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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/10460-0.txt b/10460-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..78a6e20 --- /dev/null +++ b/10460-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4414 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10460 *** + +WHEN DAY IS DONE + +by + +EDGAR A. GUEST + + +1921 + +To +S.H.D. +A real friend who never knows when day is done + + + +INDEX + + +Age of Ink, The +All for the Best +Always Saying "Don't!" +Autumn Evenings +Aw Gee Whiz! + +Bedtime +Better Job, The +Bob White +Book of Memory. The +Boy and His Dad, A +Boy and His Dog, A +Boy and His Stomach, A +Boy and the Flag, The +Boy O'Mine +Brothers All + +Call of the Woods, The +"Carry On" +Castor Oil +Chip on Your Shoulder, The +Christmas Carol, A +Christmas Gift for Mother, The +Cleaning the Furnace +Committee Meetings +Contradictin' Joe +Cookie Jar, The +Couldn't Live Without You +Cure for Weariness, The + +Dan McGann Declares Himself +Deeds of Anger, The + +Family Row, A +Father's Wish, A +Feller's Hat, A +Fellowship of Books, The +Forgotten Boyhood + +God Made This Day for Me +Golf Luck +Good Little Boy, The +Grate Fire, The +Green Apple Time + +Happy Man, The +He's Taken Out His Papers +Home and the Office +Homely Man, The +How Do You Buy Your Money? + +I Ain't Dead Yet +I'd Rather Be a Failure +If I Had Youth +If This Were All + +Joys of Home, The +Joys We Miss, The +Just a Boy + +Kick Under the Table, The + +Leader of the Gang +Learn to Smile +Life Is What We Make It +Life's Single Standard +Little Girls Are Best +Little Wrangles +Lonely +Looking Back +Loss Is Not So Great, The +Lucky Man, The + +Ma and the Ouija Board +Making of Friends, The +Memorial Day +Mother's Day +My Religion + +No Better Land Than This +No Children! +No Room for Hate +Nothing to Laugh At +No Use Sighin' + +Old Mister Laughter +Old Years and New + +Pa and the Monthly Bills +Peaks of Valor, The +Practicing Time +Pretending Not to See + +Safe at Home +Satisfied With Life +She Mothered Five +She Powders Her Nose +Simple' Things, The +Sittin' on the Porch +Song of the Builder, The +Spoiler, The +Summer Dreams + +Things You Can't Forget, The +Three Me's, The +To a Little Girl +To an Old Friend +Too Big a Price +Trouble Brings Friends +True Man, The + +Vanished Joy, A + +"Wait Till Your Pa Comes Home" +We're Dreamers All +What Home's Intended For +What I Call Living +What Is Success? +What Makes an Artist +What We Need +When Day Is Done +When Friends Drop In +When Ma Wants Something New +When Mother's Sewing Buttons On +When Sorrow Comes +When The Minister Calls +When We Play the Fool +When We're All Alike +When We Understand the Plan +Where Children Play +"Where's Mamma?" +Wide Outdoors, The +Willing Horse, The +With Dog and Gun +World and Bud, The + + + + +When Day Is Done + + +When day is done and the night slips down, +And I've turned my back on the busy town, +And come once more to the welcome gate +Where the roses nod and the children wait, +I tell myself as I see them smile +That life is good and its tasks worth while. + +When day is done and I've come once more +To my quiet street and the friendly door, +Where the Mother reigns and the children play +And the kettle sings in the old-time way, +I throw my coat on a near-by chair +And say farewell to my pack of care. + +When day is done, all the hurt and strife +And the selfishness and the greed of life, +Are left behind in the busy town; +I've ceased to worry about renown +Or gold or fame, and I'm just a dad, +Content to be with his girl and lad. + +Whatever the day has brought of care, +Here love and laughter are mine to share, +Here I can claim what the rich desire-- +Rest and peace by a ruddy fire, +The welcome words which the loved ones speak +And the soft caress of a baby's cheek. + +When day is done and I reach my gate, +I come to a realm where there is no hate, +For here, whatever my worth may be, +Are those who cling to their faith in me; +And with love on guard at my humble door, +I have all that the world has struggled for. + + + + +The Simple Things + + +I would not be too wise--so very wise + That I must sneer at simple songs and creeds, +And let the glare of wisdom blind my eyes + To humble people and their humble needs. + +I would not care to climb so high that I + Could never hear the children at their play, +Could only see the people passing by, + And never hear the cheering words they say. + +I would not know too much--too much to smile + At trivial errors of the heart and hand, +Nor be too proud to play the friend the while, + Nor cease to help and know and understand. + +I would not care