Pray for the pleasures that he who was you
  Found in the mud of a shower-fed pool,
For the fears that he felt and the joys that he knew
  When a little green lizard crept into the school. 
Pray as they pray who are maddened by wine: 
  For distraction from self and a spirit at rest. 
Now, deep in the heart of you search for a sign—­
  If there be naught of it, vain is your quest.

Lay down the book, for to follow the tale
Were to trade in false blame, as all mortals who fail. 
And may the gods salve you on life’s dreary round;
For ’tis whispered:  “Who finds not, ’tis he shall be found!”

II.  JOI, THE GLUG

The Glugs abide in a far, far land
That is partly pebbles and stones and sand
   But mainly earth of a chocolate hue,
   When it isn’t purple or slightly blue. 
And the Glugs live there with their aunts and their wives,
In draught-proof tenements all their lives. 
   And they climb the trees when the weather is wet,
   To see how high they can really get. 
      Pray, don’t forget,
   This is chiefly done when the weather is wet.

And every shadow that flits and hides,
And every stream that glistens and glides
   And laughs its way from a highland height,
   All know the Glugs quite well by sight. 
And they say, “Our test is the best by far;
For a Glug is a Glug; so there you are! 
   And they climb the trees when it drizzles or hails
   To get electricity into their nails;
      And the Glug that fails
   Is a luckless Glug, if it drizzles or hails.”

Now, the Glugs abide in the lands of Gosh;
And they work all day for the sake of Splosh. 
   For Splosh, the First, is the Nation’s pride,
   And King of the Glugs, on his uncle’s side. 
And they sleep at night, for the sake of rest;
For their doctors say this suits them best. 
   And they climb the trees, as a general rule,
   For exercise, when the weather is cool. 
      They’re taught at school
   To climb the trees when the weather is cool.

And the whispering grass on the gay green hills
And every cricket that skirls and shrills,
   And every moonbeam, gleaming white,
   All know the Glugs quite well by sight. 
And they say, “It is safe, it is the test we bring;
For a Glug is an awful Gluglike thing. 
   And they climb the trees when there’s a sign of fog,
   To scan the land for a feasible dog. 
      They love to jog
   Thro’ dells in quest of a feasible dog.”

The Glugs eat meals three times a day
Because their fathers ate that way. 
   Their grandpas said the scheme was good
   To help the Glugs digest their food. 
And ’tis wholesome food the Glugs have got,
For it says so plain on the tin and pot. 
   And they climb the trees when the weather is dry
   To get a glimpse of the pale green sky. 
      We don’t know why,
   But they like to gaze on the pale green sky.