quibble in the slot device 
 Full of hidden springs and wheels, 
 So automatic and precise 
 A verbal flaw or petty quirk 
 Dropped in the slot will make it work? 
 That's the way they make the law go 
 Dealing justice in Chicago; — 
 Grand procession, plumes on the hearse! 
 A splendid show, moving slow ; — 
 All comes out of the dead man's purse. 
 
 THE NEWSPAPERS. 
 
 Tramping through the ooze, 
 
 Chuckling with delight. 
 Gathering the news 
 
 Of a brawl or a fight, 
 A story of fraud 
 
 A fire or a flood, 
 Escapades of a bawd, 
 
 Or a story of blood. 
 Seeking after sorrow 
 
 And sin to proclaim 
 
70 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN. 
 
 Then hawking tomorrow 
 
 A story of shame. 
 Ruthless and unheeding, 
 
 Chasing after gain, 
 Coining into pennies 
 
 The world's cry of pain. 
 
 They shriek and they howl. 
 
 And they print day by day, 
 The hoots of an owl 
 
 That is hooting for pay; 
 An owl in a cage 
 
 That sits there and blinks. 
 Looks like a sage 
 
 And thinks that it thinks ; 
 But hoots either way 
 
 As the manager winks. 
 
 They watch for the gales, 
 
 They reef and they tack, 
 Keep shifting their sails, 
 
 Go forward and back, 
 And eager to please, 
 
 They always keep going 
 The way that the breeze 
 
 Appears to be blowing. 
 
 Always with the Nation 
 
 There's something the matter. 
 
 To find a sensation 
 And keep up a clatter. 
 
THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 71 
 
 They scour all creation, 
 
 They splash and they splatter; 
 Assert and deny, 
 
 They chatter and chatter ; 
 They boast and defy, 
 
 They fawn and they flatter; 
 Laud some to the sky 
 
 And some they bespatter ; 
 Soil a fair name 
 
 With a slanderous touch, 
 Then atone for the same 
 
 With wipe at the smutch. 
 Go the full tether 
 
 Of bluster and bluff, 
 And all sneeze together 
 
 When Croesus takes snuff. 
 
 With daily reports 
 Of gambling resorts 
 And racing and sports 
 Displayed in red ink 
 Or printed on pink; 
 With columns of preaching 
 And ethical teaching. 
 Severe moral strictures 
 And prize-fighting pictures, 
 Gossip kept humming 
 And demagogues blowing, 
 They catch the crowd coming 
 And catch the crowd going. 
 
72 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 
 
 Round and round they dance, 
 Then tip-toe down the middle, 
 
 Recede and then advance — 
 The devil plays the fiddle. 
 
 Out and in they waltz with sin, 
 
 And when the play is loud, 
 Under cover of the din, 
 
 They work the gaping crowd, 
 The crowd is for Reform of course 
 
 And every man and boy 
 Turns out to whoop the Trojan horse. 
 
 In through the gates of Troy. 
 
 They'll advertise a quack 
 Or boost along a fake. 
 
 And prove that white is black 
 For the money that they take. 
 They tell you in their ads 
 Of stuff to make your hair grow 
 
 And sure cure liver pads; 
 
 For money makes the mare go. 
 And money pays for ads. 
 
 They tell you twice a day 
 
 That Mrs. Jingo P. 
 Has just arrived or gone away 
 
 To London or Paris; 
 What Mrs. Jingo has to say, 
 
 And how she sips her tea ; 
 Where she sat when at the play, 
 
 And how she felt at sea ; 
 
THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 73 
 
 What Mrs. Jingo thinks, 
 
 When she's sad, and when she's gay. 
 When she smiles, and when she winks. 
 
 For Mr. Jingo P, 
 The man who pays the freight, 
 
 He runs a famous hostelry, 
 And is a man of weight. 
 
 With lofty view and noble aim 
 
 Paraded day by day, 
 They ever play a sordid game 
 
 To make the paper pay. 
 And no matter what they claim, 
 
 Or what the Owl may say. 
 We all know just the same 
 
 That they are run that way. 
 
 THE GENTLE SHEPHERDS. 
 
 The gentle shepherd guards his sheep. 
 
 Attends with patient care ; 
 And always near the grazing flock 
 
 In quiet shady nook, 
 We see a shepherd standing there 
 
 Reclining on his crook. 
 
