He was going to be all that a mortal should be
To-morrow.
No one should be kinder or braver than he
To-morrow.
A friend who was troubled and weary he knew,
Who'd be glad of a lift and who needed it, too;
On him he would call and see what he could do
To-morrow.

Each morning he stacked up the letters he'd write
To-morrow.
And thought of the folks he would fill with delight
To-morrow.
It was too bad, indeed, he was busy to-day,
And hadn't a minute to stop on his way;
More time he would have to give others, he'd say,
To-morrow.

He was a rat, and she was a rat,
And down in one hole they did dwell,
And both were as black as a witch's cat,
And they loved one another well.

He had a tail, and she had a tail,
Both long and curling and fine;
And each said, "Yours is the finest tail
In the world, excepting mine.'

He smelt the cheese, and she smelt the cheese,
And they both pronounced it good;
And both remarked it would greatly add
To the charms of their daily food.

So he ventured out, and she ventured out,
And I saw them go with pain;

He was a man as hot as whiskey.
He was a man whose word was good.
He was a man whose hate was risky —
Andrew Jackson — hickory wood!

He was in love with love and glory;
His hopes were prospered, but at a price:
The bandying of the ugly story
He'd had to marry his Rachel twice.

Hot he was and a hasty suitor,
But if he sinned he was poor at sin.
She was plain as a spoon of pewter,
Plain and good as a safety pin.

Andrew Jackson, man of honor,
Held her name like he held his head.

1

He walked up and down the street 'till the shoes fell off his feet,
Across the street he spied a lady cooking stew. And he said, " How do you do,
May I chop some wood for you? " But what the lady told him made him feel so blue.
Refrain:
" Tramp, tramp, tramp, keep on a-trampin', There is nothing here for you;
If I catch you round again, You will wear the ball and chain,
Keep a-trampin', that's the best thing you can do. "

2

He took a thousand islands and he did n't lose a man
(Raise your heads and cheer him as he goes!) —
He licked the sneaky Spaniard till the fellow cut and ran,
For fighting's part of what a Yankee knows.

He fought 'em and he licked 'em, without any fuss or flam
(It was only his profession for to win),
He sank their boats beneath 'em, and he spared 'em as they swam,
And then he sent his ambulances in.

He had no word to cheer him and had no bands to play,
He had no crowds to make his duty brave;

He that will not love, must be
My Scholar, and learn this of me:
There be in Love as many feares,
As the Summers Corne has eares:
Sighs, and sobs, and sorrowes more
Then the sand, that makes the shore:
Freezing cold, and firie heats,
Fainting swoones, and deadly sweats;
Now an Ague, then a Fever,
Both tormenting Lovers ever.
Wod'st thou know, besides all these,
How hard a woman 'tis to please?
How crosse, how sullen, and how soone
She shifts and changes like the Moone.
How false, how hollow she's in heart;

He that only rules by terror
Doeth grievous wrong.
Deep as Hell I count his error.
Let him hear my song.
Brave the Captain was; the seamen
Made a gallant crew,
Gallant sons of English freemen,
Sailors bold and true.
But they hated his oppression,
Stern he was and rash;
So for every light transgression
Doom'd them to the lash.
Day by day more harsh and cruel
Seem'd the Captain's mood.
Secret wrath like smother'd fuel
Burnt in each man's blood.
Yet he hoped to purchase glory,
Hoped to make the name

From now on they always are, for years now
they always have been, but from now on you know
they are, they always will be,

from now on when they cry and you say
wryly to their mother, better you than me,
you'd better mean it, you'd better

hand over what you can't have, and gracefully.











Copyright (c) 2006 by Mary Jo Salter.

AH , to be by Mooni now,
Where the great dark hills of wonder,
Scarred with storm and cleft asunder
By the strong sword of the thunder,
Make a night on morning's brow!
Just to stand where Nature's face is
Flushed with power in forest places —
Where of God authentic trace is —
Ah, to be by Mooni now!

Just to be by Mooni's springs!
There to stand, the shining sharer
Of that larger life, and rarer
Beauty caught from beauty fairer
Than the human face of kings!
Soul of mine from sin abhorrent

He that hath such acuteness, and such wit,
As would aske ten good heads to husband it;
He that can write so well that no man dare
Refuse it for the best, let him beware:
BEAUMONT is dead, by whose sole death appeares,
Wit 's a Disease consumes men in few yeares.