(To S. and W. A.)
When we're tired of reading essays,
Tho they be a mental treat;
When we're bored by social callers,
Be they ever so elite;
When we crave some relaxation
Or the Foursome's incomplete,
We S. O. S. or telephone
To our Friends across the Street.
When our larder needs renewing
Or our ice succumbs to heat;
When the signs of Drought are brewing
'Cause our "stock" is incomplete;
And our chairs are insufficient
When we have some guests to seat,
Why, we just go out and borrow
From our Friends across the Street.
When we're worried or in trouble,
And our projects meet defeat;
When our prospects seem quite hopeless,--
Life seems bitter that was sweet;
When we lose our nerve and falter
'Cause the rough way wounds our feet,
We can always find sweet comfort
In our Friends across the Street.
When we end, at last, our journey
And the saintly Peter greet,
Or descend to Realms Infernal
Where the Goats, rejected, bleat,
We would never feel contented,
Whether mixed with Chaff or Wheat,
If we couldn't be together
With our Friends across the Street.