P a s s i n g T h r o u g h

by John P. Wade.

ELLO, Central! give me Heaven! (This club of ours, I trow,

Is near enough to ‘Heaven’ for a mortal here below.)

Just tell me, is the President all ready for his cue

To start the talent flowing—while I am passing through?

“I just reached town this morning and now I’m outward bound;

I’m waiting at the grating like a ‘purp’ that’s in the pound.

Yes, I’m waiting with a heart-ache—I don’t mind telling you—

Sick with longing to be with you—instead of passing through.

“I know just what they’re doing. I can hear the old gong ring.

The toastmaster is asking now some angel fair to sing.

I wonder who the Guests of Honor are, and what they’ll do

While gathered ’round the festive board—as I am passing through?

“Hello! are these the Pleiads? Well, before I take my leave,

I wish to say I envy you this pleasant Sunday eve!

Here’s hoping that I’ll see you all before you say adieu

To the season on the circle. So long! I’m passing through.”