SONG

“Why do I sing — Tra-la-la-la-la!

Glad as a King?— Tra-la-la-la-la!

Well, since you ask,—

I have such a pleasant task,

I can not help but sing!

“Why do I smile — Tra-la-la-la-la!

Working the while?— Tra-la-la-la-la!

Work like this is play,—

So I'm playing all the day —

I can not help but smile!

“So, If you please — Tra-la-la-la-la!

Live at your ease!— Tra-la-la-la-la!

You've only got to turn,

And, you see, its bound to churn —

I can not help but please!”

The farmer pondered and scratched his head,

Reading over each mystic word.—

“Some o’ the Dreamer's work!” he said —

“Ah, here's more — and name and date

In his hand-write’!” — And the good man read,—

“‘ Patent applied for, July third,

Eighteen hundred and forty-eight’!”

The fragment fell from his nerveless grasp —

His awed lips thrilled with the joyous gasp:

“I see the p'int to the whole concern,—

He's studied out a patent churn!”