Under here is Laughing Jim. Paid a little favor with his life,And died with a laugh on his lips! Bad as he was, better’nMost of us, and provin’ that sometimes even poets is wrong, andThat men don’t forget. Lord help us all to do as well.
Under here is Laughing Jim. Paid a little favor with his life,And died with a laugh on his lips! Bad as he was, better’nMost of us, and provin’ that sometimes even poets is wrong, andThat men don’t forget. Lord help us all to do as well.
Under here is Laughing Jim. Paid a little favor with his life,And died with a laugh on his lips! Bad as he was, better’nMost of us, and provin’ that sometimes even poets is wrong, andThat men don’t forget. Lord help us all to do as well.
Under here is Laughing Jim. Paid a little favor with his life,
And died with a laugh on his lips! Bad as he was, better’n
Most of us, and provin’ that sometimes even poets is wrong, and
That men don’t forget. Lord help us all to do as well.
And so we left him, and my eyes were fixed, as we rowed back up the river, and the village with its natives was lost to view, on the rough-hewn cross that seemed to blaze with a peculiar glory all its own, a shining standard for one honorably dead on the field of gratitude.
Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the December 1, 1913 issue ofThe Popular Magazine.
Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the December 1, 1913 issue ofThe Popular Magazine.