Of the Terra Firma shore.
The aeons came, and the aeons fled,
But the hand that held us fast,
Was sure to hold us a bit too long,
We tried hard, but—couldn’t “pass.”
Then light and swift thru the jungle trees
Swung the white men in their flights;
And they heard the darkies plead “Come little Joe”!
In the hush of policeless nights.
And, Oh! What improvement the white man made!