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Once more unbent the President,
With face grown sadly long,
And said, “How many more, if any,
Such verses has that song?”
With smile unchanged, the minstrel ranged
Four fingers and a thumb,
And said, “There'll be just ninety-three
More stanzas yet to come.”
With look of dread, the father said,
“You need not sing 'em here,
But get your man home, if you can,
Some time this coming year.”
Without a frown, James M. sat down,
Stripped of his vocal glory;
And then an old rough patriarch told
With face grown sadly long,
34
Such verses has that song?”
With smile unchanged, the minstrel ranged
Four fingers and a thumb,
And said, “There'll be just ninety-three
More stanzas yet to come.”
With look of dread, the father said,
“You need not sing 'em here,
But get your man home, if you can,
Some time this coming year.”
Without a frown, James M. sat down,
Stripped of his vocal glory;
And then an old rough patriarch told
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