 The faithful shepherd loves his sheep, 
 His barns are filled with hay ; 
 
 He drives the bleating flock afield, 
 He keeps the wolves at bay ; 
 
74 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 
 
 And always, too, of yellow corn 
 
 His granaries are full; 
 But then his hose are knit of yarn, 
 
 His coat is wove of wool. 
 
 The shepherd dines on mutton steak. 
 
 Hath mutton too, to ship; 
 And always, when the sheep are shorn, 
 
 THE SHEPHERD GETS THE CEIP. 
 
 The shepherds of the toiling throng 
 
 Likewise on guard are found 
 Attentive to the straying herd 
 
 When wolves come prowling round ; 
 And then the shepherds all about 
 
 Come flying o'er the green ; — 
 "Protect the helpless poor", they shout, 
 
 "O save the poor from Butterine!" 
 
 The faithful shepherds with their crooks. 
 
 They guard the humble poor, 
 And while they eat, watch over them 
 
 To see their food is "pure". 
 The shepherds all have tender hearts. 
 
 That most intently yearn 
 To serve the poor with butter from 
 
 The faithful shepherds' churn. 
 And when they eat, or fresh or canned. 
 
 Their meat is clean and nice; 
 It bears the loving shepherds' brand. 
 
 Likewise the shepherds' price. 
 
THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 75 
 
 They would inspect their breeches too, 
 
 To know if they be cheap, 
 And made of shoddy, or of wool 
 
 Shorn from the shepherd's sheep. 
 
 The shepherd dines on mutton steak, 
 
 Hath mutton, too, to ship, 
 And always, when the sheep are shorn, 
 
 THE SHEPHERD GETS THE CLIP. 
 
 Along the winding trail of years 
 
 The shepherds true their flocks pursue, 
 
 All armed with crooks and shears, 
 And patient watch; nor cease. 
 
 The while they on their crooks recline, 
 To note the growing fleece. 
 
 The shepherd with the crook divine. 
 
 He gathers in the strays, 
 He herds the flock, and calls them "mine," 
 
 And sings a song of praise 
 Of fields where pastures green are found, 
 
 And ever flowing rills. 
 Where joy and love and peace abound 
 
 Beyond the sun-set hills. 
 And thus the bleating flock forlorn 
 
 Is by the shepherd tolled 
 Along the pathways old and worn 
 
 Into the shepherd's fold. 
 
76 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 
 
 The shepherd dines on mutton steak, 
 
 Hath mutton, too, to ship, 
 And always, when the sheep are shorn, 
 
 THE SHEPHERD GETS THE CUr. 
 
 Where'er the winding trail may lead, 
 
 O'er plain or hill or hollow. 
 O'er barren heath, or grassy mead, 
 
 The faithful shepherds follow. 
 By shady stream, or sunny brook, 
 
 Wherever strays the nibbling herd, 
 Always in some sequestered nook, 
 
 A watchful shepherd, day by day, 
 
 Reclines upon his crook 
 And listens to a twittering bird 
 
 That sings to him alway : — 
 
 "The shepherd dines on mutton steak. 
 
 Hath mutton, too, to ship, 
 And always, when the sheep are shorn, 
 
 THE SHEPHERD GETS THE CEIP. 
 
 Sometimes a shepherdness appears 
 
 Who swings a moral crook. 
 The reckless little lambs, she fears, 
 
 May tumble in the brook. 
 She shakes her crook at naughty rams, 
 
 And keeps an eye on guard 
 To curb the glee of frisky lambs 
 
 That shake their tails too hard. 
 
THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 77 
 
 Her soul with sympathy is stirred; 
 
 She hears each plaintive bleat, 
 And also hears that twittering bird 
 
 Whose song is ever sweet : — 
 "The shepherd dines on mutton steak 
 
 Hath mutton, too, to ship, 
 And always, when the sheep are shorn, 
 
 THE SHEPHERD GETS THE CEIP." 
 THE CEOWN GROWS SERIOUS. 
 
 Oh when will man unselfishly 
 
 Stand loyal to the right; 
 And when will Christian charity 
 
 Control instead of might? 
 
 The weak no more be trampled down, 
 
 Or rudely thrust aside 
 To clear the way for mace and gown 
 
 And vulgar churls who ride? 
 
