THE RHYME OF THE ANCIENT POPULIST

IT was an ancient populist,

His beard was long and gray,

And punctuated by his fist,

He had his little say:

“This is the age of gold,” he said,

“’ Tis gold for butter, gold for bread,

Gold for bonds and gold for fun;

Gold for all things’ neath the sun.”

Then with a smile

He shook his head.

“Just wait awhile,”

He slyly said.

“When we get in and run the State

We’ ll tackle gold, we’ ll legislate.

We’ ll pass an act

And make a fact

By which these gold-bugs will be whacked

Till they’ re as cold

As is their gold.

We’ re going to make a statute law by which’ twill be decreed

That standards are abolished, for a standard favors greed.

This is the country of the free, and free this land shall be

As soon as we the‘ people’ have our opportunity,

And he who has to pay a bill

Can pay in whate’ er suits his will.

The tailor? Let him take his coats

And pay his notes;

Or if perchance

He’ s long on pants,

Let trousers be

His £. s. d.

The baker! Let his landlord take

His rent in cake,

Or anything the man can bake.

And if a plumber wants a crumb,

He may unto the baker come

And plumb.

A joker needing hats or cloaks

Can go and pay for them with jokes,

And so on: what a fellow’ s got

Shall pay for things that he has not.

If beggars’ rags were cash, you’ d see

No longer any beggary;

In short, there’ d be no poverty.”

“A splendid scheme,” quoth I; “but stay!

What of the nation’ s credit, pray?”

“Ha-ha! ho-ho!” he loudly roared.

“We’ ll leave that problem to the Lord.

And if He fails to keep us straight

Once more we’ ll have to legislate,

And so create,

Confounding greed,

As much of credit as we need.”