KEEP TRYIN'.

When you're feelin' blue as ink

An' your spirits 'gin to sink,

Don't be weak an' take a drink

But

Keep Tryin'.

There are times when all of us

Get riled up and start a muss,

But there ain't no use to cuss,

Just

Keep Tryin'.

When things seem to go awry,

And the sun deserts your sky,

Don't sit down somewhere and cry,

But

Keep Tryin'.

Everybody honors grit,

Men who never whine a bit—

Men who tell the world, "I'm IT"

And

Keep Tryin'.

Get a hustle on you NOW,

Make a great, big solemn vow

That you'll win out anyhow,

And

Keep Tryin'.

All the world's a battlefield

Where the true man is revealed,

But the ones who never yield

Keep Tryin'.

GENIUS.

There was once a young man quite erratic

Who lived all alone in an attic,

He wrote magazine verse

That made editors curse,

But his friends thought it fine and dramatic.

TALE OF THREE CITIES.

A seedy young man in Savanah

Fell in love with a rich girl named Anna,

But her papa got mad

And swore that "By Gad,

The fellow shall never Havana!"

But the couple eloped to Caracas,

Where the Germans kicked up such a fracas;

And he said to his wife,

"You can bet your sweet life

That papa dear never will track us."

MODERN MAUD MULLER.

Maud Muller on a summer's day,

Raked the meadows, sweet with hay.

Nor was this just a grand-stand play;

Maud got a rake-off, so they say.

NOCTURNE.

A cat duet.

A silhouette.

A high brick wall,

An awful squall.

A moonlit night,

A mortal fight.

A man in bed,

Sticks out his head.

Gee Whiz!

The man has riz.

His arm draws back

A big bootjack—

A loud swish,

Squish!

"What's that?"

A dead cat.

THE SISSY BOY.

Beware the Sissy Boy my child,

Not because he's very wild;

The Sissy Boy is never that,

Although he'll run if you say "Scat!"

The Sissy Boy's infinitesimal,

He is not worth a duodecimal.

If you should take a custard pie

And hit a Sissy in the eye,

He would not go before a jury,

He'd only blush and say "Oh Fury!"

For he is perfumed, sweet and mild,

That's just his kind, my dearest child.

One should never strike a Sissy,

He is too lady-like and prissy.

You do not need to use your fist

But merely slap him on the wrist,

And if this will not make him budge,

Then glare at him and say "Oh Fudge!"

The Sissy sports a pink cravat

And often wears a high silk hat;

His voice is like a turtle dove's

And he always wears the "cutest" gloves.

At playing ping-pong he's inured,

And his finger-nails are manicured.

He uses powder on his face

And his handkerchiefs are trimmed with lace;

He loves to play progressive euchre

And spend his papa's hard-earned lucre.

He wears an air of nonchalance

And always takes in every dance.

Socially, he's quite a pet

And always fashionably in debt.

He hates to be considered slow

And poses as a famous beau.

He loves to cut a swath and dash

When papa dear puts up the cash.

This, my child, is the Sissy Boy

Who acts so womanly and coy.

His head's as soft as new-made butter;

His aim in life is just to flutter;

Yet he goes along with unconcern

And marries a woman with money to burn.

TO GELETT BURGESS.

I never saw a purple cow,

You say you never saw one;

But this I'll tell you anyhow,

I know that I can draw one.

THE LOBSTER.

Lobsters haven't any feet,

But they have lots of claws;

Yet lobster meat is good to eat,

And this is strange, because—

A dog is never good to eat,

And yet a dog has paws,

And so have cats, and so have rats

And so have other kind of brats.

A lobster then, so to speak,

Is, my child, an awful freak;

For if you get him in a stew,

He'll blush quite red and glare at you.

Yet if you eat much lobster salad,

It will make you very pallid.