 And when will cruel strife abate. 
 
 And right and justice lead, 
 Control the man and rule the State 
 
 Instead of selfish greed ? 
 
 And when will cannon cease to roar 
 
 Destroying human life. 
 And men no longer march to war 
 
 To tune of drum and fife ? 
 
78 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 
 
 How long, in name of Liberty, 
 
 Shall hypocrites parade, 
 And in the name of Destiny 
 
 Make robbery a trade? 
 
 Shall mercenaries flaunt the flag, 
 And Mercy scorn and flout, 
 
 And Justice ever halt and lag, 
 While vaunting braggarts shout, 
 
 And sing paeans of victory? 
 
 And shall their loud huzzas 
 Usurp the reign of Liberty, 
 
 Of Justice, and her laws? 
 
 How long shall fruit of patient toil 
 Be heaped in hoards of wealth, 
 
 The gathered booty and the spoil 
 Of ruthless might or stealth ? 
 
 And shall the right to work and live. 
 In land where men are free. 
 
 Be held a boon a few may give, 
 Or may deny to me ? 
 
 Or shall I cringe with fawning smirlc 
 Where wealth and greed combine. 
 
 And ask the mob for leave to work, 
 My hands no longer mine ? 
 
THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 79 
 
 And will the unresisting poor, 
 
 Content to wait and pray, 
 Forever patiently endure? 
 
 Is there no other way ? 
 
 Or will they, shouting fierce and loud, 
 
 The voice of Reason drown, 
 And under feet of surging crowd, 
 
 But tramp each other down ? 
 
 I do not know ; I cannot say, 
 
 I only am the clown. 
 But this I know : It is their way 
 
 To tramp each other down. 
 
 The power that monarchs held of old, 
 
 That power is all their own ; 
 But now they bow to King of gold. 
 
 And grovel at his throne. 
 
 Oh, will they never, never, see 
 
 The broader larger view. 
 And in accord and sympathy, 
 
 Be to each other true? 
 
 Or still pursuing selfish schemes, 
 
 Each racing on for gain, 
 End all their hopes in faded dreams, 
 
 While Justice pleads in vain ? 
 
80 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 
 
 Of demagogues the sport and pray. 
 
 They rally at their call, 
 Thinking only of today, 
 
 Or thinking not at all. 
 
 Like hungry fish they snap the bait, 
 
 Heedless of barb within. 
 Then wriggle on the line, while Fate 
 
 Keeps slowly winding in. 
 
 And so, however much we wish 
 
 To end the reign of Might, 
 The clown, he thinks that men will fish 
 
 Till gudgeons cease to bite. 
 
 The time, he fears, may never come. 
 When men will do the right, 
 
 And cease to march to fife and drum 
 Till bull-dogs cease to fight. 
 
 For Self will rule with stern command, 
 Nor yield the power to Love ; — 
 
 The world will ever feel his hand. 
 Though cased in silken glove. 
 
 The rude and strong with eager rush 
 
 To reach the tempting lure. 
 Not heeding whom they bruise or crush, 
 
 Will trample on the poor. 
 
THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 81 
 
 The weak will still be crowded out, 
 
 Or ground beneath the heel 
 Of surging mob whose lusty shout 
 
 Will drown their sad appeal. 
 
 "You are no longer needed now," 
 
 Will many times be said 
 Unto the man with furrowed brow. 
 
 When youth and hope are fled. 
 
 "Go find a place some other where; 
 
 We cast away the old." 
 And the man with silvered hair 
 
 Will shiver in the cold. 
 
 Such is the law of selfish strife, 
 
 The cruel social creed. 
 That shuts the sunlight out of life, 
 
 And makes a god of greed. 
 
 We find this world, as we go through, 
 
 Is full of self and sin. 
 Of love and hate in mixed ragout, 
 
 From London to Pekin. 
 
 And selfishness you cannot quell 
 By singing hymns of Watts; — 
 
 You can't put out the tires of hell 
 With little sprinkle-pots. 
 
82 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 
 
 The fires of Hell are human sins; 
 
 And gentlemen of cloth 
 All use that fire to warm their shins 
 
 And stew their daily broth. 
 
 And no one wants the hose turned on 
 
 Except he point the spot; 
 For no one wants the hose turned on 
 
 The fire that boils his pot. 
 
