Once on a time, my children dear,
A Fairy, called Urgande, lived here,
Who though but as my finger tall,
Was just as good as she was small;
For of her wand one touch, they say,
Could perfect happiness convey.
O dear Urgande! O good Urgande!
Do tell us where you’ve hid your wand!

Eight butterflies, in harness, drew
Her tiny car of sapphire blue,
In which, as o’er the land she went,
Her smile to earth fresh vigour lent;
The grape grew sweeter on the vine,
More golden did the cornfield shine.
O dear Urgande! O good Urgande!
Do tell us where you’ve hid your wand!

The King a godson was of hers,
And so she chose his Ministers—
Just men who held the laws in sight,
And whose accounts could face the light.
The crook as shepherds did they keep
To scare the wolves and not the sheep.
O dear Urgande! O good Urgande!
Do tell us where you’ve hid your wand!

To show what love she tow’rds him bore,
She touched the crown her godson wore—
A happy people met his eye,
Who for his sake would freely die;
Did foreign foes the realm invade
Not long they lived, or short they stayed.
O dear Urgande! O good Urgande!
Do tell us where you’ve hid your wand!

The judges of this King so good
Decided always as they should:
Not once throughout that pleasant reign
Did Innocence unheard complain,
Or guilt repentant vainly pray
For guidance in the better way.
O dear Urgande! O good Urgande!
Do tell us where you’ve hid your wand!

Alas! my dear, I must allow
There’s no Urgande on earth just now.
America is sore be-mobbed;
Poor Asia’s conquered, crushed, and robbed;
And though at home, of course, we find
Our rulers all that’s nice and kind—
Still—dear Urgande! O good Urgande!
Do tell us where you’ve hid your wand!