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You have killed the Shame in Man

Insanity, what incredibility!
If for a munite you can lose sanity
And dance naked, for public
entertainment,
How much would earn for your
government?
.
Oh insanity, what an impudence!
You have killed the shame in man,
I have seen men walk through
streets uncladded,
.
And who have cared to give them garments,
To cover up their own nakedness.

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You Can Make Me Dance, Sing Or Anything

(rod stewart, ron wood, kenny jones, tetsu yamauchi, ian mclagan)
Hey baby, I wanna say somethin to ya, listen
Sometimes when I get out of my head
And I say all the wrong things
Sometimes I know I stay out late at night
And I get back fighting, hey babe
Somehow all my plans
Keep slippin through my hands
And I end up crying, but listen
I can be a millionaire
Honey when youre standing there
Youre so exciting
You can make me dance, you can make me sing,
You can make me do just any old thing, and I love it
Sometimes I wanna get up so early
And get away from here girl
Summers gone, and before long
North winds blow, that bring the snow
Ill keep us warm girl
My schemes it seems, are merely dreams
Fading with each morning, hey babe
But this old heart of mine
Is far too proud not to keep on tryin
You can make me dance, you can make me sing,
You can make me do just any old thing, yeah baby
Ah yeah
So little bird dont fly away
Want you here every day
Dont ever leave me
Id rather lose both my eyes
Than never see your smiling face again girl
You can make me dance, you can make me sing,
You can make me do just any old thing
You can make me dance, you can make me sing,
You can make me do just any old thing
Hey babe
Keep on loving me babe, yeah
Keep on loving me babe
Just keep on loving me babe
Just keep on loving me babe
Just keep on loving, ooh babe
Just keep on loving me darling
Just keep on loving me darling
Just keep on loving me darling, darling, darling, darling
Ha ha
Woww, alright
Hey baby
Oh darling
Keep on loving me darling
Just keep on loving me darling
Just keep on loving me darling
Just keep on loving me darling

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If You can Keep your Cheese - after Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your cheese while few about you
are holding onto theirs', all envy ease.
If none can get your goat nor cow could doubt you
your scent which, heaven sent, can tell true bries
from gorgonzola, parmesan without you
planning for house mouse contingencies,
or short supply where larder rats may scout to
grind, compromise the tasty rind most please.

If by a whisker cheshire follows trout to
provide fit end for sweet delicacies,
or cheddar meat meal follows leaves no gout to
blur enjoyment, taste buds' harmonies.
If desert heat no threat presents, no pout too
in winter's cold where lizard's blood would freeze,
If neither flood nor drought can mar, throughout you
may triumph over blue mould colonies.

If all kowtow, if none would ever flout you
remembering to bow before ‘big cheese'...
if hole in one you score in club you clout to
take golden trophy - competition flees.
If all above's accomplished taste devout, true,
while others fail to prove their expertise,
your's is the world, which elsewhere's up the spout, few
can make their time your rhyme's real_I_tease!

IF - A Writers' Guild Gild Guile Guide
If you can form and not make norms your master,
conformity, performance formal, flame.
If you inform, share, [fl]airing, flow far faster,
yet let not copyright bind tight to shame.
If you treat critic's inconstructive blaster
with humour, beat him at his game's lame claim,
take not to hea[r]t his tumour, bandage, plaster
half-heartedly, pretend [s]he never came.

If you can couple energy creative
well in advance of others in your field,
without confusing nominative, dative,
rei[g]n arguments through cogency revealed
in context, in a manner innovative,
code palimpsests from all but s[t]age concealed,
If trust in self is never compensative
reaction used when you refused to yield.

If you can link great ends with small beginnings,
and yet not brag, nor tag each copy sold,
If dialogue's more vital than piled winnings,
to trim the quill where will won't be short-sold,
If, ignorance ignored, your story's spinnings
creates a pot no Potter has outsold,
yet you can fi[e]nd the flaw, to fresh beginnings
return to steer towards horizons bold.

If you can write without cash motivation,
self-righteousness avoiding like the plague,
create consensus round an innovation
embraced by all without appearing vague,
If you can span from logic to emotion
set constant course from vested interests clear,
If you can ban all untoward commotion,
while conscience clings to all that it holds dear,

If you can set the good within you flowing
without the itch to pitch beyond kitsch brink,
If you can give the nod and wink while knowing
that mental states aren't always in the pink,
If you use inner kinks to keep on growing
without denying others' right to think,
If you continue for tomorrow sowing
refusing using methods now that stink.

If you can lead lead soldiers Caxton crafted
without kowtow before cold compromise,
If neither editor nor public shafted
the output that your inner soul supplies,
If you can improvise, provide redrafted
communication keyed to catalyze,
you'll find to your surprise that you have rafted
alone on conscious stream your just dream buys.

Writers' Real Mirror Reflection Reel
With inside out, and out, surprised, inside,
When penning verse whose end may, too, begin it,
When rhyming reel with real can coincide
Your's is the world and everything that's in it.
If you can write without cash motivation,
Self-righteousness avoiding like the plague,
Create consensus round an innovation
Embraced by all without appearing vague.
If you can scan, span logic to emotion
Set constant course from vested interests clear,
If you can ban all untoward commotion,
While conscience clings to all that it holds dear,
If rhymes may improvise, spurn prose redrafted,
Communication key to catalyze,
You'll find to your surprise that you have rafted
On stream it seems when wit reverse dream tries.

On stream it seems when wit reverse dream tries
You'll find to your surprise that you have rafted
Communication key to catalyze.
If rhyme may improvise, spurn prose redrafted
While conscience clings to all that it holds dear,
If you can ban all untoward commotion,
Set constant course from vested interests clear.
If you can scan span logic to emotion
Embraced by all without appearing vague,
Create consensus round an innovation,
Self-righteousness avoiding like the plague,
If you can write without cash motivation,
Your's is the world and everything that's in it
When rhyming reel with real can coincide
When penning verse whose end may, too, begin it,
With inside out, and out, surprised, inside!