 And presidential candidate, 
 
 As well as common squire, 
 And e'en a governor of state 
 
 Will sometimes poke the fire. 
 
 We chase the devil round the stumps. 
 
 We make a loud halloo; 
 And by that means we fool the chumps. 
 
 But don't fool me and you. 
 
 We organize a grand crusade 
 
 To drive all sin away ; — 
 The captain wears a big cockade, 
 
 And banners flutter gay. 
 
 We all chip in to give them aid, 
 
 The band begins to play — 
 A splendid show out on parade! 
 
 They make a grand display. 
 
THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 83 
 
 We march in party phalanx strong 
 
 And battle for the right 
 With noble speech and ringing song; 
 
 We make a valiant fight. 
 
 And when the victory is won 
 
 We "turn the rascals out" ; 
 Then do the things that they have done! — 
 
 'Tis only turn about. 
 
 'Tis "ride and hitch" ; the patient ass 
 
 Of riders gets a change ; 
 But seldom gets a change of grass — 
 
 The same old thistle range. 
 
 The saddle still is on his back ; 
 
 And though the ass go lame, 
 The demagogue, the priest and quack 
 
 Will ride him just the same. 
 
 His back is bent by heavy loads. 
 
 He freezes in the storm ; 
 And then his flanks are pricked with goads 
 
 To make the ass reform. 
 
 But little heeds he prod or clack ; 
 
 Though he would seldom balk, 
 H they who sit astride his back 
 
 Would just get off and walk. 
 
84 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 
 
 On staff poked out beyond his nose 
 They dangle wisps of hay, 
 
 That keep advancing as he goes 
 To toll him on the way. 
 
 The priest, he guides him through the fog 
 That shrouds him day by day, 
 
 While over hill and through the bog 
 We hear his mournful bray. 
 
 And with the quack and demagogue 
 
 To wheedle and cajole, 
 The patient ass, with steady jog. 
 
 Pursues the fleeing goal. 
 
 And though a thousand years shall pass, 
 Death knells of centuries toll, 
 
 They still will ride the weary ass, 
 And still sit cheek by jowl. 
 
THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 
 
 The weary ass in vain has tried 
 To toss them in the air ; — 
 
 The defnag-ogue comes down astride 
 And still sits smiling there. 
 
 85 
 
 And should he sometime shy and jump 
 And dump the priest and quack, 
 
 The demagogue he cannot dump ; 
 And soon they'll all be back. 
 
 And then, though scarred and saddle sore, 
 He still will chase the goal ; — 
 
 They'll ride him for ten thousand more, 
 While years in cycles roll. 
 
 The social problem of today 
 
 Is how to banish sin, 
 Yet not disturb the game we play, 
 
 Or hope to play and win. 
 
86 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 
 
 That problem, ever much the same, 
 
 Is how to throttle crime, 
 Yet not disturb a quiet game 
 
 That we play all the time. 
 
 Reformers ever will abound. 
 
 Out on the winding trails 
 These tabby cats whirl round and round 
 
 And chase their flying tails. 
 
 We keep decrying sin and pelf; 
 
 But sin will still prevail ; — 
 The tabby cat won't bite himself, 
 
 Though he may chase his tail. 
 
 And so the world keeps running on 
 
 Today as yesterday ; — 
 And so 'twill be when we are gone ; 
 
 The world was made that way. 
 
 The light and shade. 
 
 The Night and Day, twin sisters they ; — 
 
 They tag each other round ; 
 The Light and Shade have always played 
 \ Over the same play ground. 
 
 They always play together. 
 
 They flit across the leas, 
 And play among the heather; — 
 
 They dance among the trees — 
 The Light and Shade together. 
 
THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 87 
 
 Both joy and woe will come and go; 
 
 The tide must ever ebb and flow ; 
 And passion's fire, hate and desire, 
 
 Will fiercely burn and glow 
 And slowly then expire. 
 
 Sunshine and rain, pleasure and pain, 
 
 Our hopes and fears, our smiles and tears, 
 
 All follow in one train. 
 
 Like Day and Night, like bloom and 
 blight, 
 
 All pleasures wax and wane. 
 
