A hundred years is a lot of living I’ve often thought. and I’ll know… Some day if the gods are good in g… And grant me to turn the century. Yet in all my eighty years of bein…

What do they matter, our headlong… Think ye our glory and gain will p… By the cheers of our Victory will… If by the Victory all we mean is… Is the pomp and power of a glitt’r…

Said President MacConnachie to T… “We ought to have a piper for our… Yon squakin’ saxophone gives me th… I’m sick of jazz, I want to hear… “Alas! it’s true,” said Tam MacC…

I was in Warsaw when the first bo… I was in Warsaw when the Terror c… Havoc and horror, famine, fear and… Blasting from loveliness a living… Barring the station towered a sent…

Moko, the Educated Ape is here, The pet of vaudeville, so the post… And every night the gaping people… To see him in his panoply appear; To see him pad his paunch with dai…

Your children grow from you apart, Afar and still afar; And yet it should rejoice your hea… To see how glad they are; In school and sport, in work and p…

Give me a cabin in the woods Where not a human soul intrudes; Where I can sit beside a stream Beneath a balsam bough and deam, And every morning see arise

The Shorter Catechism I burned my fingers on the stove And wept with bitterness; But poor old Auntie Maggie strove To comfort my distress.

My Lady is dancing so lightly, The belle of the Embassy Ball; I lied as I kissed her politely, And hurried away from it all. I’m taxiing up to Montmartre,

I bought a young and lovely bride, Paying her father gold; Lamblike she rested by my side, As cold as ice is cold. No love in her could I awake,

With barbwire hooch they filled hi… Till he was drunker than all hell, And then they peddled him the bull About a claim they had to sell. A thousand bucks they made him pay…

I never could imagine God: I don’t suppose I ever will. Beside His altar fire I nod With senile drowsiness but still In old of age as sight grows dim

Of all the boys with whom I fough… In Africa and Sicily, Bill was the bravest of the lot In our dare—devil Company. That lad would rather die than yie…

We bore him to his boneyard lot One afternoon at three; The clergyman was on the spot To earn his modest fee. We sprinkled on his coffin ld