to sit upon a throne, + Or build my house upon a mountain-top, +Where I must dwell in glory all alone + And never friend come in or poor man stop. + +God grant that I may live upon this earth + And face the tasks which every morning brings +And never lose the glory and the worth + Of humble service and the simple things. + + + + +Life Is What We Make It + + +Life is a jest; + Take the delight of it. +Laughter is best; + Sing through the night of it. +Swiftly the tear + And the hurt and the ache of it +Find us down here; + Life must be what we make of it. + +Life is a song; + Dance to the thrill of it. +Grief's hours are long, + And cold is the chill of it. +Joy is man's need; + Let us smile for the sake of it. +This be our creed: + Life must be what we make of it. + +Life is a soul; + The virtue and vice of it, +Strife for a goal, + And man's strength is the price of it. +Your life and mine, + The bare bread and the cake of it +End in this line: + Life must be what we make of it. + + + + +What We Need + + +We were settin' there an' smokin' of our pipes, discussin' things, +Like licker, votes for wimmin, an' the totterin'thrones o' kings, +When he ups an' strokes his whiskers with his hand an' says t'me: +"Changin' laws an' legislatures ain't, as fur as I can see, +Goin' to make this world much better, unless somehow we can +Find a way to make a better an' a finer sort o' man. + +"The trouble ain't with statutes or with systems--not at all; +It's with humans jest like we air an' their petty ways an' small. +We could stop our writin' law-books an' our regulatin' rules +If a better sort of manhood was the product of our schools. +For the things that we air needin' ain't no writin' from a pen +Or bigger guns to shoot with, but a bigger typeof men. + +"I reckon all these problems air jest ornery like the weeds. +They grow in soil that oughta nourish only decent deeds, +An' they waste our time an' fret us when, if we were thinkin' straight +An' livin' right, they wouldn't be so terrible an' great. +A good horse needs no snaffle, an' a good man, I opine, +Doesn't need a law to check him or to force him into line. + +"If we ever start in teachin' to our children, year by year, +How to live with one another, there'll be less o' trouble here. +If we'd teach 'em how to neighbor an' to walk in honor's ways, +We could settle every problem which the mind o' man can raise. +What we're needin' isn't systems or some regulatin' plan, +But a bigger an' a finer an' a truer type o' man." + + + + +A Boy and His Dad + + +A boy and his dad on a fishing-trip-- +There is a glorious fellowship! +Father and son and the open sky +And the white clouds lazily drifting by, +And the laughing stream as it runs along +With the clicking reel like a martial song, +And the father teaching the youngster gay +How to land a fish in the sportsman's way. + +I fancy I hear them talking there +In an open boat, and the speech is fair; +And the boy is learning the ways of men +From the finest man in his youthful ken. +Kings, to the youngster, cannot compare +With the gentle father who's with him there. +And the greatest mind of the human race +Not for one minute could take his place. + +Which is happier, man or boy? +The soul of the father is steeped in joy, +For he's finding out, to his heart's delight, +That his son is fit for the future fight. +He is learning the glorious depths of him, +And the thoughts he thinks and his every whim, +And he shall discover, when night comes on, +How close he has grown to his little son. + +A boy and his dad on a fishing-trip-- +Oh, I envy them, as I see them there +Under the sky in the open air, +For out of the old, old long-ago +Come the summer days that I used to know, +When I learned life's truths from my father's lips +As I shared the joy of his fishing-trips-- +Builders of life's companionship! + + + + +If I Had Youth + + +If I had youth I'd bid the world to try me; + I'd answer every challenge to my will. +And though the silent mountains should defy me, + I'd try to make them subject to my skill. +I'd keep my dreams and follow where they led me; + I'd glory in the hazards which abound. +I'd eat the simple fare privations fed me, + And gladly make my couch upon the ground. + +If I had youth I'd ask no odds of distance, + Nor wish to tread the known and level ways. +I'd want to meet and master strong resistance, + And in a worth-while struggle spend my days. +I'd seek the task which calls for full endeavor; + I'd feel the thrill of battle in my veins. +I'd bear my burden gallantly, and never + Desert the hills to walk on common plains. + +If I had youth no thought of failure lurking + Beyond to-morrow's dawn should fright my soul. +Let failure strike--it still should find me working + With faith that I should some day reach my goal. +I'd dice with danger--aye!