THE LONDON‘ BOBBY’

Here in my cosy corner,

Before a blazing log,

I'm thinking of cold London

Wrapped in its killing fog;

And, like a shining beacon

Above the picture grim,

I see the London‘ Bobby,’

And sing my song for him.

I see his stalwart figure,

I see his kindly face,

I hear his helpful answer

At any hour or place.

For, though you seek some by-way

Long miles from his own beat,

He tells you all about it,

And how to find the street.

He looks like some bold Viking,

This king of earth's police -

Yet in his voice lies feeling,

And in his eye lies peace;

He knows and does his duty -

( What higher praise is there? )

And London's lords and paupers

Alike receive his care.

He has a regal bearing,

Yet one that breathes repose;

It is the look and manner

Of one who THINKS and KNOWS.

Oh, men who govern nations,

In old worlds or in new,

Turn to the London‘ Bobby’

And learn a thing or two.