An Autograph

In this Album you may trace⁠—
If not the lineaments of face⁠—
Here, at least, you will find
Photographs of the mind.

Some in earnest, some in fun,
Some do lecture, some do pun;
Here the maiden and the youth,
Each proclaim some precious truth.

And there is some fine pages⁠—
Written by maturer ages⁠—
They show that time is brief,
That soon comes sere and yellow leaf.

But we must cease, ’ere your ire
Be aroused ’gainst McIntyre,
Who doth reside in Ingersoll⁠—
Perhaps you’ll think that he is droll.