Do not take a bath in Jordan
Gordon
On the holy Sabbath, on the peaceful day!
Said the huntsman
Playing on his old bagpipe
Boring to death the pheasant
And the snipe -
Boring the ptarmigan
And grouse for fun -
Boring them worse
Than a nine-bore gun
Till the flaxen leaves where the
Prunes are ripe
Heard the tartan wind a-droning
Through the pipe
And they, heard Macpherson say:
"Where do the waves go; What hotels
Hide their bustles
And their gay ombrelles?
And would there be room for me? -
Would there be room
Would there be room for me?"
There is a hotel at Ostend
Cold as the wind, without an end
Haunted by ghostly poor relations
Of Bostonian conversations
(Like bagpipes rotting
Through the walls.)
And there the pearl-ropes fall like shawls
With a noise like marine waterfalls
And "Another little drink
Wouldn't do us any harm"
Pierces through the sabbatical calm
And that is the place for me!
So do not take a bath in Jordan
Gordon
On the holy Sabbath on the
Peaceful day-
Or you'll never go to heaven
Gordon Macpherson
And speaking purely as a private person
That is the place - that is the place -
That is the place for me!