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Clever Class Poem
Up Learning’s ladder, round by round
We’ve climbed with many a fall;
But, through the toil, companionship
Has made amends for all.
Now from our giddy heights we glance,
With calm thoughts and serene,
Once more at those we leave today—
Our class of sweet sixteen.
I want to take you with me through
The ranks of our small crowd;
And, if you’ll listen carefully,
You’ll know why we are proud.
Grace, as our goodly president
Has served her second year;
In singing, speaking, poetry,
She stands without a peer.
Blanche is the sunshine of our class,
She drives dull care away
Her laughing eyes, her smiling face,
Have gladdened many a day.
Alice, the calm, the dignified,
I know we’ll ne’er forget;
Her views are wide—but, best of all,
She is the teacher’s pet.
Lena excels in whispering.
Few are the notes she writes;
She studies hard throughout the day,
For pleasure, saves her nights.
Belle was the star in physics class,
She always knew the laws
And when she failed to know a thing,
She always had a cause.
Anna has graced our piano stool,
And mingled tunes with laughter;
Ah, well, one can be young but once,
The frowns may come hereafter.
Ruth is a clever, pretty girl,
So everyone remarks,
Yet lives in constant danger—what?
The danger of her “Sparks.”
Will is the pride of all the girls,
The slave of every teacher,
When someone wants a window closed,
She calls on “Jube,” poor creature.
Clayt is the lad who’s in to win,
He is the teachers’ boy,
And though at times his face is sad,
His heart is full of “Joy.”
Gertie has made a record proud,
She seldom failed in class,
She studied hard these last four years
And well deserved to pass.
Bertha, the singer of our class,
How diligent she’s been!
She did her share of whispering,
But then that’s not a sin.
Bess is the class historian,
That office, well, she’ll fill.
She’s “Sortore” set in all her ways,
And has an iron “Will.”
Lawrence is the one who thinks
He’s been our comrade long;
His fav’rite stone, an “Opal” bright
He’s blest with an “Arm strong.”
Sweet Genevieve has worked and toiled,
Her honor’s justly won,
And every teacher in our school
Will say her work’s well “Dunn.”
And now there’s only one remains,
He should have come before;
His name is John, his hopes all lie
In a corner grocery store.
And now, I’ve mentioned everyone,
I hope no one feels slighted,
But if one does, let him approach,
His wrong will soon be righted.
At last your poet ends his lay,
He’s nothing more to tell,
But leaves the class of nineteen-one
With blessing and farewell.
Bib Ballads
Foreword
Dear Parents:—Don’t imagine, please,
It’s in a boastful spirit
I fashion verses such as these;
That’s not the truth or near it.
A hundred or a thousand, yes,
A million kids there may be
Who aren’t one iota less
Attractive than this baby.
I’ll venture that your household has
As valuable a treasure
As mine, but mine I know, and as
For yours, I’ve not that pleasure.
And that is why my book’s about
Just one, O Dads and Mothers;
But babes are babes, and mine, no doubt,
Is very much like others.
Goodbye Bill
Dollar Bill, that I’ve held so tight
Ever since payday, a week ago,
Shall I purchase with you tonight
A pair of seats at the vaudeville show?
(Hark! A voice from the easy chair:
“Look at his shoes! We must buy a pair.”)
Dollar Bill, from the wreckage saved,
Tell me, how shall I squander you?
Shall I be shined, shampooed and shaved,
Singed and trimmed ’round the edges, too?
(Hark! A voice from the easy chair:
“He hasn’t a romper that’s fit to wear.”)
Dollar Bill, that I cherished so,
Think of the cigarettes you’d buy,
Turkish ones, with a kick, you know;
Makin’s eventually tire a guy.
(Hark! A voice from the easy chair:
“Look at those stockings! Just one big tear!”)
Dollar Bill, it is time to part.
What do I care for a vaudeville show?
I’ll shave myself and look just as smart.
Makin’s aren’t so bad, you know.
Dollar Bill, we must say goodbye;
There on the floor is the Reason Why.
A Visit from Young Gloom
There’s been a young stranger at our house,
A baby whom nobody knew;
Who hated his brother, his father, his mother,
And made them aware of it, too.
He stayed with us nearly a fortnight
And carried a grouch all the while,
Nor promise nor present could make him look pleasant;
He hadn’t the power to smile.
He cried when he couldn’t have something;
He cried just as hard when he could;
Kind words by the earful but made him more tearful,
And scoldings did just as much good.
He stormed when his meals weren’t ready,
And when they were ready, he screamed.
He went to bed growling, got up again howling
And quarreled and snarled as he dreamed.
He’s gone, and the child we are fond of
Is back, just as nice as of old.
But I hope to be in some port European
The next time he has a bad cold.
An Appreciative Audience
My son, I wish that it were half
As easy to extract a laugh
From grown-ups as from thee.
Then I’d go on the stage, my boy,
While Richard Carle and Eddie Foy
Burned up with jealousy.
I wouldn’t have to rack my brain
Or lie awake all night in vain
Pursuit of brand new jokes;
Nor fear my lines were heard with groans
Of pain and sympathetic moans
From sympathetic folks.
I’d merely have to make a face,
Just twist a feature out of place,
And be the soul of wit;
Or bark, and then pretend to bite,
And, from the screams of wild delight,
Be sure I’d made a hit.
Discipline
He couldn’t have a doughnut, and it made him very mad;
He undertook to get revenge by screaming at his dad.
“Cut out that noise!” I ordered, and he gave another roar,
And so I put him in “the room” and shut and locked the
