WHAT will we do when the good days come—

When the prima donna’s lips are dumb,

And the man who reads us his “little things”

Has lost his voice like the girl who sings;

When stilled is the breath of the cornet-man,

And the shrilling chords of the quartette clan;

When our neighbours’ children have lost their drums—

Oh, what will we do in that good, blithe time,

When the tramp will work—oh, thing sublime!

And the scornful dame who stands on your feet

Will “Thank you, sir,” for the proffered seat;

And the man you hire to work by the day,

Will allow you to do his work your way;

And the cook who trieth your appetite

Will steal no more than she thinks is right;

When the boy you hire will call you “Sir,”

Instead of “Say” and “Guverner”;

When the funny man is humorsome—

How can we stand the millennium?