Air--_Maryland_.
The spats we wear are pure as snow--
We are so careful where we go;
We don’t go near the vulgar bus
Because it always splashes us.
_Chorus._ We take the road with trustful hearts,
Avoiding all the messy parts;
However dirty you may get
We’ll keep the White Spat spotless yet.
At night there shines a special star
To show us where the puddles are;
The crossing-sweeper sweeps the floor--
That’s what the crossing-sweeper’s for.
_Chorus._ Then take the road, etc., etc.
I know it doesn’t look much, just written down on paper; but you try
singing it and you’ll find you’re carried away.
Of course there ought to be an international verse, but I’m afraid I
can’t compete with the one in my model:--
“Look round: the Frenchman loves its blaze,
The sturdy German chants its praise;
In Moscow’s vaults its hymns are sung;
Chicago swells the surging throng.”
“From Russia’s snows to Afric’s sun
The race of spatriots is one;
One faith unites their alien blood--
There’s nothing to be said for mud.”
Now we have the song of the Wee Frees. I wanted this to be rather
pathetic, but I’m not sure that I haven’t overdone it. The symbolism,
though, is well-nigh perfect, and, after all, the symbolism is the
chief thing. This goes to the tune of “Annie Laurie”:--