A small boy sat on the foremost seat --
A mirthful youngster he;
He beat the time with his restless feet
To each new melody,
And he picked me out as the brightest star
Of the black fraternity.
"Oh father," he said, "what WOULD we do
If the corner-man should die?
I never saw such a man -- did you?
He makes the people cry,
And then, when he likes, he makes them laugh."
The old man made reply --
"We each of us fill a very small space
In the great creation's plan,
If a man don't keep his lead in the race
There's plenty more that can;
The world can very soon fill the place
Of even a corner-man."
. . . . .
I woke with a jump, rejoiced to find
Myself at home in bed,
And I framed a moral in my mind
From the words the old man said.
The world will jog along just the same
When its corner-men are dead.
When Dacey Rode the Mule
'Twas to a small, up-country town,
When we were boys at school,
There came a circus with a clown,
Likewise a bucking mule.
The clown announced a scheme they had
Spectators for to bring --
They'd give a crown to any lad
Who'd ride him round the ring.
And, gentle reader, do not scoff
Nor think a man a fool --
To buck a porous-plaster off
Was pastime to that mule.
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