A DAMPENED ARDORThe Chinatown at BakersfieldWas blazing bright and high;The flames to water would not yield,Though torrents drenched the skyAnd drowned the ground for miles around—The houses were so dry.Then rose an aged preacher manWhom all did much admire,Who said: "To force on you my planI truly don't aspire,But streams, it seems, might quench these beamsIf turned upon the fire."The fireman said: "This hoary wightHis folly dares to thrustOnus! 'Twere well he felt our might—Nay, he shall feel our must!"With jet of wet and small regretThey laid that old man's dust.
The Chinatown at BakersfieldWas blazing bright and high;The flames to water would not yield,Though torrents drenched the skyAnd drowned the ground for miles around—The houses were so dry.Then rose an aged preacher manWhom all did much admire,Who said: "To force on you my planI truly don't aspire,But streams, it seems, might quench these beamsIf turned upon the fire."The fireman said: "This hoary wightHis folly dares to thrustOnus! 'Twere well he felt our might—Nay, he shall feel our must!"With jet of wet and small regretThey laid that old man's dust.