(New version.)
I'm not going to Tipperary for I've better work to do,
I am dreaming of a new device to catch each German crew;
And when we've chased them thro' the deep, Ach Gott! what
fun there'll be
Rounding up the Teuton "subs" in the blue and vasty sea.
So, good-bye, Tipperary! Farewell, Slieve-na-mon!
I leave you for a season to chase the murderous Hun;
Von Tirpitz knows their hiding-place and I'll find out, too,
So, good-bye, Tipperary, till we've caught each pirate crew.
Then I'll go to Tipperary with its hills of emerald green,
Where the skies are full of splendor and each peasant girl a queen;
Where the men know naught but honor and where duty is their goal;
Where the shadows from the mountains are but sunlight to the soul.
So, good-bye, Tipperary, till we've rounded up each crew,
Then I'll turn my face to greet you for to you I'll e'er be true;
So I'm off to chase the pirates and the ocean aisles to sweep,
Ach Himmel, Tipperary! there'll be fun upon the deep.
For Rev. J. B. Bollard.
GATHER THE HARVEST
Gather the harvest though reaped in death,
Under the pale, pale moon;
For the lilies that joyed in the breath of morn
Shall know not the ardor of noon:
So, the souls that grow strong, in patriot love,
Shall be garnered on Death's dark field,
Ere the noontide rays have touched the vale
And burnished with gold life's shield.
Gather the harvest though reaped in death,
Where the sword has struck for Right,
And cleft a way for Freedom's path,
Through the dark and tremulous night:
For the golden grain on the altar flames
And lights each pilgrim throng,
As they meet in joy 'round that altar bright
Where Justice shall right each wrong.
For Miss Helen Merrill.