--and glory in it; + I'd make high stakes the purpose of my throw. +I'd risk for much, and should I fail to win it, + I would not ever whimper at the blow. + +If I had youth no chains of fear should bind me; + I'd brave the heights which older men must shun. +I'd leave the well-worn lanes of life behind me, + And seek to do what men have never done. +Rich prizes wait for those who do not waver; + The world needs men to battle for the truth. +It calls each hour for stronger hearts and braver. + This is the age for those who still have youth! + + + + +Looking Back + + +I might have been rich if I'd wanted the gold instead of the friendships + I've made. +I might have had fame if I'd sought for renown in the hours when I + purposely played. +Now I'm standing to-day on the far edge of life, and I'm just looking + backward to see +What I've done with the years and the days that were mine, and all that + has happened to me. + +I haven't built much of a fortune to leave to those who shall carry my + name, +And nothing I've done shall entitle me now to a place on the tablets of + fame. +But I've loved the great sky and its spaces of blue; I've lived with the + birds and the trees; +I've turned from the splendor of silver and gold to share in such pleasures + as these. + +I've given my time to the children who came; together we've romped and + we've played, +And I wouldn't exchange the glad hours spent with them for the money that + I might have made. +I chose to be known and be loved by the few, and was deaf to the plaudits + of men; +And I'd make the same choice should the chance come to me to live my life + over again. + +I've lived with my friends and I've shared in their joys, known sorrow with + all of its tears; +I have harvested much from my acres of life, though some say I've + squandered my years. +For much that is fine has been mine to enjoy, and I think I have lived to + my best, +And I have no regret, as I'm nearing the end, for the gold that I might + have possessed. + + + + +God Made This Day for Me + + +Jes' the sort o' weather and jes' the sort of sky +Which seem to suit my fancy, with the white clouds driftin' by +On a sea o' smooth blue water. Oh, I ain't an egotist, +With an "I" in all my thinkin', but I'm willin' to insist +That the Lord who made us humans an' the birds in every tree +Knows my special sort o' weather an' he made this day fer me. + +This is jes' my style o' weather--sunshine floodin' all the place, +An' the breezes from the eastward blowin' gently on my face; +An' the woods chock full o' singin' till you'd think birds never had +A single care to fret 'em or a grief to make 'em sad. +Oh, I settle down contented in the shadow of a tree, +An' tell myself right proudly that the day was made fer me. + +It's my day, my sky an' sunshine, an' the temper o' the breeze-- +Here's the weather I would fashion could I run things as I please: +Beauty dancin' all around me, music ringin' everywhere, +Like a weddin' celebration--why, I've plumb fergot my care +An' the tasks I should be doin' fer the rainy days to be, +While I'm huggin' the delusion that God made this day fer me. + + + + +The Grate Fire + + +I'm sorry for a fellow if he cannot look and see +In a grate fire's friendly flaming all the joys which used to be. +If in quiet contemplation of a cheerful ruddy blaze +He sees nothing there recalling all his happy yesterdays, +Then his mind is dead to fancy and his life is bleak and bare, +And he's doomed to walk the highways that are always thick with care. + +When the logs are dry as tinder and they crackle with the heat, +And the sparks, like merry children, come a-dancing round my feet, +In the cold, long nights of autumn I can sit before the blaze +And watch a panorama born of all my yesterdays. +I can leave the present burdens and the moment's bit of woe, +And claim once more the gladness of the bygone long-ago. + +No loved ones ever vanish from the grate fire's merry throng; +No hands in death are folded and no lips are stilled to song. +All the friends who were are living--like the sparks that fly about +They come romping out to greet me with the same old merry shout, +Till it seems to me I'm playing once again on boyhood's stage, +Where there's no such thing as sorrow and there's no such thing as age. + +I can be the care-free schoolboy! I can play the lover, too! +I can walk through Maytime orchards with the old sweetheart I knew, +I can dream the glad dreams over, greet the old familiar friends +In a land where there's no parting and the