"_Mr. Hearst is the home brew; no other hope._"
--_The Trib._
At his usual hour Lord Did-More rose--
Renewed completely by repose--
His pleasant duty to rehearse
Of oiling up the universe.
Casting a glance aloft, he saw
That, yielding to a natural law,
The sun obediently moved
Precisely as he had approved.
If mundane things would only run
As regularly as the Sun!
But Earth's affairs, less nicely planned,
Require Lord Did-More's guiding hand.
This day, outside Lord Did-More's door,
There waited patiently a score
Of diplomats from far and near
Who sought his sympathetic ear.
Each brought to him, that he might scan,
The latest governmental plan,
And begged of him a word or two
Approving what it hoped to do.
Lord Did-More nodded, smiled or frowned,
Some word of praise or censure found,
Withheld or added his "O. K."
And sent the ministers away.
These harmonized and sent away,
Lord Did-More finished up his day
By focusing his cosmic brain
On our political campaign.
And night and morning, thro' the land,
The public prints at his command
Proclaimed, in type that fairly burst,
The doughty deeds of Did-More Hearst.
* * *