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.