laughter never ends. +All the gladness life has given from a grate fire I reclaim, +And I'm sorry for the fellow-who sees nothing there but flame. + + + + +The Homely Man + + +Looks as though a cyclone hit him-- +Can't buy clothes that seem to fit him; +An' his cheeks are rough like leather, +Made for standin' any weather. +Outwards he was fashioned plainly, +Loose o' joint an' blamed ungainly, +But I'd give a lot if I'd +Been built half as fine inside. + +Best thing I can tell you of him +Is the way the children love him. +Now an' then I get to thinkin' +He's much like old Abe Lincoln; +Homely like a gargoyle graven-- +Worse'n that when he's unshaven; +But I'd take his ugly phiz +Jes' to have a heart like his. + +I ain't over-sentimental, +But old Blake is so blamed gentle +An' so thoughtfull-like of others +He reminds us of our mothers. +Rough roads he is always smoothing +An' his way is, Oh, so soothin', +That he takes away the sting +When your heart is sorrowing. + +Children gather round about him +Like they can't get on without him. +An' the old depend upon him, +Pilin' all their burdens on him, +Like as though the thing that grieves 'em +Has been lifted when he leaves 'em. +Homely? That can't be denied, +But he's glorious inside. + + + + +The Joys We Miss + + +There never comes a lonely day but that we miss the laughing ways +Of those who used to walk with us through all our happy yesterdays. +We seldom miss the earthly great--the famous men that life has known-- +But, as the years go racing by, we miss the friends we used to own. + +The chair wherein he used to sit recalls the kindly father true +For, Oh, so filled with fun he was, and, Oh, so very much he knew! +And as we face the problems grave with which the years of life are filled. +We miss the hand which guided us and miss the voice forever stilled. + +We little guessed how much he did to smooth our pathway day by day, +How much of joy he brought to us, how much of care he brushed away; +But now that we must tread alone the thorough-fare of life, we find +How many burdens we were spared by him who was so brave and kind. + +Death robs the living, not the dead--they sweetly sleep whose tasks are + done; +But we are weaker than before who still must live and labor on. +For when come care and grief to us, and heavy burdens bring us woe, +We miss the smiling, helpful friends on whom we leaned long years ago. + +We miss the happy, tender ways of those who brought us mirth and cheer; +We never gather round the hearth but that we wish our friends were near; +For peace is born of simple things--a kindly word, a goodnight kiss, +The prattle of a babe, and love--these are the vanished joys we miss. + + + + +The Fellowship of Books + + +I care not who the man may be, + Nor how his tasks may fret him, +Nor where he fares, nor how his cares + And troubles may beset him, +If books have won the love of him, + Whatever fortune hands him, +He'll always own, when he's alone, + A friend who understands him. + +Though other friends may come and go, + And some may stoop to treason, +His books remain, through loss or gain, + And season after season +The faithful friends for every mood, + His joy and sorrow sharing, +For old time's sake, they'll lighter make + The burdens he is bearing. + +Oh, he has counsel at his side, + And wisdom for his duty, +And laughter gay for hours of play, + And tenderness and beauty, +And fellowship divinely rare, + True friends who never doubt him, +Unchanging love, and God above, + Who keeps good books about him. + + + + +When Sorrow Comes + + +When sorrow comes, as come it must, +In God a man must place his trust. +There is no power in mortal speech +The anguish of his soul to reach, +No voice, however sweet and low, +Can comfort him or ease the blow. + +He cannot from his fellowmen +Take strength that will sustain him then. +With all that kindly hands will do, +And all that love may offer, too, +He must believe throughout the test +That God has willed it for the best. + +We who would be his friends are dumb; +Words from our lips but feebly come; +We feel, as we extend our hands, +That one Power only understands +And truly knows the reason why +So beautiful a soul must die. + +We realize how helpless then +Are all the gifts of mortal men. +No words which we have power to say +Can take the sting of grief away-- +That Power which marks the sparrow's fall +Must comfort and sustain us all. + +When sorrow comes, as come it must, +In God a man must place his trust. +With all the wealth which he may own, +He cannot meet the test alone, +And only he may stand serene +Who has a faith on which to lean. + + + + +Golf Luck + + +As a golfer I'm not one