Who turned from desire,

Who said to the young men

"Wine is a fire."

Who said to the merchants:--

"Gold is a flame

That sears and tortures

If you play at the game."

I once knew a teacher

Who turned from desire

Who said to the soldiers,

"Hate is a fire."

Who said to the statesmen:--

"Power is a flame

That flays and blisters

If you play at the game."

I once knew a teacher

Who turned from desire,

Who said to the lordly,

"Pride is a fire."

Who thus warned the revellers:--

"Life is a flame.

Be cold as the dew

Would you win at the game

With hearts like the stars,

With hearts like the stars."

# Interrupting very loudly for the last time. #

SO BEWARE,

SO BEWARE,

SO BEWARE OF THE FIRE.

Clear the streets,

BOOM, BOOM,

Clear the streets,

BOOM, BOOM,

GIVE THE ENGINES ROOM,

GIVE THE ENGINES ROOM,

LEST SOULS BE TRAPPED

IN A TERRIBLE TOMB.

SAYS THE SWIFT WHITE HORSE

TO THE SWIFT BLACK HORSE:--

"THERE GOES THE ALARM,

THERE GOES THE ALARM.

THEY ARE HITCHED, THEY ARE OFF,

THEY ARE GONE IN A FLASH,

AND THEY STRAIN AT THE DRIVER'S IRON ARM."

CLANG... A... RANGA.... CLANG... A... RANGA....

CLANG... CLANG... CLANG....

CLANG... A... RANGA.... CLANG... A... RANGA....

CLANG... CLANG... CLANG....

CLANG... A... RANGA.... CLANG... A... RANGA....

CLANG... CLANG... _CLANG_....

The Master of the Dance

A chant to which it is intended a group of children shall dance and

improvise pantomime led by their dancing-teacher.

I

A master deep-eyed

Ere his manhood was ripe,

He sang like a thrush,

He could play any pipe.

So dull in the school

That he scarcely could spell,

He read but a bit,

And he figured not well.

A bare-footed fool,

Shod only with grace;

Long hair streaming down

Round a wind-hardened face;

He smiled like a girl,

Or like clear winter skies,

A virginal light

Making stars of his eyes.

In swiftness and poise,

A proud child of the deer,

A white fawn he was,

Yet a fawn without fear.

No youth thought him vain,

Or made mock of his hair,

Or laughed when his ways

Were most curiously fair.

A mastiff at fight,

He could strike to the earth

The envious one

Who would challenge his worth.

However we bowed

To the schoolmaster mild,

Our spirits went out

To the fawn-footed child.

His beckoning led

Our troop to the brush.

We found nothing there

But a wind and a hush.

He sat by a stone

And he looked on the ground,

As if in the weeds

There was something profound.

His pipe seemed to neigh,

Then to bleat like a sheep,

Then sound like a stream

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