Cropped Apologies to Rudyard Kipling
If you can keep your crops when all the nation
rails, vain assailing creepy crawly bugs,
If you can thrive when most lives' reputation
is knocked for skittles, stumped by snails and slugs,
If you can sow, show though you stay surrounded
by failing harvests sere upon the stem,
where hopes unfounded, speculations grounded,
face farmers who through jealousy condemn.

If greenhouse gases can't delay your planting,
with fallow Brussels' edicts all ignored,
If CO² you compensate by chanting
an incantation to the heavens poured.
If snail trails slip upon your sensor networks,
if nano tech protects your fields' high yield
which on the Futures markets harvests net perks
that from the tax collector stay concealed.

If you can fight Monsanto's sterile sowing,
deny blight warnings, nor fear climate change,
if cash in hand exceeds debts most's greed's owing,
if you're the early bird with worms in range,
If you free farm through seasons, thank your maker
from man's pollution, safe solution find,
yours is the race, you, ace, may need pacemaker
for luck can turn, earn bridges burned behind.

Advice to an Applicant
If you can back your boss and keep on smiling,
while toning down his brash absurdities,
if, having watched the man manhandle filing,
you rearrange the folders pretty please,
if coy and charming, beautiful, beguiling,
anticipating all contingencies,
you manage new accounts, contacts redialling,
correct crass spelling, cover vagaries...

If you can keep your head while he's resiling,
evolve successful counter-strategies,
if ‘mum's the word', discrete, ignoring tyling,
from busy-bodies safe when he agrees.
If you can spend your time in reconciling
his intellectual inanities,
never upset his fragile ego, heiling
whene'er he feels the need, or profits sneeze...

If Windows easy comes, while modem dialing
to DSL migration's not a tease,
if firewall free from viruses hostiling
you clean can keep, recalling password keys,
if the above you show him recompiling
the data lost when he lacks expertise, -
yet know your place as cypher, never riling,
remembering to bow before ‘big cheese'...

If you can stand him publicly reviling
your good ideas, then claim them his with ease,
can watch while rival's ruin he's compiling
so coldly that a lizard's blood would freeze.
If when betrayed by his ambitious wiling
you triumph through innate abilities,
ignoring basic scheming, baser guiling,
you seize the precious point he never sees! ...

If you won't blush when, rash, he'll rush, exiling
your intuitions as freak fantasies,
but confidently while free-time he's whiling,
circumvent his incapacities.
Surpassing him in brains, tact, versatiling,
you never strive to swap your salaries,
but both feet on the ground, still patient, smiling,
can counteract his incoherencies...

If you are sure his image needs restyling,
select the suits that suit down to the tees,
if you are ever ready camomiling,
or sprinkling sugar, creaming, coffee, teas,
if you can trick his wayward infantiling
and censure not his immaturities,
ignore his clumsy tries at fond defling,
yet fondled, tactful, rise from off his knees...

If you take three degrees while reconciling
your private life to further Ph.D.'s,
if you can children bear without work piling
and keep them free from trouble and disease,
if you can spring his quick promotion - vile thing -
and play the game of happy families...
Your's is the job, the rest's cosmetic styling,
Oh prized princess and pride of... secret'ries!

A l'assistante de l'Indirection
Si tu peux supporter de voir tes dossiers
démolis sans souffler mot et puis reclasser,
si tu sais appuyer partout ton PDG
sans sceptique rester quant à ses qualités...

Si tu souris, beauté, sans être emmerdante,
si vive mais jamais surprise, impatiente,
le soutenant quand des contresens fous l'enchantent,
ses lubies supporter sans paroles tranchantes...

Si tu sais sans délais t'adapter au progrès,
les autres anticiper, sans jamais hésiter,
bien le préparer avec de bons conseils,
des envieux protéger ton patron hébété...

Très expérimentée, mais sans prendre de l'age,
compréhensive aider avec ses rattrapages
sans pourtant mériter accéder aux voyages
‘d'études' et aux congrès, - ces minables volages!

Si tu sais lui montrer se servir du clavier,
aux réseaux si primés vite se connecter,
de l'Internet cliquer sur l'intranet branché,
son PC débugger sans jamais se broncher...

Si sa peur du souris, du clic-clic, du mulot
tu peux sans interdits dépasser au boulot,
à ses flagrants délits trouver tout ce qu'il faut,
si tu ses buts poursuis en soufflant le bon mot...

Si tu sais compenser l'orthographe qu'il perd,
scanner, penser, noter, téléphoner, tout faire,
son planning programmer, sans être trop mémère,
le soutenir, si gaie, quand son coeur désespère...

Si tu peux accoucher à l'heure du dîner,
tes enfants élever tous en bonne santé,
ton patron remplacer - ronronnant au soleil -
sans pour autant rêver qu'on t'accorde sa paye.

Si tu sors d'H.E.C. sans prétendre à la gloire,
Sciences Po, c'est fait, sans en faire une histoire,
ou Enarque tu es, faisant dans ton pouvoir
le tout pour manier les re(i) nes du Pouvoir.

Lors mieux qu'homme d'affaires, ou chef de cabinet
mieux que tous ces experts si souvent égarés,
tu seras à tout faire une bonne rêvée,
mieux que mère, sacrée ASSISTANTE tu es!

If
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on';

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!
Rudyard Kipling 1865_1936


Biff! The same father to the same son, now grown up.

If you can keep your job when all about you
Are losing theirs (by cutting down of screw) :
If you can keep yourself - for, make no doubt you
Won't get allowance, just for you to blue.
If you can make a heap by all your winnings
Risked on outsiders backed at Kempton Park,
Don't think that you will always get your innings
And kiss your boss's daughter in the dark.

