Cannon’s Last Stand (after T. B. Read)

Still in the house at break of day

Bringing to Cannon fresh dismay;

The a-frightened Unc’ with a shudder bore

Down on his gavel as ne’er before

Trying to silence the howl and roar

Feeling the battle still held to the floor,

And Taft 500 miles away.

And wider still the billows of war

Thundered along the horizon’s bar,

And longer yet into Washington rolled

The roar of that bedlam uncontrolled,

Making the blood of the listener cold,

As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray,

And Taft in Chicago, far away!

But there is in peace, as well as war,

A noble use of a big cigar;

Which pointing skyward to the rising sun

Like the snout of a disappearing gun,

His enemies quailed a moment then

Until he got his breath again,

Though Taft was still far away.

Still came those hot words from west to south,

The dust like smoke from the Cannon’s mouth,

Like the tail of a comet faster and faster

Foreboding to insurgents the nation’s disaster.

The hearts of the slaves, the hearts of the master

Were beating like butters a-butting their walls,

Or stamping like stallions within their stalls;

The nerves of the opponents strained to full play,

With Taft in Chicago, far away.

Under his glaring eye the fight

Passed on to the morning from the night;

Passin’ on until the noonday hour was come

With Uncle beat out but in the game.

“Alas!” He cried, “I cannot hold out!

These rebels will soon put me to rout;

How different ‘twould be,” he was heard to say

“If Taft was only on deck today.”

Hurrah, hurrah for Uncle Joe!

Hurrah, hurrah for friend and foe!

Fighting, charging maided alone

Vainly trying to hold his own,

And when their pictures go on the wall

Under the dome of the Capitol

Be it said in letters both bold and bright:

“This is the man who lost the fray

Because Taft was 500 miles away!”

Feb. or March, 1910