Behold a _watercolor_ of eclat!

This, fair Rebecca had the skill to _draw_: She stands beside the well and plies the sweep, While sweat and blushes o'er her features creep.

Such grace and poise, such strength and skill, Such sweeping gestures and unbending will Are indices of Abstinence complete; (We can't abstain from loving you, Pet.i.te!) Upon her head she rests the dripping urn And goes straight home: she doesn't _dare_ to turn!

Don't stumble, Miss! Or suffer teasing boys To cause derangement of your equipoise!

But keep your head and waver not at all Lest you be deluged by the waterfall!

So daily to the pool Rebecca strayed And drank the water, when she didn't wade: And thus her framework waxed like iron; I trust 'Twas ne'er a.s.sailed or undermined by rust.

So, fill the gourd and pa.s.s it to your friend!

It's Safety First and safety to the end.

No headaches lurk within, no tinge of sorrow, No dark forebodings or remorse to-morrow!

And furthermore, it isn't hard to take: If you've not tried it, _do_, for Mercy's sake!

Behold the Oaken Bucket, hanging high, By Bards and Singers lauded to the sky.

It never touched, in all its useful days, A thing but water. Here fair Psyche plays Beside the spring that mirrors all her graces.

(Would you object to _water in_ such cases?) Now mark the fate befalling Jack and Jill Because they slipped and let the water spill; And see poor Tantalus for water crying, Thus punished for his sins,--athirst and dying!

And note this "t.i.tian," called "The Drunkard's Fate,"

In which the crimson hues predominate.

He holds the lamp-post in his close embrace And has a package from Pat Murphy's place To carry home. His eyes are red and dim, So close the bar and turn the hose on him!

This drink was ever priceless, yet it's free; The Source and Fountain of Sobriety; And so we offer without bar or price Enough of THIS to put your thirst on ice.

So drink to WATER, while the billows swell: The World wants Prohibition--and all's WELL!

RUSSIA

Canst Thou, in all this babel, build aright Freedom's Palladium? The long, black night That, ages thru, hath dimmed your yearning eyes And dulled your minds, still hovers o'er your skies.

A rift there was, disclosing to your view The Dawn of Day, but then the darkness grew Yet more intense, as if the Sun rebelled At such a cheerless greeting and withheld Its Light. And now again Night reigns supreme, But just beyond the Day is all agleam.

BELGIUM

Sad-eyed and weary, Thou must suffer more, Until thy supermen have paid the score For outraged daughters, murdered sons and wives; For ravaged homesteads, and brave soldiers' lives.

Be not dismayed! Altho your Cup of Woe Is full to overflowing from the blow; Tho Justice seems indifferent to your prayer, And ruin stalks about you everywhere.

The day of reckoning is near at hand, When Justice will restore your pillaged Land, And Vengeance will unsheath its righteous blade And flay the Teutons till your score is paid.

OUR FRIENDS ACROSS THE STREET

(To S. and W. A.)

When we're tired of reading essays, Tho they be a mental treat; When we're bored by social callers, Be they ever so elite; When we crave some relaxation Or the Foursome's incomplete, We S. O. S. or telephone To our Friends across the Street.

When our larder needs renewing Or our ice succ.u.mbs to heat; When the signs of Drought are brewing 'Cause our "stock" is incomplete; And our chairs are insufficient When we have some guests to seat, Why, we just go out and borrow From our Friends across the Street.

When we're worried or in trouble, And our projects meet defeat; When our prospects seem quite hopeless,-- Life seems bitter that was sweet; When we lose our nerve and falter 'Cause the rough way wounds our feet, We can always find sweet comfort In our Friends across the Street.

When we end, at last, our journey And the saintly Peter greet, Or descend to Realms Infernal Where the Goats, rejected, bleat, We would never feel contented, Whether mixed with Chaff or Wheat, If we couldn't be together With our Friends across the Street.

EPITAPHS

I left this Vale of Tears to gain repose, And change, for Harp and Wings, my worldly clothes; There's no redress, so if I _fall_ from grace I'll be quite cool enough for _either_ place.

Wed Bled Fled Dead Nufsed

Go not the way I went, O Mortal Man!

But follow out a more successful plan, Lest you, as I am now, remorseful be For imitating U. S. Currency.

For forty cents an hour I slaved At Delpont's Powder Mills; And all the money that I saved Scarce paid my funeral bills.

Erected to our father is this stone: He couldn't leave the whiskey flask alone; To Spirit World he vanished from our sight; We hope he's very snug, and _know_ he's tight.

Above the clouds I sojourn now, The twinkling stars between, Because I tried to figure how To cook with gasolene.

I'm _dead_ all right, but not quite _all right_ dead, For schemes of vengeance hurtle thru my head; My wife eloped, a cheating chicken she; Forsook her nest, and then flew back to me With all her brood: I love her as I useter But I'm a-laying for that other Rooster.

I followed Father with the rake The day he scythed the clover; So _green_, he cut _me_, by mistake And my heydays were over.

Here sleeps, at last, our little baby Yorick!

_We_ couldn't make him _without paregoric_.

I'm not averse to being dead, But this I do despise,-- To have a tombstone at my head Inscribed with blooming lies: "A faithful spouse, a parent kind; Alas, too soon he went!"

But this is all they had in mind-- To get my last red cent.

a.s.sembled here my Wife is, Helen Nation: 'Twas gasoline that caused the separation, Which shows how very short the mortal lease is,-- I think 'twas lucky to have saved the pieces!

Here let me rest without a sigh or tear, I've learned my lesson--not to interfere!

If I could live my mortal life agin I'd be a p.u.s.s.yfoot and not b.u.t.t in.

My Mother, famous for her pies Lies buried 'neath this shaft; I wonder if, in Paradise, She still pursues her craft?

She'll be too much engrossed, 'twould seem, In picking on the lyre To give attention to a scheme To bake without a fire.

But if perchance she had the dough And couldn't make it rise, I'm sure she'd know just where to go To look for _heat_ supplies.

He called me "Liar!" Like a flash My honor I defended, Until his razor cut a gash So deep, that I was ended.

If I could live my life again I'd not invite an issue But say, when villified, Amen!

And thus preserve my tissue.