From Rude Rural Rhymes by Bob Adams, New York: The Macmillan Company; 1925; pp. 208-209.
SUSPENSE
The doctors held a consultation,
Decided on an operation,
Then told this bard they must admit
The game was on and he was it.
They said they hardly could avoid
Some tinkering with his mastoid,
And whether he survived or not,
Depended on the luck he’d got.
O brothers, I was living on,
All quiet just like you or John,
When suddenly they said to me,
“Step up and face eternity.”
Now as I gazed thereon, gadzooks,
I cannot say I liked the looks.
Not one of all the cherubim
Has anything on our boy Jim.
I’d hate to leave my charming Hannah,
And with strange angels sing Hosanna.
I have so many things begun.
So many things not yet half done,
Sweet fruits of life I have not bitten,
And Rural Rhymes I have not written,
I’d hate to leave them in the lurch
[209]
And go heard foremost into church
To let the parson work his jaws
And tell how good a man I was.
It may be good for any gink
To stand awhile upon the brink,
Of all his sins and such to think.
But as for me, I hope when next
The preacher picks my funeral text,
The doctors will not come and stand
Beside my bedside in a band,
All pointing to the promised land.
O friends, I hope I’ll not be knowing
Just when they think they’ve got me going.