  I KNOW a little sailor who has never been to sea, But walks the deck of our back porch as bold as he can be. He never shows a sign of fear when in the stoutest gale, Nor ever lost a ship, although he never reefed a sail. I’ve heard him send his crew aloft when fearful tempests blew, But though I’ve searched the rigging oft, I never saw the crew. I’m sure he is a sailor, for his mother showed to me His clothes, such as the sailors wear when they go forth to sea. I know a little hunter who has never fired a gun, But roams about our orchard with a painted wooden one; A hunter of such prowess that he hasn’t left a bear, A tiger or an animal of that description there. I know he used to see them, for I’ve seen him creep and crawl, And finally destroy one that I never saw at all. I’m sure he was a hunter, for I saw his buckskins spread Just as a plainsman leaves them—on the foot-board of his bed. I know a little soldier who has never been to war, But wears a splendid uniform, all buttoned down before. I’ve seen him drill in our back yard a dozen times a day, I’ve seen him march and counter in a military way. I’ve heard him shout commands with all a captain’s dignity, But though I’ve searched the lawn, I never saw his company. I’m sure he was a soldier, for I saw the clothes he wore Last night beside his bed, when he had finished with the war. Sometimes he gets a wetting when the seas are very high, And has to have his sailor clothes hung on the line to dry, So he becomes a soldier and upon a march he goes, And what he is this moment quite depends upon his clothes. He never shoots a lion when he wears a sailor suit, Or walks the deck in buckskins, which he only wears to shoot, And never thinks of drilling or of marching off to war Unless he wears his uniform with buttons down before. |
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