The Overworked Elocutionist
(Or "ROBERT REESE")
| Once there was a little boy |
| Whose name was Robert Reese, |
| And every Friday afternoon |
| He had to speak a piece. |
| So many poems thus he learned |
| That soon he had a store |
| Of recitations in his head |
| And still kept learning more. |
| Now this it is what happened: |
| He was called upon one week |
| And totally forgot the piece |
| He was about to speak. |
| His brain he vainly cudgeled |
| But no word was in his head, |
| And so he spoke at random, |
| And this is what he said; |
| My beautiful, my beautiful, |
| Who standest proudly by, |
| It was the schooner Hesperus |
| The breaking waves dashed high. |
| Why is the Forum crowded? |
| What means this stir in Rome? |
| Under a spreading chestnut tree |
| There is no place like home. |
| When Freedom from her mountain height |
| Cried, "Twinkle, little star," |
| Shoot if you must this old gray head, |
| King Henry of Navarre. |
| If you're waking, call me early |
| To be or not to be, |
| Curfew must not ring to-night, |
| Oh, woodman, spare that tree. |
| Charge, Chester, Charge! On, Stanley, on! |
| And let who will be clever, |
| The boy stood on the burning deck |
| But I go on for ever. |
The Kid Has Gone to the Colors
| The Kid has gone to the Colors |
| And we don't know what to say; |
| The Kid we have loved and cuddled |
| Stepped out for the Flag to-day. |
| We thought him a child, a baby |
| With never a care at all, |
| But his country called him man-size |
| And the Kid has heard the call. |
| He paused to watch the recruiting, |
| Where, fired by the fife and drum, |
| He bowed his head to Old Glory |
| And thought that it whispered: "Come!" |
| The Kid, not being a slacker, |
| Stood forth with patriot-joy |
| To add his name to the roster— |
| And God, we're proud of the boy! |
|
The Kid has gone to the Colors;
|