Edwin Alfred Watrous

The Bee's Bayonet (a Little Honey and a Little Sting)


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and Church. I hope and pray

      They've saved a little for a rainy day!

      I think they have! for Money talked,—confessed

      That Hebrews were the ones he liked the best,

      Because they never slighted or abused him,

      And always were so careful how they used him.

      And so, O Sons of Abraham, I say

      You've come into your own and come to stay!

      The Promised Land is yours, but what is more,

      The Earth and Seas and Skies with all their store.

      You wandered from Judea, but why care?

      Because your home is here as well as there;

      And we would miss you just as much, I vum,

      As those who wait you in Capernaum;

      For Broadway would despair and sackcloth don

      If you should leave New York for Ascalon.

      No more, thank God! will Infidels profane

      Jerusalem. For centuries the stain

      Of Turkish rule has laid its unclean hand

      Upon the Altars of the Holy Land.

      But now the Prophet's promise is fulfilled,

      And Jews and Gentiles are rejoiced and thrilled

      As Men of Allenby, God's Sword, restore

      The Holy City: yours forevermore.

      ENGLAND

      O, Mighty Atlas, thou hast borne the load

      Of hapless peoples smarting from the goad

      Of Tyranny, until thy giant strength

      Seems overtaxed and doomed to break at length.

      Unless thy vim endures with steadfast force;

      Unless thy Ship of State keeps on its course;

      Unless thou gird thy loins and stand astride,

      Colossus-like, the struggles that betide—

      While all the Furies strive, the Turk and Hun,

      To sap thy power—undo what thou hast done—

      Of what avail will all thy efforts be

      Against the tottering walls of Tyranny?

      And to what purpose will have lived thy men

      Who won imposing fame with sword or pen?

      And what, I pray, will all thy thousands slain

      Avail thy Empire if they've died in vain?

      PREPAREDNESS

      The Ostrich has his wings, but not for flight;

      He flies on foot when danger is in sight;

      His mate lays eggs upon the desert reaches

      And "sands" them over when the leopard screeches.

      The eggs, thus mounded, fall an easy prey

      To feline foragers who slink that way.

      The Ostrich, thus, guards not his nest: instead

      He hides, in burning sands, his shameless head

      And lets his monoplane and rudder be

      Stripped of their plumage by an enemy.

      Ostriches should Carry

      Their Eggs in a Basket

      And use their Feathers

      For Dusting over the Desert.

      The Squirrel is quite a different kind of fowl:

      He works while others sleep, the sly old owl!

      And stores up food, against the rainy day,

      In secret nooks, from forest thieves away.

      When winter comes, or when besieged by foes,

      Securely housed he feasts and thumbs his nose

      And ridicules starvation: he's immune!

      While others, shiftless, sing another tune.

      The Squirrel, you see, is much misfortune spared

      In times of stress because he is prepared.

      Improvident Nuts

      Should Tear a Leaf

      From the Squirrel's Diary.

      A Heifer on the Railroad Crossing stood

      Chewing Contentment's Cud, as heifers should,—

      When, rushing madly, "late again," there came

      The Noonday Mail. The Heifer was to blame

      For choosing her position, I would say,

      Because the Engine had the Right of Whey.

      The Cow was unprepared! Her switching tail

      Failed signally to flag the Noonday Mail.

      But why keep beefing over milk that's spilled?

      She heeded not the sign and thus was killed.

      Heifers with Unprotected

      Flanks should not Invite

      Rear-guard Actions.

      The Busy Bee improves the shining hours

      And gathers honey from the fragrant flowers.

      When Winter comes, forsaking field and rill,

      He hivernates, but lives in clover still.

      While Famine stalks without, his Home, Sweet Home

      Is stored with tempting food from floor to dome.

      He never lacks, nor has to buy, but cells

      His surplus food gleaned from the flower-fringed dells.

      A thrifty fellow is the Busy Bee

      And fortified against Emergency.

      A Bee's Ears

      Contain no Wax

      And he Saves his Combings

      Against the Baldness of Old Age.

      The Mule is well equipped but lacks the mind;

      His strategy is in his heels, behind.

      If pointed wrong, his practice is not dreaded,

      But kick he will, no matter how he's headed.

      With foresight lacking, hindsight to the fore,

      He'll be just simple Mule forevermore;

      Without the range or sight he'll blaze away

      And thwart his purpose with his brazen bray.

      If well-directed effort were his cult

      No fortress could withstand his catapult.

      A Mule should Conserve

      His Ammunition and

      Not Shoot-off his Mouth.

      The Burglar, have you noticed? never troubles

      To look for petty loot in obscure hovels.

      He packs his kit and steals adown the road

      To Gaspard Moneybags' renowned abode.

      He knows the house-plan ("inside" dope, no doubt)

      And when he's in, old Moneybags is out.

      But Jimmy does not dent the window-sash;

      He enters thru the door and gets the cash.

      Prepared? Well, yes! He knew just where to look,

      For