Then they sang a psalm,
Did those pious Glugs 'neath the Snufflebust Palm.


And every bee that kisses a flow'r,
And every blossom, born for an hour,
And every bird on its gladsome flight,
All know the Glugs quite well by sight.
For they say, "'Tis a simple test we've got:
If you know one Glug, why, you know the lot!"
So, they climbed a tree in the bourgeoning Spring,
And they hanged poor Joi with some second-hand string.
'Tis a horrible thing
To be hanged by Glugs with second-hand string.


Then Splosh, the king, rose up and said,
"It's not polite; but he's safer dead.
And there's not much room in the land of Gosh
For a Glug named Joi and a king called Splosh!"
And every Glug flung high his hat,
And cried, "We're Glugs! and you can't change that!"
So they climbed the trees, since the weather was cold,
While the brazen bell of the city tolled
And tolled, and told
The fate of a Glug who was over-bold.


And every cloud that sails the blue,
And every dancing sunbeam too,