If you should risk promotion, aught should tempt ye,
Eyeing the safe when all the staff have gone,
And, jemmying it open, find it empty,
And hear the watchman growl to you, ‘Hold on! '
If you should fill the unforgiving ‘minutes'
With names of all the people you have ‘done, '
Yours is the gaol, and everything that's in ti,
And, what is more, you'll get six months, my son.
Rachel Ferguson Nymphs and Satires 1932

A London Sparrow's IF
If you c'n keep alive when li'l bleeders
Come arter t' wi' catapults an' stones;
If you c'n grow up unpertickler feeders,
An' live on rugidge, crumbs, an' ‘addock bones;
If you c'n nest up in the bloomin' gutters,
An' dodge the blinkin' tabby on the tiles;
Nip under wheels an' never git the flutters,
Wear brahn an' no bright-coloured fevver-styles;
If you ain't blown b'nippers (Cor, I'd skin ‘me!) :
Stop y'r shells nah, warm-like, under me;
Yous is the eggs an' everyfink ‘at's in ‘em -
An' when they ‘atch, yor be cock-sparrers, see?
J A LINDON

If You can Keep Your Man
If You can Keep Your Man when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
Avert a break-up when he starts to doubt you,
Without behaving like a tart or shrew;

If you can bake a cake or change a nappy,
Although you've got a good Redbrick degree,
And yet can say you're reasonably happy
When other graduate wives dropp in for tea;

If you can lose yourself inTo the Lighthouse',
Yet, changing books, seek first the Thriller shelf,
If you can laugh at Mrs. Mary Whitehouse,
But sometimes wince at Wednesday Plays yourself;

If you stand up for Women's Liberation,
Think sex equality long overdue,
Yet purr when men evince consideration
And in a bus or train stand up for you;

If you can be a protest march frequenter,
But sometimes think the marchers a bit queer,
Yet, spite of everything, stay left of centre,
Oh, well, who knows? You may be right, my dear.
Stanley Sharpless

If You Can Crush
If you can crush, when all your chums are cribbing,
The urge that beckons you to do the same;
Can keep your tongue from telling tales or fibbing,
And can, when others err, take all the blame.

If you can nurse a crush on dear Miss Withers,
Yet bully off with just one silent tear;
Be resolute when even Matron dithers,
And weld the House together with a cheer.

If you can foil the fiendish Russian spy-ring,
Who've ‘got a hold' upon the Head (the swine!)
And by example selfless and inspiring,
Can make those ghastly Juniors toe the line.

If you while staying virgo quite intacta,
Can scoff at those who label you a prude;
And, when you leave, can know you've never slacked or
(Except to Ma'moiselle) been flip or rude.

If you can scale such pinnacles of virtue
And earn your teachers' praises as ‘a brick',
The truth, dear girl, (I do so hate to hurt you) -
The simple truth, dear Daphne, is you're thick!
Martin Fagg

IF
If you can stand the Quest and all her antics
When all around you turn somersaults upon her deck;
And go aloft when no one has told you
And not fall down and break your blooming neck;

If you can work like Wild and also like Wuzzles
Spend a convivial night with some old bean,
And then come down and meet the Boss at breakfast
And never breathe a word of where you've been.

If you can fill the port and starboard bunkers
With fourteen tons of coal; and call it fun;
Yours is the ship and everything that's in it
And you're a marvel; not a man my son.
Ernest H Shackleton

(28 July 2007)

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You Can Never Go Home

I dont know what Im searching for
I never have opened the door,
Tomorrow might find me at last,
Turning my back on the past,
But, time will tell, of stars that fell,
A million years ago.
Memories can never take you back, home, sweet home.
You can never go home anymore.
All my life I never really knew me till today,
Now I know why, Im just another step along the way,
I lie awake for hours, Im just waiting for the sun.
When the journey we are making has begun,
Dont deny the feeling that is stealing through your heart,
Every happy ending needs to have a start.
All my life I never really knew me till today,
Now I know why, Im just another step along the way,
Weep no more for treasures youve been searching for in vain.
cos the truth is gently falling with the rain,
High above the forest lie the pastures of the sun,
Where the two that learned the secret are now one.
I dont know what Im searching for
I never have opened the door,
Tomorrow might find me at last,
Turning my back on the past,
But, time will tell, of stars that fell,
A million years ago.
Memories can never take you back, home, sweet home.
You can never go home anymore.

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Just like me

im sitting here writing this crying
my soul inside me is dying
why oh why is it dying
i just felt sad all of a sudden

what is wrong with me i didnt feel this way earlier
this moring i was fine i felt the joy
but i sapose that now im a child without a toy
i dont know what brought it on tell me god why?

what is happening to me i feel alone
my heart isnt a organ it is a stone
it isnt envy or guilt or even love
no love that is a strange thing isnt it you can lose it so easy

but it wasnt any of those things at all
i just feel alone like i no longer have a home
each morning i feel like i slept on a floor
and each day i look up i am alone so i have to moan

im mean i think all of this is because of love
i mean have you ever been in love cause well i am
for you have you had a turtle dove
i bet for you it turned out good

then have our hearts broken
by the ones we love
so i wrote this because of my love this is a token
you can use this wisely and shape your life around it

and all though i told you your heart is still as cold as snow
for me you dont want to know
so i will search for someone else
someone else who is like my self

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You Can't Lose At Love (Crush Demo)

You can lose at cards
You can lose your keys
You can lose the house or lose the lease
You can lose your car, you can lose the race
You can lose your mind or lose your faith
Take a look around and hear what I've gotta say
You can't lose at love
No, you can't lose at love
You can't lose at love
You can't lose at love
Chose anything you can dream of
No, you can't lose at love
We could lose the plot
Or we could lose our way
But I ain't going to lose
These ain't good games we're playing
Let me make you an offer too good to refuse
No, you can't lose at love
No, you can't lose at love
You can't lose at love
You can't lose at love
Chose anything you can dream of
But you can't lose at love
Now we just might roll a seven, these ain't loaded dice
We'll never get to heaven from this driveway tonight
You've heard a million promises that's never come through
Baby I'm telling you we're due
You can't lose at love
You can't lose at love
Chose anything you can dream of
But baby, you can't lose at love
Take a chance on me
Cause you can't lose at love
Take a chance on me
No, you can't lose at love
Take a chance on me
You can't lose at love
No, you can't lose at love
You can't lose at love
You can't lose
You can't lose

