I will write you a rollicking, nonsense rhyme,
Of a man on a wheel of steel,
Who was always singing, in tuneful time,
In praise of his shining wheel.
He sang at the break of the dawning day,
He sang when the night grew chill,
In a sort of a reckless, roistering way,
With a right good royal will.

And sorrow slid off from his careless life,
Like drops of rain from a spire,
And he hadn't a fretful thought of strife,
Nor a hopeless vain desire;
So wherever he went, and whenever he sang,
His manner, so free from guile,
Made every one glad, and the welkins rang
At the sight of his sunny smile.

And the women and children, and grown-up men,
Would beg of him, all the while,
To tell them the secret, there and then,
Of his everlasting smile.
“I ride a good deal, on a wheel of steel,”
Said the man; “and a conscience clear
Will make you feel that a real steel wheel
Is a source of endless cheer.”