who cops the money; + I shall always be a member of the dubs; +There are times my style is positively funny; + I am awkward in my handling of the clubs. +I am not a skillful golfer, nor a plucky, + But this about myself I proudly say-- +When I win a hole by freaky stroke or lucky, + I never claim I played the shot that way. + +There are times, despite my blundering behavior, + When fortune seems to follow at my heels; +Now and then I play supremely in her favor, + And she lets me pull the rankest sort of steals; +She'll give to me the friendliest assistance, + I'll jump a ditch at times when I should not, +I'll top the ball and get a lot of distance-- + But I don't claim that's how I played the shot. + +I've hooked a ball when just that hook I needed, + And wondered how I ever turned the trick; +I've thanked my luck for what a friendly tree did, + Although my fortune made my rival sick; +Sometimes my shots turn out just as I planned 'em, + The sort of shots I usually play, +But when up to the cup I chance to land 'em, + I never claim I played 'em just that way. + +There's little in my game that will commend me; + I'm not a shark who shoots the course in par; +I need good fortune often to befriend me; + I have my faults and know just what they are. +I play golf in a desperate do-or-die way, + And into traps and trouble oft I stray, +But when by chance the breaks are coming my way, + I do not claim I played the shots that way. + + + + +Contradictin' Joe + + +Heard of Contradictin' Joe? +Most contrary man I know. +Always sayin', "That's not so." + +Nothing's ever said, but he +Steps right up to disagree-- +Quarrelsome as he can be. + +If you start in to recite +All the details of a fight, +He'll butt in to set you right. + +Start a story that is true, +He'll begin correctin' you-- +Make you out a liar, too! + +Mention time o' year or day, +Makes no difference what you say, +Nothing happened just that way. + +Bet you, when his soul takes flight, +An' the angels talk at night, +He'll butt in to set 'em right. + +There where none should have complaints +He will be with "no's" and "ain'ts" +Contradictin' all the saints. + + + + +The Better Job + + +If I were running a factory +I'd stick up a sign for all to see; +I'd print it large and I'd nail it high +On every wall that the men walked by; +And I'd have it carry this sentence clear: +"The 'better job' that you want is here!" + +It's the common trait of the human race +To pack up and roam from place to place; +Men have done it for ages and do it now; +Seeking to better themselves somehow +They quit their posts and their tools they drop +For a better job in another shop. + +It may be I'm wrong, but I hold to this-- +That something surely must be amiss +When a man worth while must move away +For the better job with the better pay; +And something is false in our own renown +When men can think of a better town. + +So if I were running a factory +I'd stick up this sign for all to see, +Which never an eye in the place could miss: +"There isn't a better town than this! +You need not go wandering, far or near-- +The 'better job' that you want is here!" + + + + +My Religion + + +My religion's lovin' God, who made us, one and all, +Who marks, no matter where it be, the humble sparrow's fall; +An' my religion's servin' Him the very best I can +By not despisin' anything He made, especially man! +It's lovin' sky an' earth an' sun an' birds an' flowers an' trees, +But lovin' human beings more than any one of these. + +I ain't no hand at preachin' an' I can't expound the creeds; +I fancy every fellow's faith must satisfy his needs +Or he would hunt for something else. An' I can't tell the why +An' wherefore of the doctrines deep--and what's more I don't try. +I reckon when this life is done and we can know His plan, +God won't be hard on anyone who's tried to be a man. + +My religion doesn't hinge on some one rite or word; +I hold that any honest prayer a mortal makes is heard; +To love a church is well enough, but some get cold with pride +An' quite forget their fellowmen for whom the Saviour died; +I fancy he best worships God, when all is said an' done, +Who tries to be, from day to day, a friend to everyone. + +If God can mark the sparrow's fall, I don't believe He'll fail +To notice us an' how we act when doubts an' fears assail; +I think He'll hold what's in our hearts above what's in our creeds, +An' judge all our religion here by our recorded deeds; +An' since man is God's greatest work since life on earth began, +He'll get to Heaven, I believe, who helps his fellowman. + + + + +What I Call Living + + +The miser thinks he's living when he's hoarding up his gold; +The soldier