Pershing at the Front The General came in a new tin hat To the shell-torn front where the war was at; With a faithful Aide at his good right hand He made his way toward No Man’s Land, And a tough Top Sergeant there they found, And a Captain, too, to show them round. Threading the ditch, their heads bent low, Toward the lines of the watchful foe They came through the murk and the powder stench Till the Sergeant whispered, “Third-line trench!” And the Captain whispered, “Third-line trench!” And the Aide repeated, “Third-line trench!” And Pershing answered- not in French- “Yes, I see it. Third-line trench.” Again they marched with wary tread, Following on where the Sergeant led Through the wet and the muck as well, Till they came to another parallel. They halted there in the mud and drench, And the Sergeant whispered, “Second-line trench!” And the Captain whispered, “Second-line trench!” And the Aide repeated, “Second-line trench!” And Pershing nodded: “Second-line trench!” Yet on they went through mire like pitch Till they came to a fine and spacious ditch Well camouflaged from planes and Zeps Where soldiers stood on firing steps And a Major sat on a wooden bench; And the Sergeant whispered, “First-line trench!” And the Captain whispered, “First-line trench!” And the Aide repeated, “First-line trench!” And Pershing whispered, “Yes, I see. How far off is the enemy?” And the faithful Aide he asked, asked he, “How far off is the enemy?” And the Captain breathed in a softer key, “How far off is the enemy?” The silence lay in heaps and piles And the Sergeant whispered, “Just three miles.” And the Captain whispered, “Just three miles.” And the Aide repeated, “Just three miles.” “Just three miles!” the General swore, “What in the heck are we whispering for?” And the faithful Aide the message bore, “What in the heck are we whispering for?” And the Captain said in a gentle roar, “What in the heck are we whispering for?” “Whispering for?” the echo rolled; And the Sergeant whispered, “I have a cold. Strictly Germ-proof The Antiseptic Baby and the Prophylactic Pup Were playing in the garden when the Bunny gamboled up; They looked upon the Creature with a loathing undisguised;— It wasn't Disinfected and it wasn't Sterilized. They said it was a Microbe and a Hotbed of Disease; They steamed it in a vapor of a thousand-odd degrees; They froze it in a freezer that was cold as Banished Hope And washed it in permanganate with carbolated soap. In sulphurated hydrogen they steeped its wiggly ears; They trimmed its frisky whiskers with a pair of hard-boiled shears; They donned their rubber mittens and they took it by the hand And elected it a member of the Fumigated Band. There's not a Micrococcus in the garden where they play; They bathe in pure iodoform a dozen times a day; And each imbibes his rations from a Hygienic Cup— The Bunny and the Baby and the Prophylactic Pup. The Legend Of The First Cam-u-el: An Arabian Apologue Across the sands of Syria, Or possibly Algeria, Or some benighted neighborhood of barrenness and drouth, There came the Prophet Samu-u-el Upon the Only Cam-u-el – A bumpy, grumpy Quadruped of discontented mouth. The atmosphere was glutinous; The Cam-u-el was mutinous; He dumped the pack from off his back; with Horrid grunts and squeals He made the desert hideous; With strategy perfidious He tied his neck in curlicues, he kicked his paddy heals. Then quoth the gentle Sam-u-el, “You rogue, I ought to lam you well! Though zealously I’ve shielded you from every grief and woe, It seems, to voice a platitude, You haven’t any gratitude. I’d like to hear what cause you have for doing thus and so!” To him replied the Cam-u-el, “I beg your pardon, Sam-u-el, I know that I’m a Reprobate, I know that I’m a Freak; But, oh! This utter loneliness! My too-distinguished Onliness! Were there but other Cam-u-els I wouldn’t be unique.” The Prophet beamed beguilingly. “Aha,” he answered, smilingly, “You feel the need of company? I clearly under- stand. We’ll speedily create for you The corresponding made for you – Ho! Presto, change-o, dinglebat!” – he waved a potent hand, And lo! From out Vacuity A second Incongruity, To wit, a Lady Cam-u-el was born through magic art. Her structure anatomical, Her form and face were comical; She was, in short, a Cam-u-el, the other’s counter- part. As Spaniards gaze on Aragon, Upon that Female Paragon So gazed the Prophet’s Cam-u-el, that primal Desert Ship. A connoisseur meticulous, He found her that ridiculous He grinned from ear to auricle until he split his lip! Because of his temerity That Cam-u-el’s posterity Must wear divided upper lips through all their solemn lives! A prodigy astonishing Reproachfully admonishing Those wicked, heartless married men who ridicule their wives.

