A little book of tribune verse A number of hitherto uncollected poems, grave and gay |
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THE AWFUL FATE OF LITTLE JIM. |
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 | A little book of tribune verse |  |
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THE AWFUL FATE OF LITTLE JIM.
Children hear this dreadful story
Of a little boy named Jim,
That upon this day, Thanksgiving,
You may warning take of him.
Jim sat down to eat his dinner
On a bright Thanksgiving day,
Nor for bib nor even blessing
Would the little fellow stay.
Of a little boy named Jim,
That upon this day, Thanksgiving,
You may warning take of him.
Jim sat down to eat his dinner
On a bright Thanksgiving day,
Nor for bib nor even blessing
Would the little fellow stay.
“James,” his mother gently warned him,
“James, you musn't eat too much,
These are very hearty victuals,
All these turkeys, quails and such;”
Jim paid no attention to her,
Save to give a passing frown,
He was too entirely busy
Putting all the good things down.
“James, you musn't eat too much,
These are very hearty victuals,
All these turkeys, quails and such;”
Jim paid no attention to her,
Save to give a passing frown,
He was too entirely busy
Putting all the good things down.
Venison, partridge, quail and rabbit,
Sardines, lobster, chicken pie,
Down his little gullet vanished
In the twinkling of an eye.
“Look a'here, my son,” said Papa,
“You have eaten quite enough,
You'll be sick if you continue
To fill up on this 'ere stuff.”
Sardines, lobster, chicken pie,
Down his little gullet vanished
In the twinkling of an eye.
“Look a'here, my son,” said Papa,
“You have eaten quite enough,
You'll be sick if you continue
To fill up on this 'ere stuff.”
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All in vain; his headstrong hopeful
Would not listen unto him,
But continued eating, eating.
Naughty, naughty little Jim;
Bigger, bigger grows his stomach,
Filled with cakes and pies and meat,
Rounder, fuller, tighter, plumper,
Still he did not cease to eat.
Would not listen unto him,
But continued eating, eating.
Naughty, naughty little Jim;
Bigger, bigger grows his stomach,
Filled with cakes and pies and meat,
Rounder, fuller, tighter, plumper,
Still he did not cease to eat.
Last of all the round plum pudding;
Jim was looking very pale,
“James, my dear,” his Ma protested,
“Something you must surely ail;”
Jim rolled up his little eyeballs,
Put one hand upon his head
And the other on his stomach,
“I am feeling sick,” he said.
Jim was looking very pale,
“James, my dear,” his Ma protested,
“Something you must surely ail;”
Jim rolled up his little eyeballs,
Put one hand upon his head
And the other on his stomach,
“I am feeling sick,” he said.
Papa hastened for the doctor,
Mamma shrieked and tore her hair,
All too late to save poor Jimmy,
He had climbed the golden stair;
For there came a loud explosion,
Rending Jimmy all asunder,
Nevermore his form was witnessed,
He had bursted all to thunder.
Mamma shrieked and tore her hair,
All too late to save poor Jimmy,
He had climbed the golden stair;
For there came a loud explosion,
Rending Jimmy all asunder,
Nevermore his form was witnessed,
He had bursted all to thunder.
Six men worked a week with brushes
Ere enough of James was found
To adorn a modest corner
In the family burying ground.
So to-day, dear little children,
Ere your appetite inflames
You to eat more than you ought to,
Think, oh! think of little James.
Ere enough of James was found
To adorn a modest corner
In the family burying ground.
So to-day, dear little children,
Ere your appetite inflames
You to eat more than you ought to,
Think, oh! think of little James.
November 30th, 1882.
| A little book of tribune verse | |