“Why do I sing — Tra-la-la-la-la!
Glad as a King?— Tra-la-la-la-la!
Well, since you ask,—
I have such a pleasant task,
I can not help but sing!
“Why do I smile — Tra-la-la-la-la!
Working the while?— Tra-la-la-la-la!
Work like this is play,—
So I'm playing all the day —
I can not help but smile!
“So, If you please — Tra-la-la-la-la!
Live at your ease!— Tra-la-la-la-la!
You've only got to turn,
And, you see, its bound to churn —
I can not help but please!”
The farmer pondered and scratched his head,
Reading over each mystic word.—
“Some o’ the Dreamer's work!” he said —
“Ah, here's more — and name and date
In his hand-write’!” — And the good man read,—
“‘ Patent applied for, July third,
Eighteen hundred and forty-eight’!”
The fragment fell from his nerveless grasp —
His awed lips thrilled with the joyous gasp:
“I see the p'int to the whole concern,—
He's studied out a patent churn!”