THE MILITANT'S SONG.
Each morning, vigorous and bright,
I sing my little song:—
"If I don't do the thing that's right
I'll do the thing that's wrong."
And if I chance to miss my aim
By slight miscalculation
I go on singing just the same
With equal exaltation.
So when I light my little sticks
To burn up "No. 8"
And find I've kindled "No. 6"
My joy is just as great.
And when my little stones I dash
At windows in a hurry
And hear the corner lamp-post smash
I see no cause to worry.
And when I take my little whip
To punish "Mr. A."
And find I've made another slip
I giggle out, "Hurray!"
And under lock and key I trill,
Although my cell's a strong one:—
"I didn't hit the right man, still
At least I hit the wrong one."