From the Evening Star, March 25, 1914. By Philander Johnson.
We thought that Uncle Jim might need
A little spell o’ rest.
In eloquence he took the lead
An’ labored with the best.
We thought we’d slip a sinecure
To this our favorite son,
An’ so we got him safe an’ sure
A berth in Washington.
We met him there with furrowed brow
An’ droopin’, weary eyes.
We couldn’t understand just how
A man so good an’ wise
Could seem so overworked an’ sad,
With such a victory won.
Our Uncle Jim went to the bad
Up there in Washington.
When next election comes along
The neighborhood intends
To bring him by a ballot strong
Back here among his friends.
Though this may not appeal to him,
Our duty must be done.
We’ve got to rescue Uncle Jim
From work in Washington!
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