  Into the boat the breeze blows fair, It blows across the deck; It blows the little children's hair,— They get it in the neck. And in this picture you may see The happy girls and boys, So true to life,—but thankful be You cannot hear the noise. The great steam-whistle's fearful squeaks. The band, ill-tuned and loud; The babies with their screams and shrieks, The bustle of the crowd. Grown People, you'd prefer, afloat, A private yacht, I'm sure; Then shun the gay excursion boat Unless you're very poor. |
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