Gently lay aside the picnic,

For its usefulness is o'er,

And the winter style of misery

Stands and knocks upon your door.

Lariat the lonely oyster,

Drifting on some foreign shore;

Zion needs him in her business—

She can use him o'er and o'er.

Bring along the lonely oyster,

With the winter style of gloom,

And the supper for the pastor,

With its victims for the tomb.

Cast the pudding for the pastor,

With its double iron door;

It will gather in the pastor

For the bright and shining shore.

Put away the little picnic

Till the coming of the spring;

Useless now the swaying hammock

And the idle picnic swing.

Put away the pickled spider

And the cold pressed picnic fly,

And the decorated trousers

With their wealth of custard pie.