IN BOHEMIA

O'Reilly

I'd rather live in Bohemia than in any other land,
For only there are the values true,

And the laurels gathered in all men's view.
The prizes of traffic and state are won
By shrewdness of force or by deed undone;
But fame is sweeter without the feud,
And the wise of Bohemia are never shrewd,
Here, pilgrims stream with a faith sublime
From every class and clime and time.
Aspiring only to be enrolled

With the names that are writ in the book of gold;
And each one bears in mind or hand

A palm of the dear Bohemian land.

The scholar first, with his book-a youth
Aflame with the glory of harvested truth,
A girl with a picture, a man with a play,
A boy with a wolf he has modeled in clay;
A smith with a marvelous hilt and sword;
A player, a king, a plowman, a lord-

And the player is king where the door is past;
The plowman is crowned and the lord is last!

I'd rather fail in Bohemia than win in another land;
There are no titles inherited there,

No hoard or hope for the brainless heir,

No gilded dullard native born,

To stare at his fellow with leaden scorn;
Bohemia has none but adopted sons,

Its limits, where Fancy's bright stream runs,

Its honors, not garnered for thrift or trade,

But for beauty and truth men's souls have made.
To the empty heart in a jeweled breast

There is value, maybe, in a purchased crest;
But the thirsty soul soon learns to know
The moistureless froth of the social show;
The vulgar sham of the pompous feast,
Where the heaviest purse is the highest priest;
The organized chastity scrimped and iced
In the name of a cautious statistical Christ;
The smile restrained; the respected cant
When a friend in need is a friend in want;
Where the only aim is to keep afloat,

And a brother may drown with a cry in his throat.
Oh, I long for the glow of a kindly heart and the grasp

of a friendly hand,

And I'd rather live in Bohemia than in any other land.

Columbia Record 933

I AM A ROAMER BOLD
"Son and Stranger"
Mendelssohn

I am a roamer bold and gay,

Who thro' the world have danc'd my way;
Aye! who thro' the world have danc'd my way.
From Poland to the Irish Sea

Do I know all, and all know me,
And all know me.

The Tarantelle, with French "Ville,"
The minuets, with castanets,
The rigadoon, the Arab tune,
The polka hop, the new "galloppe,"
I know them all from A to Z,

And by my heels can save my head.
Aye! By my heels can save my head.

I am the man, whate'er the play,
Can put you in the proper way,
Aye! Can put you in the proper way.
Where every clown among you all
Would stumble o'er his leg and fall,
O'er his leg and fall.

You know not yet the Pirouette,
Nor Scottish reel with toe and heel;
For a quadrille you have no skill,
A bear could do a "valse" like you.
But, pity, I am come to show,
To teach you rustics all I know.

Thank the good stars, who you to teach,
Have put a master in your reach.

What profits arm or leg or span,
Save one can use them like a man,

A man, a man.

Save one can use them like a man.

Edison Diamond Disc Record 83045

SWEET BIRD

"Il Pensieroso"
Handel

Sweet Bird! that shun'st the noise of folly,

Most musical, most melancholy,

Thee, 'chantress, oft the woods among,

I woo, to hear thy even song.

Victor Record 88068

I AM COMING HOME

Ackley

Jesus, I am coming home today,

For I have found there's joy in Thee alone;
From the path of sin I turn away,

Now I am coming home.

Chorus:

Jesus, I am coming home today,
Never, never more from Thee to stray.
Lord, I now accept Thy precious promise,
I am coming home.

Many years my heart has strayed from Thee,
And now repentant to Thy throne I come.
Jesus opened up the way for me,

Now I am coming home.

Now I seek the cross where Jesus died,
For all my sins His blood will still atone,
Flowing o'er till every stain is covered,

I am coming home.

Copyright 1910 H. A. Rodeheaver. Words and music from Rodeheaver Co., 440 So. Dearborn St., Chicago, Ill.

Victor Record 17786

I'D ASK FOR YOU

Lamb

Sometimes I roam in the starlight
Dreaming of you!

Sometimes I fancy the angels are
Thinking of you too!
Sometimes when life is so dreary,
Then I will wish you could hear me,
Then I will wish you were near me, beloved,
Then I ask for you.

Chorus:

If I could ask a wish of Heaven
I'd ask for you!

Such joy unto my soul you've given,
I'd ask for you!

In rosy morn or twilight gray,
One wish I always knew,

If life were ebbing fast away,

I'd ask for you!

Used by permission, words and music copyright 1915 by

Frank R. Root & Co., Chicago, Ill.

Pathe Record 10043

I CANNOT SING THE OLD SONGS
Claribel

I cannot sing the old songs,

I sang long years ago,

For heart and voice would fail me
And foolish tears would flow;

For bygone hours come o'er my heart
With each familiar strain,
I cannot sing the old songs,
Or dream those dreams again.

I cannot sing the old songs,
Their charm is sad and deep,
Their melodies would waken

Old sorrows from their sleep,
And though all unforgotten still,
And sadly sweet they be,
I cannot sing the old songs,
They are too dear to me.

I cannot sing the old songs,
For visions come again,
Of golden dreams departed,
And years of weary pain;
Perhaps when earthly fetters shall
Have set my spirit free,

My voice may know the old songs,
For all eternity.

My voice may know the old songs,

For all eternity.

Victor Record 87204

I KNOW OF TWO BRIGHT EYES

Clutsam

I know of two bright eyes watching for me,
I know of two white arms waiting for me,
I know of cheeks that burn

To greet me when I return,

Oh, Myra! Oh, Myra, I soon will come to thee!

I know a tender heart weeping for me,

I know of two red lips praying for me,

I know a paradise,

A haven from tears and sighs,

Oh, Myra! Oh, Myra, I soon will come to thee!

Victor Record 18021 Copyright 1901 by Hatfield & Co., London, England

I DIDN'T RAISE MY FORD TO BE A JITNEY

Frost

Hiram Lord from Wellsboro

He bought a Ford a week ago,
And he paid for it in regular dough,
Then took a trip to town;

While going up the big main street,
A man whose nerve could not be beat,
Jumped right up in his back seat,
But Hi, he slowed right down.
The man said, as he held five cents,
"This Jitney Bus is sure immense,"
But Hi his anger was intense
As he turned to him and said
"Get out! get out!

I know you hate to walk,

No doubt, no doubt,

But 'tain't no use to talk."

Chorus:

I didn't raise my Ford to be a Jitney Bus,
So don't humiliate my poor machine,
Henry Ford made walking a pleasure,
But don't take my little treasure,

Or I'll run you out of gasoline.

You'd better take the street car right away, sir,
You're the meanest man I've ever seen!

You're in an awful pickle

Take back your doggone nickle

I didn't raise my Ford to be a jitney.

Hiram said I'd like to know,
Why everybody snickers so,
When down the boulevard I go,
They're jealous, I don't care.
A very weary life I've led,
The other day a fellow said,

Fords go where angels fear to tread

That means anywhere.

One day I cranked to beat the band,

The darned thing slipped out of my hand

I thought that it would never land,

For it nearly touched the sky.

I'm sad! I'm sad!

I've got a car but out of gasoline.

Used by permission, words and music copyright 1915 by

Frank K. Root & Co., Chicago, Ill.

Pathe Record 10035