Classic Poem

For one thing must the Conference
Be aye by us called down;
The preachers' sons, on no pretence,
When the Circus comes to town
Must see the barebacked lady leap,
The clown go through the hoops,
Nor the moral beasts eat nuts asleep
Within their caged coops!

All people but the preachers' boys
Could come to town that day,
Some to play monk, some to get drunk,
But We must stay away.
We! well aware that Paul made tents
And Zaccheus climbed a tree,
Must see them through the parsonage fence
Monk-locked from the gay mon-key.

O, that Collection, full of dimes
For the Missionary cause!
We wished we could handle it sometimes
When the circus broke the laws.
For when the grand entree played loud,
If we could the choice replevin,
We would rather go in with the circus crowd
Than squeeze with the saints into Heaven.

There were no boys with a motive less
Than we, for to raise such fuss;
We wanted to prove the Roman dress
And the beasts of Ephesus.
Tickets we earned for our Scripture lore,
But not to the show, I grant,
(We earned them several times before,
As a smart Itinerant.)

No doubts my soul would a zebra scorch,
My morals an ostrich claw,
But the show bills on the tavern porch,
They taught me how to draw,
And if I had looked with but one eye
On them with their shins in flights,
It might have saved me, bye and bye,
From the ladies in higher tights.

Ah! not all things did the Circus bolt
That the loud bands' music drank!
The preacher's mare had a piebald colt
With a white stripe down its flank;
And that was the Monkey's mighty grin,
As he left by the light of stars:
" You might have let the boys come in
Eer they let down the parsonage bars! "