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.