Show me a word which you can choose,
That blends with rhyme as does Cohoes;
They Happy theme of bard or muse
Has none to equal thee, Cohoes.
The rosebud glistening with dews
Reflects the morning's saffron hues,
Whilst Nature's tints a joy diffuse,
Around thy happy homes, Cohoes.
The girls walking out in twos
Beside the Mohawk or the Meuse,
Or perchance beside the Ouse
Tread to the measure of Cohoes.
He who is troubled with the blues,
Who would his friends and foes amuse,
Let him some pleasant tale peruse,
Them stroll along thy streets, Cohoes.
The man who pays his labor dues,
Who trades with Christians and with Jews
Who always minds his p's and q's,
Is ever welcome in Cohoes.
The many fair and pleasant views,
Fairer, than are the London Mews;
Will never tire the man who sues,
For recreation in Cohoes.
Good reading in Dispatch or News,
Will many wholesome thoughts infuse,
And like some torch, or gentle fuse,
Arouse the minds in thee, Cohoes.
If softly blends its rhythmic coos,
With what we have and what we quese,
And still its loving note renews
To link itself with thee, Cohoes.
It sweetly rhymes with whose and woos;
And swiftly passes lurking ruse,
Then turns its thoughts to sav'ry stews,
The poetry of life Cohoes.
The man with numberless ados
And ills that oft his spirit bruise,
If he stop chalking billiard cues,
His friends, no doubt, will him excuse
And make life happier in Cohoes.
Now slowly does my meter ooze,
As tho' indulging in a booze,
Its dribbling nonsense it eschews
To sing the praises of Cohoes.
Still dost thou rhyme with fleecy ewes,
With North Carolina's Neuse,
And still the Muse another brews,
And bids farewell to thee, Cohoes.
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