“Wise is the child who knows his sire”,
The ancient proverb ran,
But wiser far the man who knows
How, where and when his offspring grows-
For who the mischief would suppose
I’ve sons in Michigan?
Yet am I saved from midnight ills
That warp the soul of man;
They do not make me walk the floor
Nor hammer at the doctor’s door –
They deal in wheat and iron ore,
My sons in Michigan.
Oh, tourist in the Pullman car,
(By Cook’s or Raymond’s plan)
Forgive a parent’s partial view –
But, maybe you have children, too,
So let me introduce to you
My sons in Michigan.
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