Presto

PRESTO
January 8, 1920.
THE CHANGE OF HEART OF FATHER TIME
How the Old Man of the Scythe Paused at the Threshold of the Year and Concluded that He'd Give His
Children More of the Things That Cheer.
By the Paid Poick of Presto.
I want the world that's suffered so,
Because my scythe I've wielded,
To cheer up and forget its woe
And know to love I've yielded.
LD Father Time grew
tired of life
And sighed for con-
solation,
His hands were red with
war and strife,
And spreading deso-
lation.
He viewed the wrecks
his hands had made
Of things he once
created
And swore that now his scythe he'd trade
For blessings double-plated.
VII
"I want my whole wee world to play,
As master-player lingers
Along the keys, as light and gay
As Autopiano fingers;
I want all care to fade away—
All shade of pain or sadness—
Till every heart is bright and gay,
And filled with music's gladness.
II
And so Pap Time sat down and thought
Of plans of restitution,
He scanned his record as he sought
A new world constitution;
"I know," he said " 'twas wrong to play
With carnage and destruction—
I should have warned my babes aw r ay
From quarrels and eruction."
VIII
"I want, throughout this vale of woe,
The sweetest music spreading,
Which all may have with Ampico
By merely gently treading;
There is no lack of means to joy,
With music all-abounding,
And no restrictions now need cloy—
We have it all by Pound-ing!"
IX
Ill
And old Dad Time let fall some tears
His whiskers softly toying,
And sighing, said, "the past few years
With ill I've been employing;
So now I'll have my children play,
Grow strong again, and merry,
I'll give them music glad and gay,
And make them happy, very.
And then old Time kicked at his scythe,
That hinted opposition,—
And even seemed to squirm and writhe-
And proved his proposition;
For, sitting at the instrument,
Old Pap, who used to kill us,
Upreared his whiskers and unbent
His voice in song to fill us.
IV
"I'm not the cruel Pop some think,
My heart is not so stony,
And I'm not always on the brink
Of death because I'm bony;
I want my people bound in glee,
And not by inhibition,—
Of course, my dear, I mean, you see,
No crack at prohibition.
This fable, children, calls to mind
That Time, who works unceasing,
Is not a monster, but is kind,
With blessings e'er increasing;
Of heart-tuff in their longings, 3f
To all who understand the need
He mixes freely just the feed
That builds up their belongings.
V
•
"If all the world could sing and dance
And own a grand piano,
My friend Old Sorrow'd have no chance,
From Paris to Giano;
If every child could learn to play
Like those Gulbransen babies
There'd be no sighs and sobs today,
No doubts, or longing may-be's.
VI
"That's why I've changed my cruel rules.
And lifted all embargoes,
And send to all men, wise or fools,
Good cheer in brimming cargoes;
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