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You Can't Lose Me

Oooh
Yeah yeah
You can't lose me
You can lose your faith in loving
You can lose the will to trust, you'll see
You can't lose me
You can lose control let loose your senses
Lose your strength lose your defenses
You'll see, you'll see, you'll see
You can't lose me
You can't lose me cause I'm not leaving
You can't lose me cause I won't go
I'm gonna be there like a shadow you won't ever be alone
I'll be the sun that shines above you
All around you everywhere
I'll be there
You can lose your way, lose your possessions
Lose your mind and lose direction
You'll see, you'll see, you'll see
You can't lose me
You can't lose me cause I'm not leaving
You can't lose me cause I won't go
I'm gonna be there like a shadow you won't ever be alone
I'll be the sun that shines upon you
All around you everywhere
I'll be there
You can lose your way, lose your possessions
Lose your mind and lose direction
You'll see, you'll see, you'll see
You can't lose me
You can lose your faith
You can lose your way
I'm gonna be there
This will never change
No no no no no
You can't lose me
You can lose your faith
You can lose your way
I'm gonna be there
This will never change
Oh yeah
You can't lose me...lose me

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Shoot For The Benefit Of Man

The gun does not make you a hero.
The flag you bear, does not give you an automatic right.
To shoot anyone you see fit,
Anyone you catch on sight.

A murder is a murder,
No matter what your general tells you so.
Are you prepared for the bloodshed?
Can you handle the families woe?

Yes, if there were any other way.
We would have tried it by now.
The gun gives you a godly power,
your word is law, with the final blow.

But do not shoot for the love of power,
Do not shoot just because you can.
Shoot because you have to.
Shoot for the benefit of all man.

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For The Love Of Man

For the love of man

For the love of man, he gave his life
For the love of man, he took no wife.
He started preaching at a very young age, for gods spirit
Was embedded in his soul, and the words he spoke
Were the words he was told.
People gathered around him to hear what he had to say
Some would leave, but most would stay.
He had such beautiful eyes that would put you in a trance
It would make you so happy, that you felt you had to dance.
The people were overwhelmed with the feelings that they had inside.
They would fall to the ground, and just begin to cry.
He had such love and compassion for his fellow man
And with everyone around him-they all did understand.
He grew into manhood still preaching the word of GOD.
And picked his twelve apostles, which he knew he had to do.
For these were the ones, that would have to follow through.
They would continue to carry the words and miracles that he had done.
And it spread like wildfire under the setting sun.
But unknown to the apostles, they were also blessed
For their belief and love passed the final test.
Whenever they spoke of JESUS, a miracle was left behind.
The sightless gained sight, the crippled began to walk
The deaf began to hear, and the mutes began to talk.
All of this started because the love of man.
This is all GOD wanted, for us to take a stand.

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The Miseries of Man

1 In that so temperate Soil Arcadia nam'd,
1 For fertile Pasturage by Poets fam'd;
2 Stands a steep Hill, whose lofty jetting Crown,
3 Casts o'er the neighbouring Plains, a seeming Frown;
4 Close at its mossie Foot an aged Wood,
5 Compos'd of various Trees, there long has stood,
6 Whose thick united Tops scorn the Sun's Ray,
7 And hardly will admit the Eye of Day.
8 By oblique windings through this gloomy Shade,
9 Has a clear purling Stream its Passage made,
10 The Nimph, as discontented seem'd t'ave chose
11 This sad Recess to murmur forth her Woes.

12 To this Retreat, urg'd by tormenting Care,
13 The melancholly Cloris did repair,
14 As a fit Place to take the sad Relief
15 Of Sighs and Tears, to ease oppressing Grief.
16 Near to the Mourning Nimph she chose a Seat,
17 And these Complaints did to the Shades repeat.


18 Ah wretched, trully wretched Humane Race!
19 Your Woes from what Beginning shall I trace,
20 Where End, from your first feeble New-born Cryes,
21 To the last Tears that wet your dying Eyes?
22 Man, Common Foe, assail'd on ev'ry hand,
23 Finds that no Ill does Neuter by him stand,
24 Inexorable Death, Lean Poverty,
25 Pale Sickness, ever sad Captivity.
26 Can I, alas, the sev'ral Parties name,
27 Which, muster'd up, the Dreadful Army frame?
28 And sometimes in One Body all Unite,
29 Sometimes again do separately fight:
30 While sure Success on either Way does waite,
31 Either a Swift, or else a Ling'ring Fate.

32 But why 'gainst thee, O Death! should I inveigh,
33 That to our Quiet art the only way?
34 And yet I would (could I thy Dart command)
35 Crie, Here O strike! and there O hold thy Hand!
36 The Lov'd, the Happy, and the Youthful spare,
37 And end the Sad, the Sick, the Poor Mans Care.
38 But whether thou or Blind, or Cruel art,
39 Whether 'tis Chance, or Malice, guides thy Dart,
40 Thou from the Parents Arms dost pull away
41 The hopeful Child, their Ages only stay:
42 The Two, whom Friendship in dear Bands hs ty'd,
43 Thou dost with a remorseless hand devide;
44 Friendship, the Cement, that does faster twine
45 Two Souls, than that which Soul and Body joyn:
46 Thousands have been, who their own Blood did spill,
47 But never any yet his Friend did kill.
48 Then 'gainst thy Dart what Armour can be found,
49 Who, where thou do'st not strike, do'st deepest wound?
50 Thy Pitty, than thy Wrath's more bitter far,
51 Most cruel, where 'twould seem the most to spare:
52 Yet thou of many Evils art but One,
53 Though thou by much too many art alone.

54 What shall I say of Poverty, whence flows?
55 To miserable Man so many Woes?
56 Rediculous Evil which too oft we prove,
57 Does Laughter cause, where it should Pitty move;
58 Solitary Ill, into which no Eye,
59 Though ne're so Curious, ever cares to pry,
60 And were there, 'mong such plenty, onely One
61 Poor Man, he certainly would live alone.

