"You seem quite plain, old Lamp, to men,
Yet 'twould be hard to say
What we should do without you when
Night follows on the day;
"And while your lumination seems
Much less than that of sun,
I truly think but for your beams
We would be much undone.
"And who knows, Lamp, but to some wight,
Too small for me to see,
You are just such a wondrous sight
As old Sol is to me!
"Isn't that just terribly lovely?" said the soft silvery voice when the poem was completed.
"Yes; but I don't think it's very funny," said Jimmieboy. "I like to laugh, you know, and I couldn't laugh at that."
"Oh!" said the silvery voice, with a slight tinge of disappointment in it. "You want fun do you? Well, how do you like this? I think it is the funniest thing ever written, except others by the same author:
"There was an old man in New York
Who thought he'd been changed to a stork;
He stood on one limb
'Til his eyesight grew dim,
And used his left foot for a fork."
"That's the kind," said Jimmieboy, enthusiastically. "I could listen to a million of that sort of poems."
"I'd be very glad to tell you a million of them," returned the voice, "but I don't believe there's electricity enough for me to do it under twenty-five minutes, and as we only have five left, I'm going to recite my lines on 'A Sulphur Match.'
"The flame you make, O Sulphur Match!
When your big head I chance to scratch,
"Appears so small most people deem
You lilliputian, as you seem.
"And yet the force that in you lies
Can light with brilliance all the skies.
"There's strength enough in you to send
Great cities burning to their end;
"So that we have a hint in you
Of what the smallest thing can do.