A Dampened Ardor

The Chinatown at Bakersfield
  Was blazing bright and high;
The flames to water would not yield,
  Though torrents drenched the sky
And drowned the ground for miles around⁠—
  The houses were so dry.

Then rose an aged preacher man
  Whom all did much admire,
Who said: “To force on you my plan
  I truly don’t aspire,
But streams, it seems, might quench these beams
  If turned upon the fire.”

The fireman said: “This hoary wight
  His folly dares to thrust
On us! ’Twere well he felt our might⁠—
  Nay, he shall feel our must!”
With jet of wet and small regret
  They laid that old man’s dust.