UNCLE JOGALONG

MY dear old Uncle Jogalong
Was very slow, was very slow,
And said he thought that folks were wrong
To hurry so, to hurry so.
When he walked out upon the street
To take the air, to take the air,
It seemed almost as if his feet
Were fastened there, were fastened there.
He thought that traveling by rail
Was hurrying and scurrying,
But said the slow and creeping snail
Was just the thing, was just the thing.
He thought a hasty appetite
An awful crime, an awful crime,
So never finished breakfast, quite,
Till dinner time, till dinner time.
He said the world turned round so fast
He could not stay, he could not stay,
And so he said "Good-by" at last,
And went away, and went away.

THE INDIFFERENT MARINER

I'M a tough old salt, and it's never I care
A penny which way the wind is,
Or whether I sight Cape Finisterre,
Or make a port at the Indies.
Some folks steer for a port to trade,
And some steer north for the whaling;
Yet never I care a damn just where
I sail, so long's I'm sailing.
You never can stop the wind when it blows,
And you can't stop the rain from raining;
Then why, oh, why, go a-piping of your eye
When there's no sort o' use in complaining?
My face is browned and my lungs are sound,
And my hands they are big and calloused.
I've a little brown jug I sometimes hug,
And a little bread and meat for ballast.
But I keep no log of my daily grog,
For what's the use o' being bothered?
I drink a little more when the wind's offshore,
And most when the wind's from the no'th'ard.
Of course with a chill if I'm took quite ill,
And my legs get weak and toddly,
At the jug I pull, and turn in full,
And sleep the sleep of the godly.
But whether I do or whether I don't,
Or whether the jug's my failing,
It's never I care a damn just where
I sail, so long's I'm sailing.

ON A LIBRARY WALL