calls it living when he's doing something bold; +The sailor thinks it living to be tossed upon the sea, +And upon this vital subject no two of us agree. +But I hold to the opinion, as I walk my way along, +That living's made of laughter and good-fellowship and song. + +I wouldn't call it living always to be seeking gold, +To bank all the present gladness for the days when I'll be old. +I wouldn't call it living to spend all my strength for fame, +And forego the many pleasures which to-day are mine to claim. +I wouldn't for the splendor of the world set out to roam, +And forsake my laughing children and the peace I know at home. +Oh, the thing that I call living isn't gold or fame at all! + +It's good-fellowship and sunshine, and it's roses by the wall; +It's evenings glad with music and a hearth fire that's ablaze, +And the joys which come to mortals in a thousand different ways. +It is laughter and contentment and the struggle for a goal; +It is everything that's needful in the shaping of a soul. + + + + + +If This Were All + + +If this were all of life we'll know, + If this brief space of breath +Were all there is to human toil, + If death were really death, +And never should the soul arise + A finer world to see, +How foolish would our struggles seem, + How grim the earth would be! + +If living were the whole of life, + To end in seventy years, +How pitiful its joys would seem! + How idle all its tears! +There'd be no faith to keep us true, + No hope to keep us strong, +And only fools would cherish dreams-- + No smile would last for long. + +How purposeless the strife would be + If there were nothing more, +If there were not a plan to serve, + An end to struggle for! +No reason for a mortal's birth + Except to have him die-- +How silly all the goals would seem + For which men bravely try. + +There must be something after death; + Behind the toil of man +There must exist a God divine + Who's working out a plan; +And this brief journey that we know + As life must really be +The gateway to a finer world + That some day we shall see. + + + + +A Christmas Carol + + +God bless you all this Christmas Day +And drive the cares and griefs away. +Oh, may the shining Bethlehem star +Which led the wise men from afar +Upon your heads, good sirs, still glow +To light the path that ye should go. + +As God once blessed the stable grim +And made it radiant for Him; +As it was fit to shield His Son, +May thy roof be a holy one; +May all who come this house to share +Rest sweetly in His gracious care. + +Within thy walls may peace abide, +The peace for which the Savior died. +Though humble be the rafters here, +Above them may the stars shine clear, +And in this home thou lovest well +May excellence of spirit dwell. + +God bless you all this Christmas Day; +May Bethlehem's star still light thy way +And guide thee to the perfect peace +When every fear and doubt shall cease. +And may thy home such glory know +As did the stable long ago. + + + + +Forgotten Boyhood + + +He wears a long and solemn face +And drives the children from his place; +He doesn't like to hear them shout +Or race and run and romp about, +And if they chance to climb his tree, +He is as ugly as can be. +If in his yard they drive a ball, +Which near his pretty flowers should fall, +He hides the leather sphere away, +Thus hoping to prevent their play. + +The youngsters worry him a lot, +This sorry man who has forgot +That once upon a time, he too +The self-same mischief used to do. +The boyhood he has left behind +Has strangely vanished from his mind, +And he is old and gray and cross +For having suffered such a loss. +He thinks he never had the joy +That is the birthright of a boy. + +He has forgotten how he ran, +Or to a dog's tail tied a can, +Broke window panes, and loved to swipe +Some neighbor's apples, red and ripe-- +He thinks that always, day or night, +His conduct was exactly right. +In boys to-day he cannot see +The youngster that he used to be, +Forgotten is that by-gone day, +When he was mischievous as they. + +Poor man! I'm sorry for your lot. +The best of life you have forgot. +Could you remember what you were, +Unharnessed and untouched by spur, +These youngsters that you drive away +Would be your comrades here to-day. +Among them you could gayly walk +And share their laughter and their talk; +You could be young and blithe as they, +Could you recall your yesterday. + + + + +The Peaks of Valor + + +These are the peaks of valor; keeping clean your father's name, +Too brave for petty profit to risk the brand of shame, +Adventuring for the future, yet mindful of the past, +For God, for country and for home, still valorous to the last. + +These are the