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From the Evening Star, October 19, 1912.
By Philander Johnson.

 As orators with words so fair
   And promises so fine
 With eloquence filled all the air
   And thrilled your heart and mine,
 We’d listen for a little while
   Before we turned away
 And murmured with a cynic smile,
   “They don’t mean all they say.”
 The eagerness of good intent
   That kept their hearts so warm
 Led them to promise as they went
   More than they could perform.
 In hope’s glad sunshine they came out
   To make ambition’s hay.
 They never heard our word of doubt,
   “They can’t mean all they say!”
 Now darker banners they unfurl,
   Their words bring strange regret.
 Instead of promises they hurl
   An angry epithet.
 But to our comment old we cling,
   And vow with hearts all gay
 That time its usual change will bring,
   They don’t mean all they say.

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