Oh! thou Alpha, Beta row, Fun and freedom's earliest foe; Shall I e'er forget the primer, Thumb'd beside some Mrs. Trimmer,— While mighty problem held me fast, To know if Z were first or last? And all Pandora had for me Was emptied forth in A B C.
Teasing things of toil and trouble, Fount of many a rolling bubble; How I strived with pouting pain, To get thee quarter'd on my brain; But when the giant feat was done, How nobly wide the field I'd won! Wit, Reason, Wisdom, all might be Enjoyed through simple A B C.
Steps that lead to topmost height Of worldly fame and human might; Ye win the orator's renown, The poet's bays, the scholar's gown; Philosophers must bend and say 'Twas ye who oped their glorious way. Sage, statesman, critic, where is he Who's not obliged to A B C?
Ye really ought to be exempt From slighting taunt and cool contempt, But drinking deep from learning's cup, We scorn the hand that fill'd it up. Be courteous, pedants—stay and thank Your servants of the Roman rank, For F.R.S. and LL.D. Can only spring from A B C.