 Every hill doth have its hollow ; 
 
 Every shield hath its reverse; 
 Every joy some grief to follow ; 
 
 Every pleasure hath its curse. 
 Sometimes we freeze, sometimes we burn, 
 
 And gods and devils reign in turn. 
 
 In life's alloy, both grief and joy, 
 
 The bitter and the sweet; 
 The gay and sad, both good and bad, 
 
 To make a life complete. 
 
 We first are gay, and then we pray ; — 
 
 The Night comes after Day; 
 We smile and sigh, we laugh and cry — 
 
 The light and shadow play; — 
 
 We live and die; — 
 The world was made that way. 
 
88 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 
 
 AN INTERRUPTION. 
 
 Then came a shout : 
 "Fresh lemonade! 
 Good lemonade ! 
 Your fresh, cool lemonade!" 
 A voice rang out. 
 
 The clown was still ; 
 But when the lad had gone, 
 The Clown again sang on ; 
 His voice was clear and shrill 
 
 "Don't be too meek, 
 
 But push your cheek, 
 
 Don't be shy; 
 
 Don't be afraid. 
 
 Make people buy 
 Your fresh cool lemonade. 
 
 Keep up the din, 
 
 Rake in the tin : — 
 That is the way of trade." 
 
 FINAL EXHORTATION. 
 
 The Clown Grows Cynical. 
 
 Keep fighting sin, keep up the din, 
 
 When ever it will pay ; 
 Lampoon old Nick, make him step quick, 
 
 But don't drive Nick away. 
 
THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 80 
 
 Just swing your stick, give him a lick, 
 
 Whenever he gets gay. 
 He will adjourn, but soon return ; 
 
 He will be back next day. 
 
 When he comes back, get on his track, 
 
 And flourish then your stick; 
 Give him a crack, a sounding whack, 
 
 But careful; don't hurt Nick. 
 
 Don't strike too hard; he's our old pard; 
 
 But just keep up the play. 
 Keep fighting sin ; keep up the din ; 
 
 But Nick is here to stay. 
 
90 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 
 
 The dog must howl and wail; 
 The dog must bite, the dog must fight, 
 
 The dog must wag his tail. 
 The seasons come, the season's go ; 
 
 Summer's bloom succeeds the snow. 
 We smile and sigh, we laugh and cry, 
 
 The light and shadow play; 
 Then over all the shadows 'fall, 
 
 And Night comes after day. 
 
 The harlequin sat down, 
 'Twas but a ribald song 
 Sung by a painted clown ; 
 
 But at the close. 
 From the assembled throng, 
 Cheer on cheer arose, 
 Applause was loud and long. 
 
 THE CLOWN IS SAD. 
 
 The clown was sad ; 
 A muffled undertone, 
 A voice that was not glad. 
 Revealed a stifled moan. 
 We knew the clown was sad. 
 But when the cheers were gone 
 The clown again arose 
 And then again sang on. 
 He sang in softer tone, 
 And sang a sweeter song. 
 
THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 91 
 
 He sang with gentle art ; — 
 But still that stifled moan, — 
 Moan of a wounded heart. 
 
 HIS SONG. 
 
 Methought I sang too long; 
 
 But now you call for more; 
 
 You listen to his song 
 
 And give the clown en core. 
 
 You thank me for my song; 
 
 I thank you for your cheers. 
 
 For time is rolling on, 
 
 The clown grows old in years. 
 
 And, though blythe and gay he seems, 
 
 The clown will soon be gone 
 
 To land we see in dreams, 
 
 Tliat land of hope and fear. 
 
 The clown will go alone — 
 
 The clown is lonely here. 
 
 Through scenes of toil and strife 
 
 Always his fate to roam. 
 
 The clown, he leads a wandering life, 
 
 He makes the world his home. 
 
 He sings a merry song 
 
 To cheer the weary heart; 
 
 He mingles with the passing throng, 
 
 And gaily plays his part. 
 
 And still the battered clown 
 
 Will strive to do his best, 
 
 And help the sad old world to drown 
 
 Its sorrow in a jest. 
 
d2 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 
 
 But sight is growing dim ; 
 His hair is turning gray; 
 Old Time is calHng him, 
 Is calHng him away; 
 And the jovial old buffoon, 
 Though he be blythe and gay, 
 And sing a merry tune, 
 Commingling with his rhyme 
 He hears a sad refrain, 
 The tuneless voice of Time 
 Again and yet again 
 Calling him away. 
 
