Читать книгу The Wit and Humor of America, Volume V - Marshall Pinckney Wilder - Страница 9

'Twas a Funny Little Fellow

        Of the very purest type,

For he had a heart as mellow

        As an apple over-ripe;

And the brightest little twinkle

        When a funny thing occurred,

And the lightest little tinkle

        Of a laugh you ever heard!

His smile was like the glitter

        Of the sun in tropic lands,

And his talk a sweeter twitter

        Than the swallow understands;

Hear him sing—and tell a story—

        Snap a joke—ignite a pun,—

'Twas a capture—rapture—glory,

        And explosion—all in one!

Though he hadn't any money—

        That condiment which tends

To make a fellow "honey"

        For the palate of his friends;

Sweet simples he compounded—

        Sovereign antidotes for sin

Or taint,—a faith unbounded

        That his friends were genuine.

He wasn't honored, may be—

        For his songs of praise were slim,—

Yet I never knew a baby

        That wouldn't crow for him;

I never knew a mother

        But urged a kindly claim

Upon him as a brother,

        At the mention of his name.

The sick have ceased their sighing,

        And have even found the grace

Of a smile when they were dying

        As they looked upon his face;

And I've seen his eyes of laughter

        Melt in tears that only ran

As though, swift dancing after,

        Came the Funny Little Man.

He laughed away the sorrow,

        And he laughed away the gloom

We are all so prone to borrow

        From the darkness of the tomb;

And he laughed across the ocean

        Of a happy life, and passed,

With a laugh of glad emotion,

        Into Paradise at last.

And I think the Angels knew him,

        And had gathered to await

His coming, and run to him

        Through the widely-opened Gate—

With their faces gleaming sunny

        For his laughter-loving sake,

And thinking, "What a funny

        Little Angel he will make!"