62 Yet Poverty does leave the Man entire,
63 But Sickness nearer Mischiefs does conspire;
64 Invades the Body with a loath'd Embrace,
65 Prides both its Strength, and Beauty to deface;
66 Nor does it Malice in these bounds restrain,
67 But shakes the Throne of Sacred Wit, the Brain,
68 And with a ne're enough detested Force
69 Reason disturbs, and turns out of its Course.
70 Again, when Nature some Rare Piece has made,
71 On which her Utmost Skill she seems t'ave laid,
72 Polish't, adorn'd the Work with moving Grace,
73 And in the Beauteous Frame a Soul doth place,
74 So perfectly compos'd, it makes Divine
75 Each Motion, Word, and Look from thence does shine;
76 This Goodly Composition, the Delight
77 Of ev'ry Heart, and Joy of ev'ry sight,
78 Its peevish Malice has the Power to spoyle,
79 And with a Sully'd Hand its Lusture soyle.
80 The Grief were Endless, that should all bewaile,
81 Against whose sweet Repose thou dost prevail:
82 Some freeze with Agues, some with Feavers burn,
82 Whose Lives thou half out of their Holds dost turn;
83 And of whose Sufferings it may be said,
84 They living feel the very State o' th' Dead.
85 Thou in a thousand sev'ral Forms are drest,
86 And in them all dost Wretched Man infest.

87 And yet as if these Evils were too few,
88 Men their own Kind with hostile Arms pursue;
89 Not Heavens fierce Wrath, nor yet the Hate of Hell,
90 Not any Plague that e're the World befel,
91 Not Inundations, Famines, Fires blind rage,
92 Did ever Mortals equally engage,
93 As Man does Man, more skilful to annoy,
94 Both Mischievous and Witty to destroy.
95 The bloody Wolf, the Wolf doe not pursue;
96 The Boar, though fierce, his Tusk will not embrue
97 In his own Kind, Bares, not on Bares do prey:
98 Then art thou, Man, more savage far than they.

99 And now, methinks, I present do behold
100 The Bloudy Fields that are in Fame enroll'd,
101 I see, I see thousands in Battle slain,
102 The Dead and Dying cover all the Plain,
103 Confused Noises hear, each way sent out,
104 The Vanquishts Cries joyn'd with the Victors shout;
105 Their Sighs and Groans whho draw a painful Breath,
106 And feel the Pangs of slow approaching Death:
107 Yet happier these, far happier are the Dead,
108 Than who into Captivity are led:
109 What by their Chains, and by the Victors Pride,
110 We pity these, and envy those that dy'd.
111 And who can say, when Thousands are betray'd,
112 To Widdowhood, Orphants or Childless made.
113 Whither the Day does draw more Tears or Blood
114 A greater Chrystal, or a Crimson Floud.
115 The faithful Wife, who late her Lord did Arm,
116 And hop'd to shield, by holy Vows, from Harm,
117 Follow'd his parting-steps with Love and Care,
118 Sent after weeping Eyes, while he afar
119 Rod heated on, born by a brave Disdain,
120 May now go seek him, lying 'mong the Slain:
121 Low on the Earth she'l find his lofty Crest,
122 And those refulgent Arms which late his Breast
123 Did guard, by rough Encounters broke and tore,
124 His Face and Hair, with Brains all clotted ore.
125 And Warlike Weeds besmeer'd with Dust and Gore.

126 And will the Suffering World never bestow
127 Upon th'Accursed Causers of such Woe,
128 A vengeance that may parallel their Loss,
129 Fix Publick Thieves and Robbers on the Cross?
130 Such as call Ruine, Conquest, in their Pride,
131 And having plagu'd Mankind, in Triumph ride.
132 Like that renounced Murder who staines
133 In these our days Alsatias fertile Plains,
134 Only to fill the future Tomp of Fame,
135 Though greater Crimes, than Glory it proclame.
136 Alcides, Scourge of Thieves, return to Earth,
137 Which uncontrolled gives such Monsters birth;
138 On Scepter'd-Cacus let thy Power be shown,
139 Pull him not from his Den, but from his Throne.

140 Clouds of black Thoughts her further Speech here broke,
141 Her swelling Grief too great was to be spoke,
142 Which strugl'd long in her tormented Mind,
143 Till it some Vent by Sighs and Tears did find.
144 And when her Sorrow something was subdu'd,
145 She thus again her sad Complaint renewed.

146 Most Wretched Man, were th'Ills I nam'd before
147 All which I could in thy sad State deplore,
148 Did Things without alone 'gainst thee prevail,
149 My Tongue I'de chide, that them I did bewaile:
150 But, Shame to Reason, thou are seen to be
151 Unto thy self the fatall'st Enemy,
152 Within thy Breast the Greatest Plagues to bear,
153 First them to breed, and then to cherish there;
154 Unmanag'd Passions which the Reins have broke
155 Of Reason, and refuse to bear its Yoke.
156 But hurry thee, uncurb'd, from place to place,
157 A wild, unruly, and an Uncouth Chace.
158 Now cursed Gold does lead the Man astray,
159 False flatt'ring Honours do anon betray,
160 Then Beauty does as dang'rously delude,
161 Beauty, that vanishes, while 'tis pursu'd,
162 That, while we do behold it, fades away,
163 And even a Long Encomium will not stay.

