Grind the organ, toot the flute;
Push the trombone in an’ oot;
Tickle the strings of your mandolin;
Howl yer joy an’ crack the grin;
Salute the Stars, the Sun, an’ Moon--
Our own Madge will marry soon.
Clang the cymbals, twang the harp;
Blow the bazoo loud and sharp;
Finger the strings of the wailing cello;
Make welkin ring with joyous bellow;
Ring out wild bells your merry tune--
Our own Madge will marry soon.
Pipe the playful flageolet;
Blast the ear with the gay cornet;
Blow the tuba, strike the lyre;
Light the heavens with red fire;
Make merry with the big bassoon--
Our own Madge will marry soon.
Scrape the gut of the violin;
Loud Hosannah’s sing with vim;
Beat the merry Zilophone;
Keep records on the gramophone;
Shake the foot in the Rigadoon--
Our own Madge will marry soon.
[Illustration]
The possession of wealth only makes some people look ridiculous who
otherwise would occasion no comment.
* * * * *
Every man hath a burden with which he hath laden himself. See that thou
knowest thy strength before thou take on thy burden.