Arthur Rodman’s “Jingles” Booklet-Pages 7-8

                    SUPPOSE

Suppose that all dishonest folk
Would cast aside their wolfish cloak,
And join their hands in earnest zeal
And all promote the common weal.

Suppose that they who cheat and lie
Would all such practices decry;
That men who now deceive their wives
Would try to live more upright lives.

Suppose that those who plot and scheme,
Whose lives are not just what they seem,
Who stoop to acts the soul to soil,
Would not disdain some honest toil.

Suppose that those who beat their way
Would all at once decide to pay–
The ones who say they will, and don’t–
The ones who can but simply won’t.

Suppose instead of war and strife,
When fiercest hatred now is rife,
All nations to peace would return,
And every gun and dreadnaught burn.

Suppose that good should reign supreme,
And every eye with love would beam.
BUT-Do you think that this can be,
With most men just like you and me?

(Or perhaps you look at it this way:)

Suppose that on some balmy night,
When moon and stars are shining bright,
There’d be a sign flashed from the sky
That all dishonest men should die.

There’d be no men to scheme and cheat,
The ends of justice to defeat.
This world a lonesome place, would be–
There’d be none left but you and me!

          REVERIES OF A MARRIED MAN

(My good wife is violently opposed to a speed of over about fifteen miles an hour. Sometimes I can “jolly” her into a little more. This one worked for a few minutes.)

I’m thinking of our courting days,
That sweet long time ago,
When every look and every word
Would set our hearts aglow.

Those happy days we’ll ne’er forget–
We would not if we could;
The days we strolled o’er hill and dale,
And in the shady wood.

We tripped along the roaring brook,
And crossed on fallen tree,
As happy as the birds that trilled
Their notes in joyous glee.

And then we roamed the meadows green,
And plucked the violets blue,
Altho I cared not for the flowers–
I cared for only you.

When oft we’d take an evening drive
Along the roads so fine,
We always had a trusty nag
That needed not a line.

We used to sit upon the porch
And hear the whippoorwill,
The cricket and the katydid,
Me thinks I hear them still.

When golden autumn day were gone,
And frost came in the air,
We’d sit beside the blazing grate
On that old rocking chair.

And after al1 these fleeting years,
The same old girl you are;
So now, my dear, please let me put
Some speed in this old car.

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