A HOT TIME IN THE OLD TOWN

Guns salute, and crows and pigeons fly, Bronzed, Homeric bards go striding by, Shouting “Glory” amid the cannonade:— It is the cross-roads Resurrection Parade. Actors, craftsmen, builders, join the throng, Painters, sculptors, florists tramp along, Farm-boys prance, in tinsel, tin and jade:— It is the cross-roads Love and Laughter Crusade. The sun is blazing big as all the sky, The mustard-plant with the sunflower climbing high, With the Indian corn in fiery plumes arrayed:— It is the cross-roads Love and Beauty Crusade. Free and proud and mellow jamboree, Roar and foam upon the prairie sea, Tom turkeys sing the sun a serenade:— It is the cross-roads Resurrection Parade. Our sweethearts dance, with wands as white as milk, With veils of gold and robes of silver silk, Their caps in velvet pansy-patterns made:— It is the cross-roads Resurrection Parade. Wandering ’round the shrines we understand, Waving oak-boughs cheap and close at hand, And field-flowers fair, for which no man has paid:— It is the cross-roads Love and Beauty Crusade. Hieroglyphic marchers here we bring. Rich inscriptions strut and talk and sing. A scroll to read, a picture-word brigade:— It is the cross-roads Love and Laughter Crusade. Swans for symbols deck the banners rare, Mighty acorn-signs command the air, For hearts of oak, by flying beauty swayed:— It is the cross-roads Resurrection Parade. The flags are big, like rainbows flashing ’round, They spread like sails, and lift us from the ground, Star-born ships, that have come in masquerade:— It is the cross-roads Resurrection Parade.