SONGS OF FOOD PRODUCTION

Above three hundred years ago

To Britain's shores there came

An immigrant of lineage low—

Sol Tuberose his name.

He settled down in mean estate,

Despised on every side,

Until at last he waxéd great,

Grew rich and multiplied.

Now none so popular as he;

To every house he goes,

At every table he must be—

The great Sol Tuberose!

In time of war he proves his worth

He helps us everywhere;

There's nothing on (or in) this earth

That can with him compare.

Not the great LLOYD could save the land

Except for mighty Sol;

For he is Bread's twin-brother—and

He gives us Alcohol;

Not such as fills the toper's tum,

But such as fills the shell—

Such as will be in days to come

Heat, light, and pow'r as well.

Yes, in the spacious days to come

We'll bless Sol Tuberose,

When all our motor engines hum

On what the farmer grows.

Then cultivate him all you can,

With him and his stand well in;

There's one that is a Nobleman,

There's one Sir John Llewellyn.

There's one that is a British Queen,

There's one a dwarf, Ashleaf,

There's one that is a plain Colleen,

There's one an Arran Chief.

He'll serve us if we do him well

(Last year he failed our foes).

Oh, who can all the praises tell

Of good Sol Tuberose!

W.B.