With the feasting, and the folly, and the fun

And the lying, and the lusting, and the drink, And the merry play that drops you, when you're done,

To the thoughts that burn like irons if you think. With my "Plunka-lunka-lunka-lunka-lunk!"

Here's a trifle on account of pleasure past, Ere the wit that made you win gives you eyes to see your sin

And the heavier repentance at the last!

Let the organ moan her sorrow to the roof—
I have told the naked stars the Grief of Man!
Let the trumpets snare the foeman to the proof-
I have known Defeat, and mocked it as we ran!
My bray ye may not alter nor mistake

When I stand to jeer the fatted Soul of Things,
But the Song of Lost Endeavour that I make,
Is it hidden in the twanging of the strings?
With my "Ta-ra-rara-rara-ra-ra-rrrp!"

[Is it naught to you that hear and pass me
by?]

But the word-the word is mine, when the order
moves the line

And the lean, locked ranks go roaring down to die.

Of the driven dust of speech I make a flame

And a scourge of broken withes that men let fall: For the words that had no honour till I cameLo! I raise them into honour over all!

By the wisdom of the centuries I speak-
To the tune of yestermorn I set the truth-
I, the joy of life unquestioned-I, the Greek—
I, the everlasting Wonder Song of Youth!
With my "Tinka-tinka-tinka-tinka-tink!"
[What d'ye lack, my noble masters? What
d'ye lack?]

So I draw the world together link by link:
Yea, from Delos up to Limerick and back!

THE LINER SHE'S A LADY

THE Liner she's a lady, an' she never looks nor

'eeds

The Man-o'-War's 'er 'usband, an' 'e gives 'er all she needs;

But, oh, the little cargo-boats, that sail the wet seas

roun',

They're just the same as you an' me a-plyin' up an' down!

Plyin' up an' down, Jenny, 'angin' round the Yard,
All the way by Fratton tram down to Portsmouth'Ard;
Anythin' for business, an' we're growin' old-
Plyin' up an' down, Jenny, waitin' in the cold!

The Liner she's a lady by the paint upon 'er face, An' if she meets an accident they count it sore disgrace:

The Man-o'-War's 'er 'usband, and 'e's always 'andy

by,

But, oh, the little cargo-boats! they've got to load or

die.

The Liner she's a lady, and 'er route is cut an' dried; The Man-o'-War's 'er 'usband, an' 'e always keeps beside;

But, oh, the little cargo-boats that 'aven't any man, They've got to do their business first, and make the most they can!

The Liner she's a lady, and if a war should come, The Man-o'-War's 'er 'usband, and 'e'd bid 'er stay at home;

But, oh, the little cargo-boats that fill with every tide! 'E'd 'ave to up an' fight for them, for they are England's pride.

The Liner she's a lady, but if she wasn't made, There still would be the cargo-boats for 'ome an' foreign trade.

The Man-o'-War's 'er 'usband, but if we wasn't 'ere, 'E wouldn't have to fight at all for 'ome an' friends so dear.

'Ome an' friends so dear, Jenny, 'angin' round the Yard,

All the way by Fratton tram down to Portsmouth 'Ard;

Anythin' for business, an' we're growin' old

'Ome an' friends so dear, Jenny, waitin' in the cold!

MULHOLLAND'S CONTRACT

THE fear was on the cattle, for the gale was on the

sea,

An' the pens broke up on the lower deck an' let the creatures free

An' the lights went out on the lower deck, an' no one near but me.

I had been singin' to them to keep 'em quiet there, For the lower deck is the dangerousest, requirin'

constant care,

An' give to me as the strongest man, though used to drink and swear.

I see my chance was certain of bein' horned or trod, For the lower deck was packed with steers thicker'n peas in a pod,

An' more pens broke at every roll-so I made a
Contract with God.

An' by the terms of the Contract, as I have read the

same,

If He got me to port alive I would exalt His Name, An' praise His Holy Majesty till further orders came.