Part 22

How shall I go to Babylon? Who will tell me true? Oh, there are trains, and there are boats, And automobiles too.

And one may ride a bicycle, Or go in a balloon; Or one may travel on his feet And get there 'most as soon.

For trains go off the track, you see, And boats go down below; And automobiles go to smash In ways that none may know.

And tires of bicycles go pop, Balloons will go and balk, So taking all in all, I think If I were you, I'd walk.

Hark! Hark!

Hark, Hark the dogs do bark! The beggars have come to town. Some in rags, and some in tags, And some in velvet gowns.

Hear, hear, they're drawing near! Just hark to the tramp of feet! So haste about, set tables out, And get them food to eat.

Run, run, the turkey's done! I hope it is nicely dressed, For those who shirk and will not work Are sure to want the best.

There Was an Old Woman

"There was an old woman Who lived in a shoe, Who had so many children She didn't know what to do She gave them some broth Without any bread And whipped them all soundly And sent them to bed."

Now it happened that Santa Claus, Passing that way, Peeped into the shoe top And saw how they lay-- With their round, rosy faces All shining with tears, And resolved to do something To comfort the dears.

So while they were sleeping In woful array, He bundled those children Right into his sleigh; And cracking his whip As his reindeers sped forth, Away they all flew To his home in the North.

What wonders he showed them, Such beautiful toys! Such dolls for the girls, And such drums for the boys! Such farms and such stables, Such monkeys and bears, Such dishes and tables And tiny dolls' chairs!

And when they had seen All the wonderful things Which each winter, at Christmas, Dear Santa Claus brings, He gave them, to make Their enchantment complete, Just all of the candy And cake they could eat.

When they told of their travels, Their mother, it seems, Only laughed, and declared They were nothing but dreams. I am sure, though, things must Have occurred as they say, Else why were they, all of them, Ill the next day?

Humpty Dumpty

"Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the King's horses and all the King's men Couldn't put Humpty Dumpty together again."

I There he lay, stretched out on the ground, While all the company gathered around; When, valiantly stifling his tears and his groans, He sadly addressed them in quavering tones.

II "Friends," said Humpty, wiping his eyes, "This sudden descent was an awful surprise. It inclines me to think,--you may laugh at my views,-- That a seat that is humble is safest to choose.

III "All are not fitted to sit on a wall, Some have no balance, and some are too small; Many have tried it and found, as I guess, They've ended, like me, in a terrible mess.

IV "Hark, you horses, and all you king's men! Hear it, and never forget it again! 'Tis those who are patient in seats that are low, Who some day get up in high places and crow."

V Then they took him and put him to bed. I hope you'll remember the things that he said; For all the king's horses and all the king's men Never once thought of his sermon again.

The Queen of Hearts

"The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts All on a summer's day The Knave of Hearts, he stole those tarts And with them ran away. The King of Hearts called for the tarts And beat the Knave full sore. The Knave of Hearts brought back the tarts, And vowed he'd steal no more."

This noble queen, with mind serene, Then made a mammoth cake. The naughty knave for cake did crave, And off with it did make. The haughty king, for punishing, Would have him eat it all, Which made the knave--unhappy slave-- Too sick to speak or crawl.

Since then, at ease, their majesties Eat pastries every day. The knave affirms his stomach squirms, And looks the other way. Alas, alas, to such a pass Doth gluttony invite! 'Tis very sad to be so bad, And lose one's appetite.

Next day the queen, with lofty mien, Prepared some lovely pies. The feeble knave side-glances gave At them with longing eyes. The cruel king, with mocking fling, Said: "Do, now, have some pie!" The qualmish knave, no longer brave, Could only groan, "Not I."

One Misty Moisty Morning