The Law Of Laws
If we could roll back History A century, let’s say, And start from there, I’m sure that we Would find things as to-day: In all creation’s cosmic range No vestige of a change. Turn
The Summing Up
When you have sailed the seven seas And looped the ends of earth, You’ll long at last for slippered ease Beside a bonny hearth; A cosy cottage in the sun, A pleasant page to
Barb-Wire Bill
At dawn of day the white land lay all gruesome-like and grim, When Bill Mc’Gee he says to me: “We’ve got to do it, Jim. We’ve got to make Fort Liard quick. I know
Pipe Smoker
Because I love the soothing weed And am of sober type, I’d choose me for a friend in need A man who smokes a pipe. A cove who hasn’t much to say, And spits
The Release
To-day within a grog-shop near I saw a newly captured linnet, Who beat against his cage in fear, And fell exhausted every minute; And when I asked the fellow there If he to sell
My Ancestors
A barefoot boy I went to school To save a cobbler’s fee, For though the porridge pot was full A frugal folk were we; We baked our bannocks, spun our wool, And counted each
Robert William Service – Laughter
I Laugh at Life: its antics make for me a giddy games, Where only foolish fellows take themselves with solemn aim. I laugh at pomp and vanity, at riches, rank and pride; At social
My Masterpiece
It’s slim and trim and bound in blue; Its leaves are crisp and edged with gold; Its words are simple, stalwart too; Its thoughts are tender, wise and bold. Its pages scintillate with wit;
Dreams Are Best
I just think that dreams are best, Just to sit and fancy things; Give your gold no acid test, Try not how your silver rings; Fancy women pure and good, Fancy men upright and
Old Tom
The harridan who holds the inn At which I toss a pot, Is old and uglier than sin, I’m glad she knows me not. Indeed, for me it’s hard to think, Although my pow’s
Grand-Père
And so when he reached my bed The General made a stand: “My brave young fellow,” he said, “I would shake your hand.” So I lifted my arm, the right, With never a hand
The Logger
In the moonless, misty night, with my little pipe alight, I am sitting by the camp-fire’s fading cheer; Oh, the dew is falling chill on the dim, deer-haunted hill, And the breakers in the
Gignol
Addict of Punch and Judy shows I was when I was small; My kiddy laughter, I suppose, Rang louder than them all. The Judge with banter I would bait, The Copper was a wretch;
Fi-Fi In Bed
Up into the sky I stare; All the little stars I see; And I know that God is there O, how lonely He must be! Me, I laugh and leap all day, Till my
Our Pote
A pote is sure a goofy guy; He ain’t got guts like you or I To tell the score; He ain’t goy gumption ’nuff to know The game of life’s to get the dough,