Habits of the Hippopotamus

The hippopotamus is strong
And huge of head and broad of bustle;
The limbs on which he rolls along
Are big with hippopotomuscle.

He does not greatly care for sweets
Like ice cream, apple pie, or custard,
But takes to flavor what he eats
A little hippopotomustard.

The hippopotamus is true
To his principles, and just;
He always tries his best to do
The things one hippopotomust.

He never rides in trucks or trams,
In taxicabs or omnibuses,
And so keeps out of traffic jams
And other hippopotomusses.

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/Habits-of-the-Hippopotamus#sthash.SCOa1ZsV.dpuf

 

Habits of the Hippopotamus

The hippopotamus is strong
And huge of head and broad of bustle;
The limbs on which he rolls along
Are big with hippopotomuscle.

He does not greatly care for sweets
Like ice cream, apple pie, or custard,
But takes to flavor what he eats
A little hippopotomustard.

The hippopotamus is true
To his principles, and just;
He always tries his best to do
The things one hippopotomust.

He never rides in trucks or trams,
In taxicabs or omnibuses,
And so keeps out of traffic jams
And other hippopotomusses.

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/Habits-of-the-Hippopotamus#sthash.SCOa1ZsV.dpuf

 

The Phlebotomous Flea

A Flea who felt phlebotomous
Assailed a Hippopotamus;
The Hippo, he
Sat on the Flea,
And, goodness gracious! what a muss!

Heritage

This is the land that we love; here our fathers found refuge,
Here are the grooves of their plows and the mounds of their graves;
These are the hills that they knew and the forests and water,
Glorious rivers and seas of rejuvenant waves.

This is our heritage, this that our fathers bequeathed us,
Ours in our time, but in trust for the ages to be;
Wasting or husbanding, building, destroying, or shielding,
Faithful or faithless — possessors and stewards are we.

What of our stewardship? What do we leave to our children?
Crystalline, health-giving fountains, or gutters of shame?
Fields that are fertile, or barrens exhausted of vigor?
Burgeoning woodlands, or solitudes blasted by flame?

Madly we squander the bounty and beauty around us
Wrecking, not using, the treasure and splendor of earth;
Only is grief unavailing for glory departed —
Only in want do we count what the glory is worth.

Habits of the Hippopotamus

The hippopotamus is strong
And huge of head and broad of bustle;
The limbs on which he rolls along
Are big with hippopotomuscle.

He does not greatly care for sweets
Like ice cream, apple pie, or custard,
But takes to flavor what he eats
A little hippopotomustard.

The hippopotamus is true
To his principles, and just;
He always tries his best to do
The things one hippopotomust.

He never rides in trucks or trams,
In taxicabs or omnibuses,
And so keeps out of traffic jams
And other hippopotomusses.

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/Habits-of-the-Hippopotamus#sthash.SCOa1ZsV.dpuf

Habits of the Hippopotamus

The hippopotamus is strong
And huge of head and broad of bustle;
The limbs on which he rolls along
Are big with hippopotomuscle.

He does not greatly care for sweets
Like ice cream, apple pie, or custard,
But takes to flavor what he eats
A little hippopotomustard.

The hippopotamus is true
To his principles, and just;
He always tries his best to do
The things one hippopotomust.

He never rides in trucks or trams,
In taxicabs or omnibuses,
And so keeps out of traffic jams
And other hippopotomusses.

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/Habits-of-the-Hippopotamus#sthash.SCOa1ZsV.dpuf

Habits of the Hippopotamus

The hippopotamus is strong
And huge of head and broad of bustle;
The limbs on which he rolls along
Are big with hippopotomuscle.

He does not greatly care for sweets
Like ice cream, apple pie, or custard,
But takes to flavor what he eats
A little hippopotomustard.

The hippopotamus is true
To his principles, and just;
He always tries his best to do
The things one hippopotomust.

He never rides in trucks or trams,
In taxicabs or omnibuses,
And so keeps out of traffic jams
And other hippopotomusses.

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/Habits-of-the-Hippopotamus#sthash.SCOa1ZsV.dpuf