168
THE SWORD OF SONG
Slowness of
Divine Justice,
Poet pockets
Piety Stakes,
National An-
them of Natal,
But this talk is
all indigestion.
Now for
health.
Reasons for
undertaking
the task.
And sail—“ the waters wild a-wenting 150
Over your child! The left lamenting ”
(Campbell).#8 The Ibis head,” unsuited
To grin, perhaps, yet does its best
To show its strong appreciation
Of the humour of the situation— 155
In short, dimiss me, jeered and hooted,
Who thought I sported Roland’s crest,*°
With wisdom saddled, spurred, and booted,
(As I my Jesus) with a jest.*!
So here is my tribute
—a jolly good strong ’un—— 160
To the eunuch, the faddist, the fool, and the wrong ’un !
It’s fun when you say “A mysterious way *
God moves in to fix up his Maskelyne tricks.
He trots on the tides, on the tempest he rides
(Like Cosmo); and as for-his pace, we bethought us 165
Achilles could never catch up with that tortoise !”
No flyer, but very “ Who’s Griffiths?” * No jackpot !
I straddle the blind, age! At hymns I’m a moral ;
In Sankey, your kettle may call me a black pot.
Here’s diamond for coke, and pink pearl for pale coral. 170
Though his mills may grind slowly—what says the old hymn?
Tune, Limerick! Author? My memory’s dim.
The corn said “ You sluggard !”
The mill ‘You may tug hard,” (or lug hard, or plug hard ;
I forget the exact Rhyme ; that’s a fact) 176
“IfI want to grind slowly I shall,”
A quainter old fable one rarely is able
To drag from its haunt in the—smoke room or stable!
You see (vide supra) I’ve brought to the test a ton
Of tolerance, broadness. Approve me, friend Chesterton ! 180
So much when philosophy’s lacteal river
Turns sour through a trifle of bile on the liver. S
But now for the sane and the succulent milk
Of truth—may it slip down as smoothly as silk!
‘“‘ How very hard it is to be” # 185
A Yogi! Let our spirits see
At least what primal need of thought
This end to its career has brought :
* ‘© Who's Griffiths? The safe man.” <A well-known advertisement,
hence ‘‘ Who's Griffiths ” =safe.