Old Age in his ailing
At youth will be railing
It scorns youth's regaling
Pooh-pooh it does, silly dream;
But me, the fool, save
From waxing so grave
As, reduced to skimmed milk, to slander the cream.

Oho for the woods where I used to grow,
The home of the lonely owl and crow!
I spread my arms to shelter all
The creatures shy, both large and small.

I sang for joy to the friends I knew:
The sunshine, rain, and the sky so blue.
Oho for the forest! Oho for the hills!
Oho for the ripples of murmuring rills!
Oho, sing I, oho!

Oho for the hall where I now hold sway,
The home of the happy children gay!
I spread my arms with gifts for all,
From father big to baby small.
I sing for joy to these hearts that glow —

Oh, you know Joe Silovatsky,
Dat man my brudder;
Last night he come ter my shanty;
" John I'm come an' tell you fer,
I'm tell you fer tomorra,
Evenick dark like night,
Lotsa miners all, beegan shmal, gonna have a shtrike.
Dun't be shcabby fella, John,
Dat's I'm tell you right! "
I'm say, " No, sir, Joe come out on shtrike,
Me Johnny Mitchell man! "

CHORUS
I dun't 'fraid fer nut-tink,
Dat's me nevair shcare.
Comin' shtrike tomorra night.
Dat's de bizness, I dun't care,
Right a here I'm tell you,

Oh yes
We got Mr. President Roosevelt
Oh yes
oooooo
we got Mr. President Roosevelt
Well you know he gone he gone boys
But his spirit always gonna live on

President Roosevelt traveled by land
He traveled by the sea
He helped the U-nited States boys
And he also helped Chinee

Oh yes
I just wanted President Roosevelt
Well you know he gone he gone sonny boy
Oooo well, but his word would never fail

Now the rooster told the hens

The rhythm of life
Is a jazz rhythm,
Honey.
The gods are laughing at us.

The broken heart of love,
The weary, weary heart of pain,—
Overtones,
Undertones,
To the rumble of street cars,
To the swish of rain.

Lenox Avenue,
Honey.
Midnight,
And the gods are laughing at us.

Oh would you know why Henry sleeps,
And why his mourning Mother weeps,
And why his weeping Mother mourns?
He was unkind to unicorns.

No unicorn, with Henry's leave,
Could dance upon the lawn at eve,
Or gore the gardener's boy in spring
Or do the very slightest thing.

No unicorn could safely roar,
And dash its nose against the door,
Nor sit in peace upon the mat
To eat the dog, or drink the cat.

Henry would never in the least
Encourage the heraldic beast:
If there were unicorns about
He went and let the lion out.

I

O H , wilt thou have my hand, Dear, to lie along in thine?
As a little stone in a running stream, it seems to lie and pine.
Now drop the poor pale hand, Dear, unfit to plight with thine.

II

Oh, wilt thou have my cheek, Dear, drawn closer to thine own?
My cheek is white, my cheek is worn, by many a tear run down.
Now leave a little space, Dear, lest it should wet thine own.


Oh, must thou have my soul, Dear, commingled with thy soul?—
Red grows the cheek, and warm the hand; the part is in the whole:

Oh! why should the spirit of mortal be proud?
Like a swift-fleeting meteor, a fast-flying cloud,
A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave,
Man passeth from life to his rest in the grave.

The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade,
Be scattered around, and together be laid;
And the young and the old, and the low and the high
Shall molder to dust and together shall die.

The infant a mother attended and loved;
The mother that infant's affection who proved;
The husband that mother and infant have blessed--

Oh, why don't I work like other men do?
How the hell can I work when the skies are so blue?
Hallelujah, I'm a bum!
Hallelujah, bum again,
Hallelujah, give us a hand-out,
Revive us again.

If I was to work and save all I earn,
I could buy me a bar and have money to burn.

Oh, the winter is over and we're all out of jail;
We are tired of walking and hungry as hell.

Oh, I ride box cars and I ride fast mails,
When it's cold in the winter I sleep in the jails.

I passed by saloon and I hear someone snore,

Oh, who will follow old Ben Milam into San Antonio?
Such was the thrilling word we heard in the chill December glow;
Such was the thrilling word we heard, and a ringing, answering cry
Went up from the dun adobe walls to the cloudless Texas sky.

He had won from the reek of a Mexique jail back without map or chart,
With his mother-wit and his hero-grit and his stanch Kentucky heart;
He had trudged by vale and by mountain trail, and by thorn and thirsty plain,
And now, with joy on his grizzled brow, he had come to his own again.