164 Each one of these can the Whole Man employ,
165 Nor knows he anger, sorrow, fear, or joy,
166 But what to these relate; no Thought does start
167 Aside, but tends to its appointed Part,
168 No Respite to himself from Cares he gives,
169 But on the Rack of Expectation lives.
170 If crost, the Torment cannot be exprest,
171 Which boyles within his agitated Breast.
172 Musick is harsh, all Mirth is an offence,
173 The Choicest Meats cannot delight his Sense,
174 Hard as the Earth he feels his Downy Bed,
175 His Pillow stufft with Thornes, that bears his Head,
176 He rolls from side to side, in vain seeks Rest;
177 For if sleep come at last to the Distrest,
178 His Troubles then cease not to vex him too,
179 But Dreams present, what does waking do.
180 On th'other side, if he obtains the Prey,
181 And Fate to his impetuous Sute gives way,
182 Be he or Rich, or Amorous, or Great,
183 He'll find this Riddle still of a Defeat,
184 That only Care, for Bliss, he home has brought,
185 Or else Contempt of what he so much sought.
186 So that on each Event if we reflect,
187 The Joys and Sufferings of both sides collect,
188 We cannot say where lies the greatest Pain,
189 In the fond Pursuit, Loss, or Empty Gain.

190 And can it be, Lord of the Sea and Earth,
191 Off-spring of Heaven, that to thy State and Birth
192 Things so incompatible should be joyn'd,
193 Passions should thee confound, to Heaven assign'd?
194 Passions that do the Soul unguarded lay,
195 And to the strokes of Fortune ope' a way.
196 Were't not that these thy Force did from thee take,
197 How bold, how brave Resistance would'st thou make?
198 Defie the Strength and Malice of thy Foes,
199 Unmoved stand the Worlds United Blows?
200 For what is't, Man, unto thy Better Part,
201 That thou or Sick, or Poor, or Captive art?
202 Since no Material Stroke the Soul can feel,
203 The smart of Fire, or yet the Edge of Steel.
204 As little can it Worldly Joys partake,
205 Though it the Body does its Agent make,
206 And joyntly with it Servile Labour bear,
207 For Things, alas, in which it cannot share.
208 Surveigh the Land and Sea by Heavens embrac't,
209 Thou'lt find no sweet th'Immortal Soul can tast:
210 Why dost thou then, O Man! thy self torment
211 Good here to gain, or Evils to prevent?
212 Who only Miserable or Happy art,
213 As thou neglects, or wisely act'st thy Part.

214 For shame then rouse thy self as from a Sleep,
215 The long neglected Reins let Reason keep,
216 The Charret mount, and use both Lash and Bit,
217 Nobly resolve, and thou wilt firmly sit:
218 Fierce Anger, boggling Fear, Pride prauncing still,
219 Bound-hating Hope, Desire which nought can fill,
220 Are stubborn all, but thou may'st give them Law;
221 Th'are hard-Mouth'd Horses, but they well can draw.
222 Lash on, and the well govern'd Charret drive,
223 Till thou a Victor at the Goal arrrive,
224 Where the free Soul does all her burden leave,
225 And Joys commensurate to her self receive.

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The Brotherhood Of Man

How few have asked and understood!
'Who needs a helping hand? '
I pray you'll help the brotherhood,
The Brotherhood of Man...

What use is wisdom without love
Or skills left on the shelf?
Lift up your hearts to God above
And live not for yourself...

Instead, move on! Leave your cocoon!
Ask 'How? ' instead of 'Why? '
Release the beauty and you'll soon
Become a butterfly!

Man's apathy increases strife!
Each man should do his best!
The good works that we do in life
Go in God's treasure chest!

Through our examples, others learn
And train as volunteers...
Then with God's people they'll discern
The purpose of their years...

Let's see if you have understood!
'Who needs a helping hand? '
I pray you'll help the brotherhood,
The Brotherhood of Man...

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The Four Faced Man

I should have acted like a King
With you being the Queen
Instead I was a dictator
I acted very mean
I should have been a warrior
Fighting for what was right
Instead I was a destroyer
Killing everything in site
I should have been a lover
I had your heart to hold
But my words they were so critical
My actions were so cold
I treated you like an enemy
When I should have been your friend
I only looked out for myself
When on me you did depend
I showed the wrong four faces
Your village I brought down
Now that I know, I understand
Why you don't want me around
I know what it is I have to do
Your love and respect I'll earn
And be the proper four-faced man
When I do return
Like a true King I will lead you
And like a Warrior I will fight
A lover that will cherish you
And a friend that will treat you right

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An Ode to the Heart of Man

An Ode to the Heart of Man
by Alex Lewis

An ode to the heart of man:
Man has lost the goodness in his soul.
It means nothing: yes we can.
The earth does cringe as overflows the badness in the bowl.
We had helped others before,
But now we greed and care for none other than our own.
Oh, man! You are whom I had adore.
Evil corrupts the good heart of man. I have been shown.
Help your brother and your brother will help thee,
But you ignore me. Help yourself and you'll help nobody.
An ode to the heart of man that's been destroyed by we,
The ones who have abandoned peace and hope. Help me to help thee.
I plead for you, but you have cut out my heart!
For what? What do you show for your murder?
Nothing! Man is SO evil. You can see it sans chart!
Yet, we create false hope and false light.
The day of GOOD WILL HATH SUNK into night.
I pity you. You haven't even made a fight.
You have all accepted the killing of man.
An ode to his heart that ended once it began.

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The Life of Man

The world's a bubble; and the life of man less than a span.
In his conception wretched; from the womb so to the tomb:
Curst from the cradle, and brought up to years, with cares and fears.
Who then to frail mortality shall trust,
But limns the water, or but writes in dust.
Yet, since with sorrow here we live oppress'd, what life is best?
Courts are but only superficial schools to dandle fools:
The rural parts are turn'd into a den of savage men:
And where's a city from all vice so free,
But may be term'd the worst of all the three?

Domestic cares afflict the husband's bed, or pains his head:
Those that live single, take it for a curse, or do things worse:
Some would have children; those that have them none; or wish them gone.
What is it then to have no wife, but single thralldom or a double strife?
Our own affections still at home to please, is a disease:
To cross the sea to any foreign soil, perils and toil:
Wars with their noise affright us: when they cease,
We are worse in peace:
What then remains, but that we still should cry,
Not to be born, or being born, to die.

