The Jumble Book of Rhymes Part 8

My putteed calves will look a sight-- I'm long, but short on weight-- My feet won't fit the Munson last, My rising hour is eight.

But-- The army is gwine ter git me, My name's done been enrolled.

I'd like to be a baby gal Not more'n one year old!

I'm old enough, I'm young enough To do some thing, I guess; So I'll just stop my foolish talk And say, "I'm ready, yes!"

For There's not a job, there's not a niche But needs some man to fit.

For you and me there's just one thing: GO IN AND DO OUR BIT!

They found a job, they found the niche They said that I would fit; And in Argonne one foggy morn They said, "Now do your bit!"

Wow!

Old Jerry seemed to know I'd come; His sh.e.l.ls all came my way!

Ugh! Mustard gas! * * * Then mustered out-- I didn't last one day!

[Ill.u.s.tration]

You Never Can Tell

Harry had two Munson feet That grew like ice and snow At bare suggestion of the thought That he to War should go.

But when the Draft got him one day His face grew stern and grim; And ere he'd been in camp a month They'd made a _man_ of him.

'Twas "Captain Harry" soon in France.

Midst fighting over there He got two wounds, a D. S. C., Also the Croix de Guerre.

The moral in this simple tale You've guessed, I have no doubt: _You cannot tell whats in a man Until he's tested out._

An Ounce of Prevention

When first the Flu our old town hit I said I'd keep from getting; So I went home and with great care I shut out drafts and shut out air.

I sprinkled sulphur in my shoes, Then loaded up on blockade booze, Some calomel and "C.C." pills, Then castor oil up to my gills.

Each hour on soda I did feast; I swallowed cakes of Fleischmann's yeast; I ate ten onions, mighty nigh, Then drank a slug of Good Old Rye; Some asafoet'da round my neck, Then took quinine, about a peck.

To keep from feeling all forlorn I fraternized with Barleycorn; Then aspirin, say twenty grains, And codeine to keep off pains.

I chewed tobacco, smoked it, too, Then took a dip of Mountain Dew.

I crawled in bed to get a rest, Vick's Vaporub smeared on my chest.

I changed to woolen underduds And carried 'round two Irish spuds; I sprayed and gargled, wore a mask, Snuffed Listerine, then tried my flask.

I felt my pulse; at tongue a look, And then my temper'ture I took.

But strange to say quite sick I grew-- _The doctor says I've got the Flu!_ I guess he's right, but this is sure: Right now I need the likker cure.

I wonder if I'd stayed up town, Cut out the dope, kept worry down, Stayed right at work, not had a drink-- Would I have Flu? What do you think?

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Fear Not

Why will so many people now Give way to frenzied fear?

Why will they act as though they thought Swift Death were lurking near?

E'en if Disease now stalks abroad And Death rides on the air, 'Tis not the time for craven acts, But courage everywhere.

I wonder if they stop to think How soon the war'd be won If sons of theirs showed half the fear That they of late have done?

And why fear death--eternal life?

I would not be the one To strive to stay on this poor earth With sacred tasks undone.

So, why not chirk up just a bit And say good-bye to fear?

The world now needs much cheering up-- Pray help supply the cheer.

Eat What's Set Before You

As children ofttimes we were wont To criticise and fuss About the victuals that were cooked And served by ma to us: "Too salty" this, and "too sweet" that; "You've had this twice since Sunday; You always have what others like, You might please me just one day."

And so it went till pa would say:-- 'Twas meant you could not doubt it-- "Just eat what's set before you and Say nothin' 'tall about it."

Now we are grown and, seems to me, Too often we're inclined To criticise the things Fate gives, And think this life a grind.

Some things may not just suit our taste, Some e'en be quite unpleasant; Someone may get the bigger share And failure seem e'er present; But then, let's think of pa's advice:-- It's sound, pray never doubt it-- "Just eat what's set before you and Say nothin' 'tall about it."

Life's road is rough--but what of that?

The man who'll growls forswear Will top the hills ahead the crowd All smiles, with breath to spare.

And so it goes this wide world o'er-- 'Tis true for saint and sinner-- The man who silently will "dig"

Will always prove the winner.

That's why I say take pa's advice:-- Try once and you'll not doubt it-- "Just eat what's set before you and Say nothin' 'tall about it."

[Ill.u.s.tration]