Classic Poem

Our Frank is gone, that nice young man,
We ne'er shall see him more;
He wore his collar upside down
And buttoned it before.

His soul was tuned to music sweet,
Although he could not sing;
He wore his shoes upon his feet
And tied them with a string.

Of all the youths the world e'er saw
He surely was the best;
His hat was made of Leghorn straw
And satin was his vest.

The “stops” would say if they could speak,
His like was never seen;
He wore his gray coat all the week,
And Sunday wore his green.

The “swells” shall long remember him
With fond affection too;
His hair was rather brown than black,
His eyes were grayish blue.

And all the ladies of the choir
For him had set their caps,—
He wore his breeches very loose
And always hated straps.

But now he's gone, that nice young man,
Oh, who can fill his place!
For who can pull the organ stops
With such “exquisite grace.”

But wheresoever be his hot,
His fate, to sink or swim,
His name shall never be forgot
While we remember him.