BOB COONING
“BOBCooning the giant’s come home to die”—So the village folk sayTo-day.They shake their heads and they peer and spy,And they draw in their breaths—“Dear—Dear!” they sigh;And they cook him daintiesAnd wonder whyThe Lord ever made, under His kind sky,Bob Cooning!Bob Cooning the giant was only a boy,Like Harry or Tom or Jim or Dick,But one that the other boys couldn’t lick.Never a clean fair fight for BobAs boy to boy. “That’s a dirty trick—To hit a fellow just half your size!”I’ve seen the tears in Bob’s big blue eyes.“Give me a man to fight!” he’d say,And they’d jeer—“You’ll keep till another day!”Poor Bob would turn and slouch from the placeAnd lie face down in tall “Queen Anne’s lace”And sob and sob to the cool brown earth,Far off from the sound of his playmates’ mirth—Poor Bob Cooning!And he could not learn to cipher or read,And he felt himself of a different breed.He ate so much, and his clothes cost moreThan any one else, till his father swore.He slouched and stooped through the highest door.His poor little mother wailed and cried—But his wise old Granny only sighed“It’s the good God made him an’ He’ll provide.”How Bob Cooning cried when his Granny died!Then one night when the village was racked and thrilledWith the circus tents, and the beast cries shrilledFrom the hot green meadow, Bob Cooning wentWith a sharp-faced man to a certain tent.Tom, Harry and Dick saw the last gay trainPull out, but they never saw Bob againUntil, one day, through our old church door,At the morning service, strode Bob once moreWith his head thrown back, and a smile as blandAs the great glass ring on his vast pink hand.How the people young and old did grinAs the handsome giant came walking inWith his sporty suit of a fine light check,And the great starched collar about his neck!How he dwarfed our poor little house of God!Dr. Smitters was preaching on Aaron’s rod,And how it budded in miracle bloom.“Say! With Bob in a church there ain’t hardly roomFor us and the minister both!” So JimThe wag, so dapper and keen and slimWhispered to Pollie—but Pollie just sighed.“Oh my, but Bob’s splendid!” Pollie replied.That winter Bob Cooning was just like a king!His father boasted “A darn fine thingFor us, that our son went away that day!I tell you he’s made the show business pay.He’s heaps of cash an’ he says he’ll stayHere a while—but he may go any day.”When the glamour wore off the wise heads said“He’s stupid as ever, with wits like lead.”And more than one mother wished he’d go—“So handsome—he does turn the girls’ heads so!”And finally, all in the sweet green May,He went off again on a “Circus Day.”And when he came back for the second time—Thisisn’ta story to put in rhyme—Now is it?—And yet if the Lord saw fitTo make a giant and jest a bitRight out here in our country-sideWith every one seeing him far and wide—Well it seems to me that a rhyme goes fineFor this pitiful, circus-like tale of mine—Of giant Bob and his coming homeNever again with his shows to roam.“He’s fadin’ out like a wisp o’ hay”Said his poor little mother to me to-day.“He smiles at me an’ says ‘Ma—I’m small!An’ I always thought I was awful tall!’An’ he’s just as happy as he can beWhen he thinks he’s a wee boy—deary me!”And I said “Mrs. Cooning—now don’t you fret.I guess God will know how to handle him yet.”And she said “Well—hehasbeen a famous manIn them shows!”—So—we all do the best we can.He’s a terrible problem to bathe and lift,But we’ve got it arranged, in a “double shift.”Bob Cooning, the giant, has come home to die.And the God that made him—He must know why!
