William McCarty, comp. The American National Song Book. 1842.
The Constitution1787S
By men so often used,
And all its meaning made absurd,
By knaves and fools abused—
Imprimis, I must show
What Constitutions a’n’t my theme,
Then, item, let you know.
Which metaphysics teach,
Of minds composed of good and vice,
And strange effects of each—
Descried in every view:
Nor Constitution now call’d old—
I mean the one that’s new.
Was erst imperfect found;
But politicians made debates,
To constitute it sound.
Are hated or embraced—
Or damn’d, (O, shocking!) or the boast
Of all your men of taste.
Protests they are not good:
Though not a sentence meets his eyes
That well is understood.
Denoting thought profound,
He opes the snuff-box, then the case,
While newsmongers surround.
D’ye think ’twill stand the test?
Our new-form’d government, I say,
Methinks ’tis not the best.
Its power will be too great:
The President will be a king:
Besides, ’tis intricate.”
To hold the worst of creeds,
Lest you be deem’d, as well you may,
A foe to federal deeds—
Permit me to remark;
For, sir, the Constitution’s new,
And, therefore, sir, is dark.”
Its faults or excellence
Not seen by the sagacious phiz
Of would-be men of sense.
His sentiment to tell:
(And Cato must not think it hard,)
He likes the system well.
That’s opposite to mine,
How wise the plan! I still declare—
What judgment in each line!
Its highest good to find—
Is not a whole convention more
Than one imperfect mind.
(Their country’s guardian guides,)
Concert a plan, with wisdom fraught,
And Washington presides!
They sure have counseled best—
O, prosper! Heaven! our parent land,
And make her people blest.