 Old Time, as he goes by, 
 He calls to king and clown, — 
 Waits not for song nor sigh. 
 Nor heeds he smile or frown ; 
 For all alike must die. 
 The roses bloom and fade. 
 And all things pass away ; — 
 The sunlight, then the shade ; — 
 The Night comes after Day. 
 
 The clown has sung to you 
 A song that may seem queer; 
 For he has told you true 
 How things to him appear. 
 Though strange to you, no doubt, 
 The clown has learned to know 
 The inside and the out; — 
 He travels with the show. 
 
THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 93 
 
 If you would have the proof, 
 Just turn the outside in ; 
 Look at the seamy side ; — 
 The seams are stitched with sin 
 And covered up with pride; 
 And woven in one woof, 
 Both good and bad abide. 
 All twisted in the thread. 
 The fibers from the heart 
 By the spindle of the head, 
 Can ne'er be pulled apart. 
 
 For in the loom of Fate 
 Are mixed the false and true, 
 Selfish desire and hate, 
 Love, fear and envy too; 
 And pure sweet sympathy. 
 Faith, Hope and Charity, 
 For the living and the dead. 
 Are woven through and through, 
 And mingled in the thread ; 
 Bright strands of silken floss 
 That on the surface show 
 In sheen of shimmering gloss. 
 
 But ever underneath, 
 To give the fabric strength. 
 Encased in silken sheath, 
 The warp of self and sin. 
 Throughout the shining length. 
 Is woven in and in. 
 
94 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 
 
 To hold the strands in place 
 That give to life its glow 
 Of beauty and of grace. 
 
 The Night and Day, 
 
 Twin sisters they, 
 They tag each other round; 
 
 The light and shade 
 
 Have always played 
 Over the same play ground. 
 
 Today we're glad, 
 
 Tomorrow sad; 
 
 We smile and sigh, 
 
 Exult and pray; 
 
 We laugh and cry; — 
 The light and shadow play; — 
 Throw the shuttle to and fro, 
 Weave our web, and then we go. 
 
 We live and die — 
 The Night comes after Day. 
 
 Good bye. 
 
 The clown was gone ; the seats were bare. 
 I looked ; there were no people there. 
 The tent rose up, hung in the air 
 A moment, and then went sailing away 
 Out over the harbor and over the bay; 
 And on and on for a night and a day 
 
 It sailed, and sailed. 
 It was the balloon of the man from the Moon. 
 
THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 95 
 
 I sat in the basket, was carried along 
 Sailing into the etherial blue, 
 Jingling the rhyme of the harlequin's song, 
 Watching the sky for a hole to sail through, 
 When a tramp comet came dodging about 
 Jostled the basket and tumbled me out ; — 
 
 And I began to shoot 
 
 Through the air like a rocket— 
 I knew it by the flutter of my gown. 
 I opened up a Bryan parachute 
 That I carried in my pocket 
 And came slowly sailing down. 
 
 And while circling round and round 
 ^ Like a swallow on the wing, 
 I heard a distant, murmuring sound, 
 
96 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 
 
 I heard an angel sing: — 
 
 "Hosan-an-ana ; 
 
 Hosan-an-ana ; — 
 
 And then a hum and buzz — 
 
 "Banan, anana, 
 
 Banan-an-ana ; — 
 
 Twenty cent a doz" ; 
 
 As the angel came along; 
 
 "Banan, banan, banan," 
 
 The finish of my song. 
 
 For then I lit. A wild and piercing wail — 
 
 The Night Mare jumped and away she flew ; 
 
 And all I saw was a flash of blue 
 
 At the open door where the mare went through, 
 
 A swish of her flying tail. 
 
 * * * 
 
 I heard the traffic on the street, 
 
 A rumble far away; 
 I heard the sound of tramping feet, 
 
 I heard a child at play. 
 I heard a bird chirp in a tree, 
 
 A song so happy, clear and sweet, 
 That I looked out to see. 
 The sun again was in the sky, 
 A smiling world all clothed in light 
 Unto my dream made this reply, 
 "The Day comes after Night." 
 
 END. 
 
JAN K ]9]y 
 
One copy del. to Cat. Div. 
 
 i i t&H)