all your houses from cellars to roofs

For a sliver by which he may fasten a quibble

And curtail your claim to a bite or a nibble.

And then when you think he is ready for payment

He will make you regret you were ever a claimant,

By charging you discount for those sixty days,

Or vexing you further with needless delays.

These awful adjusters! they should be ashamed

To ply a vocation so loudly defamed.

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"What's the good of insurance if not to pay losses?

And why all these questions, and bothers and crosses?

And why are we hampered and why are we checked?

Insurers can claim (if you'll only reflect)

No rights which it is not our right to reject;

No rights which the people are bound to respect.

They must smile and be patient, and out with their purses,

And take what we give them, our kicks or our curses;

Bow down to the cow with the old crumpled horn

That kicked over the lamp that set fire to the barn

That caused the Great Fire in Chicago!"

THIS is Insurance. Now, satire, farewell!

For the woes which the fire-stricken city befel,

Must have rung like the clang of a destiny knell,

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Through the years of prostration and clog and delay,

Which would drag unsupportable all the sad way,

Through which her redemption and rising must lay,

Had Insurance not sped, like an angel that brings

Relief in her hands and delight on her wings.

All honor we give to the craft that we love;

It has for its motto the word from above;

The word spoken erst by omnipotent love.

The burdens of each in Insurance we bear,

And its benefits all its participants share.

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