• Author: Spider
• Editor: B-6591
• Newspaper: The Umpire volume 2
• Page Number:
• Date: 10 15 1913
• Tags:
• poetry

WITH THE POETS THE SPIDER'S LESSON No boarding-house, tavern or inn was in sight, So into a barn, crept a poor tramp one night. By enemies hunted, a price on his head, And all his schemes shunted, he wished he was dead. "In vain my endeavors, replaced my demands— I'll try again never—I'll throw up my hands,' And so he lay sighing and cussing his fate, And wished he was lying stone dead in a crate. A spider was spinning his web by the wall; Now losing, now winning, now taking a fall. Though often it tumbled, it breathed not a sob, Nor crawfished, nor grumbled, but stuck to its job. The tramp opened wide, his eyes, and exclaimed ! "That dodgasted spider, has made me ashamed. I'm but a four flusher, to sit here and whine, This morning must usher in triumph of mine." He canned all his wailing and cut out his frown, And went forth a sailing, and won a handdown. And legions of fellows, with tears in their eyes, Who wear out their cronies, with groans and with sighs. Who think they are goners, ordained to the dump, Would harvest some handouts, if they'd only hump. The spiders are teaching the same as of old, The spiders are preaching a gospel of gold, The baffled and broken, O children of men, Let's all quit our groaning, go at it again. Your freedom of course, you'll have that some day, So like this old spider keep spinning away. Selected by Spider.