Picnic-time

It's June ag'in, an' in my soul I feel the fillin'

That's sure to come this time o' year to every little boy;

For, every June, the Sunday-schools at picnics may be seen,

Where "fields beyont the swellin' floods stand dressed in livin' green";

Where little girls are skeered to death with spiders, bugs, and ants,

An' little boys get grass-stains on their go-to meetin' pants.

It's June ag'in, an' with it all what happiness is mine -There's goin' to be a picnic, an' I'm goin' to jine!

One year I jined the Baptists, an' goodness! how it rained!(But grampa says that that's the way "baptizo" is explained.)And once I jined the 'Piscopils an' had a heap o' fun -But the boss of all the picnics was the Presbyteriun!

They had so many puddin's, sallids, sandwidges, an' pies,

That a feller wisht his stummick was as hungry as his eyes!

Oh, yes, the eatin' Presbyteriuns give yer is so

That when they have a picnic, you bet I'm goin' to jine!

But at this time the Methodists have special claims on me,

For they're goin' to give a picnic on the 21st,

D.

V.;

Why should a liberal universalist like me

To share the joys of fellowship with every friendly sect?

However het'rodox their articles of faith elsewise may be,

Their doctrine of fried chick'n is a savin' grace to me!

So on the 21st of June, the weather bein' fine,

They're goin' to give a picnic, and I'm goin' to jine!