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The Least You Can Do

I was lying awake last night, waiting for your call
But if the rumours are true, that wont bother you at all
Im trying hard to understand
What it takes to be your man
Now I dont have to wonder anymore
Least you can do is say youre sorry
Least you can do is give me back my heart
Just give me back my heart
Seems living in hope was wrong those years I was away
Thinking your letters, I never received, had gone astray
You said youd always be there for me
Like a fool I thought youd be
Now I dont know what I was thinking at all
But the least you can do is say youre sorry girl
Least you can do is give me back my heart
I wont come around no more
You wont find me standing outside your door
Least you can do is tell me why, tell me why
The least you can do is say youre sorry girl
Least you can do is give me back my heart
I wont come around no more
You wont find me standing outside your door
But the least you can do is tell me why
I wont be your fool anymore
Theres no need to be cruel anymore no, no
Least you can do is say youre sorry girl
The least you can do is give me back my heart .just give me back my heart

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You Can't Get A Man With A Gun

Oh, my mother was frightened by a shotgun they say
That's why I'm such a wonderful shot
I'd be out in the cactus and I'd practice all day
And now tell me what have I got
I'm quick on the trigger
With targets not much bigger
Than a pinpoint - I'm number one
But my score with a feller
Is lower than a cellar
Oh, you can't get a man with a gun
When I'm with a pistol
I sparkle like a crystal
Yes, I shine like the morning sun
But I lose all my luster
When with a bronco buster
Oh, you can't get a man with a gun
With a gu-un
With a gu-un
No, you can't get a man with a gun
If I went to battle
With someone's herd of cattle
You'd have steak when the job was done
But if I shot the herder
They'd holler bloody murder
And you can't shoot a male
In the tail
Like a quail
Oh, you can't get a man with a gun
[2]
If I shot a rabbit
Some furrier would grab it
For a coat that would warm someone
But you can't shoot a lover
And use him for a cover
Oh, you can't get a man with a gun
The gals with umbrellers
Are always out with fellers
In the rain or the blazing sun
But a man never trifles
With gals who carry rifles
Oh, you can't get a man with a gun
With a gu-un
With a gu-un
No, you can't get a man with a gun
A Tom, Dick or Harry
Will build a house for Carrie
When the preacher has made them one
But he can't build you houses
With buckshot in his trousers
For a man may be hot
But he's not
When he's shot
Oh, you can't get a man with a gun

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The Shame of Going Back

When you've come to make a fortune and you haven't made your salt,
And the reason of your failure isn't anybody's fault -
When you haven't got a billet, and the times are very slack,
There is nothing that can spur you like the shame of going back;
Crawling home with empty pockets,
Going back hard-up;
Oh! it's then you learn the meaning of humiliation's cup.

When the place and you are strangers and you struggle all alone,
And you have a mighty longing for the town where you are known;
When your clothes are very shabby and the future's very black,
There is nothing that can hurt you like the shame of going back.

When we've fought the battle bravely and are beaten to the wall,
'Tis the sneers of men, not conscience, that make cowards of us all;
And the while you are returning, oh! your brain is on the rack,
And your heart is in the shadow of the shame of going back.

When a beaten man's discovered with a bullet in his brain,
They POST-MORTEM him, and try him, and they say he was insane;
But it very often happens that he'd lately got the sack,
And his onward move was owing to the shame of going back.

Ah! my friend, you call it nonsense, and your upper lip is curled,
I can see that you have never worked your passage through the world;
But when fortune rounds upon you and the rain is on the track,
You will learn the bitter meaning of the shame of going back;
Going home with empty pockets,
Going home hard-up;
Oh, you'll taste the bitter poison in humiliation's cup.

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The Blind Couple And The Close Minded Man

a couple born blind at birth, decided that they would marry
and a child they wanted to carry.
when an acquaintance of a friend
began to question such an affair.
he had to question them, he did not care.

how can you marry one another?
when you can't even see each other?
how do you know if your partner
is a beauty or a beast?
and any children that you have
may come out the same as you.
living in darkness, is that what you
want for them too?

the blind couple holding hands, and smiles
on their faces, walked over to him.
the woman asked if she could touch him?
and he agreed.
she touched the features of his face
his hair, his shoulders, and leaned
over and inhaled deeply.

she stepped back, and in a soft gentle voice said:
you are a man 5'11' in height
but you have no clue- no insight.
by your features of your face
your looks are quite fine
your face narrows down to your chin
telling me you are slim.

the mark on the bridge of your nose
tells me that you wear glasses too.

the smell from your body, tells me that
you are a nervous person, and always on the move.
and the way you dress, makes you think
you're in the groove.

'shocked and dismayed, he did'nt know what to say'

she then said in that same tone.
because we are blind from our birth
does not mean we can not see.
we live in darkness, but love lights up our hearts.
and the other senses, we had from the start.

we do everything the same as you
and some things, we may do better too.

we dress ourselves, bathe, cook, clean the house too
and we know just what to do.
as for a child coming into our lives
and if the child will live in darkness
the same as us.
in GOD we put our trust.

embarassed and apologetic, he learned
a lesson that day.
LOVE AND FAITH, have no boundaries
and there is nothing that can not be overcome.
if you trust in the FATHERS SON.

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What You Can Be

Sometimes we can't be the one we want us to be,
The dream that we once mold will always be just dream
Hard work and patience, waiting for the time to see,
The outcome of hardships are never meant to be.

Most people do moan, complain and are feeling blue,
Taking everything as nonsense, no one is to be true.
Time that passes by is tiring and boring too,
Nothing was ever done and hollowness will do.

There are so much chaos, frustrations and strains,
Peace, contentment, happiness are hard to regain.
Sometimes it's simply not possible to get in,
Desperately needed someone just to be within.

But why do we stay in a world of nothingness,
Where you can't find the peace and real happiness
Stand, go out and explore, feel the air that blows,
Be the best, show yourself and ignore the flaws.

Gladden your heart, cleanse your thought, magnify your soul,
Soothe your mind, strengthen with the goodness of all.
Be with your friends, good or bad, please don't be annoyed,
Just be yourself, don't wear a mask and you'll enjoy.