“BOBCooning the giant’s come home to die”—So the village folk sayTo-day.They shake their heads and they peer and spy,And they draw in their breaths—“Dear—Dear!” they sigh;And they cook him daintiesAnd wonder whyThe Lord ever made, under His kind sky,Bob Cooning!Bob Cooning the giant was only a boy,Like Harry or Tom or Jim or Dick,But one that the other boys couldn’t lick.Never a clean fair fight for BobAs boy to boy. “That’s a dirty trick—To hit a fellow just half your size!”I’ve seen the tears in Bob’s big blue eyes.“Give me a man to fight!” he’d say,And they’d jeer—“You’ll keep till another day!”Poor Bob would turn and slouch from the placeAnd lie face down in tall “Queen Anne’s lace”And sob and sob to the cool brown earth,Far off from the sound of his playmates’ mirth—Poor Bob Cooning!And he could not learn to cipher or read,And he felt himself of a different breed.He ate so much, and his clothes cost moreThan any one else, till his father swore.He slouched and stooped through the highest door.His poor little mother wailed and cried—But his wise old Granny only sighed“It’s the good God made him an’ He’ll provide.”How Bob Cooning cried when his Granny died!Then one night when the village was racked and thrilledWith the circus tents, and the beast cries shrilledFrom the hot green meadow, Bob Cooning wentWith a sharp-faced man to a certain tent.Tom, Harry and Dick saw the last gay trainPull out, but they never saw Bob againUntil, one day, through our old church door,At the morning service, strode Bob once moreWith his head thrown back, and a smile as blandAs the great glass ring on his vast pink hand.How the people young and old did grinAs the handsome giant came walking inWith his sporty suit of a fine light check,And the great starched collar about his neck!How he dwarfed our poor little house of God!Dr. Smitters was preaching on Aaron’s rod,And how it budded in miracle bloom.“Say! With Bob in a church there ain’t hardly roomFor us and the minister both!” So JimThe wag, so dapper and keen and slimWhispered to Pollie—but Pollie just sighed.“Oh my, but Bob’s splendid!” Pollie replied.That winter Bob Cooning was just like a king!His father boasted “A darn fine thingFor us, that our son went away that day!I tell you he’s made the show business pay.He’s heaps of cash an’ he says he’ll stayHere a while—but he may go any day.”When the glamour wore off the wise heads said“He’s stupid as ever, with wits like lead.”And more than one mother wished he’d go—“So handsome—he does turn the girls’ heads so!”And finally, all in the sweet green May,He went off again on a “Circus Day.”And when he came back for the second time—Thisisn’ta story to put in rhyme—Now is it?—And yet if the Lord saw fitTo make a giant and jest a bitRight out here in our country-sideWith every one seeing him far and wide—Well it seems to me that a rhyme goes fineFor this pitiful, circus-like tale of mine—Of giant Bob and his coming homeNever again with his shows to roam.“He’s fadin’ out like a wisp o’ hay”Said his poor little mother to me to-day.“He smiles at me an’ says ‘Ma—I’m small!An’ I always thought I was awful tall!’An’ he’s just as happy as he can beWhen he thinks he’s a wee boy—deary me!”And I said “Mrs. Cooning—now don’t you fret.I guess God will know how to handle him yet.”And she said “Well—hehasbeen a famous manIn them shows!”—So—we all do the best we can.He’s a terrible problem to bathe and lift,But we’ve got it arranged, in a “double shift.”Bob Cooning, the giant, has come home to die.And the God that made him—He must know why!
“BOBCooning the giant’s come home to die”—So the village folk sayTo-day.They shake their heads and they peer and spy,And they draw in their breaths—“Dear—Dear!” they sigh;And they cook him daintiesAnd wonder whyThe Lord ever made, under His kind sky,Bob Cooning!
“BOBCooning the giant’s come home to die”—
So the village folk say
To-day.
They shake their heads and they peer and spy,
And they draw in their breaths—
“Dear—Dear!” they sigh;
And they cook him dainties
And wonder why
The Lord ever made, under His kind sky,
Bob Cooning!
Bob Cooning the giant was only a boy,Like Harry or Tom or Jim or Dick,But one that the other boys couldn’t lick.Never a clean fair fight for BobAs boy to boy. “That’s a dirty trick—To hit a fellow just half your size!”I’ve seen the tears in Bob’s big blue eyes.“Give me a man to fight!” he’d say,And they’d jeer—“You’ll keep till another day!”Poor Bob would turn and slouch from the placeAnd lie face down in tall “Queen Anne’s lace”And sob and sob to the cool brown earth,Far off from the sound of his playmates’ mirth—Poor Bob Cooning!
Bob Cooning the giant was only a boy,
Like Harry or Tom or Jim or Dick,
But one that the other boys couldn’t lick.
Never a clean fair fight for Bob
As boy to boy. “That’s a dirty trick—
To hit a fellow just half your size!”
I’ve seen the tears in Bob’s big blue eyes.
“Give me a man to fight!” he’d say,
And they’d jeer—“You’ll keep till another day!”
Poor Bob would turn and slouch from the place
And lie face down in tall “Queen Anne’s lace”
And sob and sob to the cool brown earth,
Far off from the sound of his playmates’ mirth—
Poor Bob Cooning!
And he could not learn to cipher or read,And he felt himself of a different breed.He ate so much, and his clothes cost moreThan any one else, till his father swore.He slouched and stooped through the highest door.His poor little mother wailed and cried—But his wise old Granny only sighed“It’s the good God made him an’ He’ll provide.”How Bob Cooning cried when his Granny died!
And he could not learn to cipher or read,
And he felt himself of a different breed.
He ate so much, and his clothes cost more
Than any one else, till his father swore.
He slouched and stooped through the highest door.
His poor little mother wailed and cried—
But his wise old Granny only sighed
“It’s the good God made him an’ He’ll provide.”
How Bob Cooning cried when his Granny died!
