Song

'Why do I sing--Tra-la-la-la-la! Glad as a King?--Tra-la-la-la-la! Well, since you ask,-- I have such a pleasant task, I can not help but sing! 'Why do I smile--Tra-la-la-la-la! Working the while?--Tra-la-la-la-la! Work like this is play,-- So I'm playing all the day-- I can not help but smile! 'So, If you please--Tra-la-la-la-la! Live at your ease!--Tra-la-la-la-la! You've only got to turn, And, you see, its bound to churn-- I can not help but please!' The farmer pondered and scratched his head, Reading over each mystic word.-- 'Some o' the Dreamer's work!' he said-- 'Ah, here's more--and name and date In his hand-write'!'--And the good man read,-- ''Patent applied for, July third, Eighteen hundred and forty-eight'!' The fragment fell from his nerveless grasp-- His awed lips thrilled with the joyous gasp: 'I see the p'int to the whole concern,-- He's studied out a patent churn!'