THE CRUISE OF THE SQUIRREL

Somewhere, sometime, I've heard it said, or read That Fools butt in where Angels fear to tread. A single "Angel" with a Pack of Fools Is not enough to change established rules; And so, I think, the "Angel" in this case Should bear, alone, the onus and disgrace,— For Angels should know better than to swoop Upon the Dove of Peace and fowl her coop. The Good Ship Squirrel has left our shores behind To measure human breath 'gainst Ocean Wind. "Laden with Nuts" her clearance shows. Four Bells! She's off! to fight for Peace with all those shells. No Port, however, figures in her quest, Her "papers" show,—and this is manifest! The Dove of Peace, perched on the mizzen-top, Hath disappointments sticking in her crop. The peaceful bird is shy and very frail; Can't stand the weight of salt upon her tail; The War has made her nervous, and the roar Of many cannon made the poor bird soar. Up springs a storm! The Dove's white feathers show, While Nuts are cracking on the deck below. And then an iceberg looms against the sky, But still the Dove is far too proud to fly; But when, anon, a periscope appears The Bird of Peace is overcome by fears, And "beats it" to the iceberg's crystal crest, Where she prepares to build her neutral nest. The Submarine atop the billows now, Stands by the Squirrel until she dips her bow And sinks beneath the waves; then looks above And takes a parting broadside at the Dove. The "Angel" then, in Neptune's sky-machine Ascendeth in a blaze of gasoline; The Dove, marooned, broods over many things, Nestling her poor cold feet beneath her wings. Regenerate, the Angel has returned From empyrean Flight, to Earth, and learned (I think Saint Peter gave him sound advice!) To keep the Pacifistic Germ on ice Until a Luther, if there still remains One decent man where Wilhelm Cæsar reigns, Denounces all the crimes of Germany, And proselytes to crush Autocracy.