Spark your day, be grateful that you have led a life,
Speak to God, hear Him and you will be inspired.
Earn lots of wisdom from the experience we found,
Boost your confidence and feel no fear around.

For us to have a happy life and peaceful spirit,
We do have to accept that all things, we can't get.
Dreams are to be broken for somebody's best.
Just be open minded, face the task to its greatest.

If you can't be the sun in the sky so blue
Because so much clouds are hiding you so.
Why can't be a comet that falls high and low,
Though you are rare to be seen you'll be magic to view.

We can't all be the flowers that bloom beautifully,
And be the center of attraction for the people to see.
Isn't it more important for you to become and be,
The roots that get water for the flowers to gleam.

Likewise, if I can't be the designer of bridge,
The engineer of buildings and homes to live.
I can be the caretaker of my children's lives,
The molder of their behavior and their desires.

So what's the use of dreaming when images are blurred,
It's better to stop reminiscing and just be tough.
Forget the impossible and be realistic enough,
For us to have peace of mind and be on the top.

Don't lose hope and have courage, still you can be,
Someone with purpose, be productive actively.
Though you stumbled and failed in fulfilling your dream,
Your goal is not to end up, now is the time to begin.

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The Legend Of The One-Eyed Man

Like Oedipus I am losing my sight.
Like Judas I have done my wrong.
Their punishment is over;
the shame and disgrace of it
are all used up.
But as for me,
look into my face
and you will know that crimes dropped upon me
as from a high building
and although I cannot speak of them
or explain the degrading details
I have remembered much
about Judas -
about Judas, the old and the famous -
that you overlooked.

The story of his life
is the story of mine.
I have one glass eye.
My nerves push against its painted surface
but the other one
waiting for judgment
continues to see . . .

Of course
the New Testament is very small.
Its mouth opens four times -
as out-of-date as a prehistoric monster,
yet somehow man-made
held together by pulleys
like the stone jaw of a back-hoe.
It gouges out the Judaic ground,
taking its own backyard
like a virgin daughter.

And furthermore how did Judas come into it -
that Judas Iscariot,
belonging to the tribe of Reuben?
He should have tried to lift him up there!
His neck like an iron pole,
hard as Newcastle,
his heart as stiff as beeswax,
his legs swollen and unmarked,
his other limbs still growing.
All of it heavy!
That dead weight that would have been his fault.
He should have known!

In the first place who builds up such ugliness?
I think of this man saying . . .
Look! Here's the price to do it
plus the cost of the raw materials
and if it took him three or four days
to do it, then, they'd understand.
They figured it weighed enough
to support a man. They said,
fifteen stone is the approximate weight
of a thief.

Its ugliness is a matter of custom.
If there was a mistake made
then the Crucifix was constructed wrong . . .
not from the quality of the pine,
not from hanging a mirror,
not from dropping the studding or the drill
but from having an inspiration.
But Judas was not a genius
or under the auspices of an inspiration.

I don't know whether it was gold or silver.
I don't know why he betrayed him
other than his motives,
other than the avaricious and dishonest man.
And then there were the forbidden crimes,
those that were expressly foretold,
and then overlooked
and then forgotten
except by me . . .
Judas had a mother
just as I had a mother.
Oh! Honor and relish the facts!
Do not think of the intense sensation
I have as I tell you this
but think only . . .

Judas had a mother.
His mother had a dream.
Because of this dream
he was altogether managed by fate
and thus he raped her.
As a crime we hear little of this.
Also he sold his God.

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The Sweet Little Man

DEDICATED TO THE STAY-AT-HOME RANGERS

Now, while our soldiers are fighting our battles,
Each at his post to do all that he can,
Down among rebels and contraband chattels,
What are you doing, my sweet little man?

All the brave boys under canvas are sleeping,
All of them pressing to march with the van,
Far from the home where their sweethearts are weeping;
What are you waiting for, sweet little man?

You with the terrible warlike mustaches,
Fit for a colonel or chief of a clan,
You with the waist made for sword-belts and sashes,
Where are your shoulder-straps, sweet little man?

Bring him the buttonless garment of woman!
Cover his face lest it freckle and tan;
Muster the Apron-String Guards on the Common,
That is the corps for the sweet little man!

Give him for escort a file of young misses,
Each of them armed with a deadly rattan;
They shall defend him from laughter and hisses,
Aimed by low boys at the sweet little man.

All the fair maidens about him shall cluster,
Pluck the white feathers from bonnet and fan,
Make him a plume like a turkey-wing duster,--
That is the crest for the sweet little man!

Oh, but the Apron-String Guards are the fellows
Drilling each day since our troubles began,--
'Handle your walking-sticks!' 'Shoulder umbrellas!'
That is the style for the sweet little man!

Have we a nation to save? In the first place
Saving ourselves is the sensible plan,--
Surely the spot where there's shooting's the worst place
Where I can stand, says the sweet little man.

Catch me confiding my person with strangers!
Think how the cowardly Bull-Runners ran!
In the brigade of the Stay-at-Home Rangers
Marches my corps, says the sweet little man.

Such was the stuff of the Malakoff-takers,
Such were the soldiers that scaled the Redan;
Truculent housemaids and bloodthirsty Quakers,
Brave not the wrath of the sweet little man!

Yield him the sidewalk, ye nursery maidens!
_Sauve qui peut_! Bridget, and right about! Ann;--
Fierce as a shark in a school of menhadens,
See him advancing, the sweet little man!

When the red flails of the battle-field's threshers
Beat out the continent's wheat from its bran,
While the wind scatters the chaffy seceshers,
What will become of our sweet little man?

When the brown soldiers come back from the borders,
How will he look while his features they scan?
How will he feel when he gets marching orders,
Signed by his lady love? sweet little man!

Fear not for him, though the rebels expect him,--
Life is too precious to shorten its span;
Woman her broomstick shall raise to protect him,
Will she not fight for the sweet little man?

Now then, nine cheers for the Stay-at-Home Ranger!
Blow the great fish-horn and beat the big pan!
First in the field that is farthest from danger,
Take your white-feather plume, sweet little man!

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