A Collar Of Honor

In France, sunny France, far away o’er the sea, There are things that they do rather better than we; Perhaps these are many, perhaps but a few-- Be that as it may, there’s one thing that they do: They recognize merit where’er it is found And ever its praises are willing to sound; And even a dog, if he act well his part, Is held in esteem in the popular heart. You feel it, you know it, you see that it’s so, When you meet in the street, as you stroll to and fro, The dogs with their collars of honor.

A dog who has rescued in perilous strife A poor human creature, and saved him his life, Is counted thereafter a ward of the state, The charge of officials, from petty to great. His bed and his board are forever assured; In health he is tended, in illness he’s cured. A band of bright metal he wears round his throat, And pride of it shows in each hair of his coat. You feel it, you know it, you see that it’s so, When you meet in the street, as you stroll to and fro, The dogs with their collars of honor.

At Brest, should you go there, as I did one night,-- ’Tis a post of the navy and well worth a sight,-- A Newfoundland dog you may happen to meet, A hero whose praises the sailors repeat. So many he’s rescued from tempest and wreck That a grand decoration he wears at his neck. It hangs from his collar, and when it is seen He is gravely saluted by each bold marine. E’en sentries do homage when trots up and down, Bejeweled, beribboned, this pride of the town, This dog with his collar of honor.