Then one night when the village was racked and thrilledWith the circus tents, and the beast cries shrilledFrom the hot green meadow, Bob Cooning wentWith a sharp-faced man to a certain tent.Tom, Harry and Dick saw the last gay trainPull out, but they never saw Bob againUntil, one day, through our old church door,At the morning service, strode Bob once moreWith his head thrown back, and a smile as blandAs the great glass ring on his vast pink hand.How the people young and old did grinAs the handsome giant came walking inWith his sporty suit of a fine light check,And the great starched collar about his neck!How he dwarfed our poor little house of God!Dr. Smitters was preaching on Aaron’s rod,And how it budded in miracle bloom.“Say! With Bob in a church there ain’t hardly roomFor us and the minister both!” So JimThe wag, so dapper and keen and slimWhispered to Pollie—but Pollie just sighed.“Oh my, but Bob’s splendid!” Pollie replied.That winter Bob Cooning was just like a king!His father boasted “A darn fine thingFor us, that our son went away that day!I tell you he’s made the show business pay.He’s heaps of cash an’ he says he’ll stayHere a while—but he may go any day.”When the glamour wore off the wise heads said“He’s stupid as ever, with wits like lead.”And more than one mother wished he’d go—“So handsome—he does turn the girls’ heads so!”And finally, all in the sweet green May,He went off again on a “Circus Day.”
Then one night when the village was racked and thrilled
With the circus tents, and the beast cries shrilled
From the hot green meadow, Bob Cooning went
With a sharp-faced man to a certain tent.
Tom, Harry and Dick saw the last gay train
Pull out, but they never saw Bob again
Until, one day, through our old church door,
At the morning service, strode Bob once more
With his head thrown back, and a smile as bland
As the great glass ring on his vast pink hand.
How the people young and old did grin
As the handsome giant came walking in
With his sporty suit of a fine light check,
And the great starched collar about his neck!
How he dwarfed our poor little house of God!
Dr. Smitters was preaching on Aaron’s rod,
And how it budded in miracle bloom.
“Say! With Bob in a church there ain’t hardly room
For us and the minister both!” So Jim
The wag, so dapper and keen and slim
Whispered to Pollie—but Pollie just sighed.
“Oh my, but Bob’s splendid!” Pollie replied.
That winter Bob Cooning was just like a king!
His father boasted “A darn fine thing
For us, that our son went away that day!
I tell you he’s made the show business pay.
He’s heaps of cash an’ he says he’ll stay
Here a while—but he may go any day.”
When the glamour wore off the wise heads said
“He’s stupid as ever, with wits like lead.”
And more than one mother wished he’d go—
“So handsome—he does turn the girls’ heads so!”
And finally, all in the sweet green May,
He went off again on a “Circus Day.”
And when he came back for the second time—Thisisn’ta story to put in rhyme—Now is it?—And yet if the Lord saw fitTo make a giant and jest a bitRight out here in our country-sideWith every one seeing him far and wide—Well it seems to me that a rhyme goes fineFor this pitiful, circus-like tale of mine—Of giant Bob and his coming homeNever again with his shows to roam.“He’s fadin’ out like a wisp o’ hay”Said his poor little mother to me to-day.“He smiles at me an’ says ‘Ma—I’m small!An’ I always thought I was awful tall!’An’ he’s just as happy as he can beWhen he thinks he’s a wee boy—deary me!”And I said “Mrs. Cooning—now don’t you fret.I guess God will know how to handle him yet.”And she said “Well—hehasbeen a famous manIn them shows!”—So—we all do the best we can.He’s a terrible problem to bathe and lift,But we’ve got it arranged, in a “double shift.”
And when he came back for the second time—
Thisisn’ta story to put in rhyme—
Now is it?—And yet if the Lord saw fit
To make a giant and jest a bit
Right out here in our country-side
With every one seeing him far and wide—
Well it seems to me that a rhyme goes fine
For this pitiful, circus-like tale of mine—
Of giant Bob and his coming home
Never again with his shows to roam.
“He’s fadin’ out like a wisp o’ hay”
Said his poor little mother to me to-day.
“He smiles at me an’ says ‘Ma—I’m small!
An’ I always thought I was awful tall!’
An’ he’s just as happy as he can be
When he thinks he’s a wee boy—deary me!”
And I said “Mrs. Cooning—now don’t you fret.
I guess God will know how to handle him yet.”
And she said “Well—hehasbeen a famous man
In them shows!”—So—we all do the best we can.
He’s a terrible problem to bathe and lift,
But we’ve got it arranged, in a “double shift.”
Bob Cooning, the giant, has come home to die.And the God that made him—He must know why!
Bob Cooning, the giant, has come home to die.
And the God that made him—
He must know why!