peaks of valor: a speech that knows no lie, +A standard of what's right and wrong which no man's wealth can buy, +All unafraid of failure, to venture forth to fight, +Yet never for the victory's sake to turn away from right. + +Ten thousand times the victor is he who fails to win, +Who could have worn the conqueror's crown by stooping low in sin; +Ten thousand times the braver is he who turns away +And scorns to crush a weaker man that he may rule the day. + +These are the peaks of valor: standing firm and standing true +To the best your father taught you and the best you've learned anew, +Helpful to all who need you, winning what joys you can, +Writing in triumph to the end your record as a man. + + + + +When the Minister Calls + + +My Paw says that it used to be, +Whenever the minister came for tea, +'At they sat up straight in their chairs at night +An' put all their common things out o' sight, +An' nobody cracked a joke or grinned, +But they talked o' the way that people sinned, +An' the burnin' fires that would cook you sure +When you came to die, if you wasn't pure-- +Such a gloomy affair it used to be +Whenever the minister came for tea. + +But now when the minister comes to call +I get him out for a game of ball, +And you'd never know if you'd see him bat, +Without any coat or vest or hat, +That he is a minister, no, siree! +He looks like a regular man to me. +An' he knows just how to go down to the dirt +For the grounders hot without gettin' hurt-- +An' when they call us, both him an' me +Have to git washed up again for tea. + +Our minister says if you'll just play fair +You'll be fit for heaven or anywhere; +An' fun's all right if your hands are clean +An' you never cheat an' you don't get mean. +He says that he never has understood +Why a feller can't play an' still be good. +An' my Paw says that he's just the kind +Of a minister that he likes to find-- +So I'm always tickled as I can be +Whenever our minister comes for tea. + + + + +The Age of Ink + + +Swiftly the changes come. Each day +Sees some lost beauty blown away +And some new touch of lovely grace +Come into life to take its place. +The little babe that once we had +One morning woke a roguish lad; +The babe that we had put to bed +Out of our arms and lives had fled. + +Frocks vanished from our castle then, +Ne'er to be worn or seen again, +And in his knickerbocker pride +He boasted pockets at each side +And stored them deep with various things-- +Stones, tops and jacks and-colored strings; +Then for a time we claimed the joy +Of calling him our little boy. + +Brief was the reign of such a spell. +One morning sounded out a bell; +With tears I saw her brown eyes swim +And knew that it was calling him. +Time, the harsh master of us all, +Was bidding him to heed his call; +This shadow fell across life's pool-- +Our boy was on his way to school. + +Our little boy! And still we dreamed, +For such a little boy he seemed! +And yesterday, with eyes aglow +Like one who has just come to know +Some great and unexpected bliss, +He bounded in, announcing this: +"Oh, Dad! Oh, Ma! Say, what d'you think? +This year we're going to write with ink!" + +Here was a change I'd not foreseen, +Another step from what had been. +I paused a little while to think +About this older age of ink-- +What follows this great step, thought I, +What next shall come as the time goes by? +And something said: "His pathway leads +Unto the day he'll write with deeds." + + + + +No Use Sighin' + + +No use frettin' when the rain comes down, +No use grievin' when the gray clouds frown, +No use sighin' when the wind blows strong, +No use wailin' when the world's all wrong; +Only thing that a man can do +Is work an' wait till the sky gets blue. + +No use mopin' when you lose the game, +No use sobbin' if you're free from shame, +No use cryin' when the harm is done, +Just keep on tryin' an' workin' on; +Only thing for a man to do, +Is take the loss an' begin anew. + +No use weepin' when the milk is spilled, +No use growlin' when your hopes are killed, +No use kickin' when the lightnin' strikes +Or the floods come along an' wreck your dykes; +Only thing for a man right then +Is to grit his teeth an' start again. + +For it's how life is an' the way things are +That you've got to face if you travel far; +An' the storms will come an' the failures, too, +An' plans go wrong spite of all you do; +An' the only thing that will help you win, +Is the grit of a man and a stern set chin. + + + + +No Children! + + +No children in the house to play-- +It must be hard to live that way! +I wonder what the people do +When night comes on and the work is through, +With no glad little folks to shout, +No eager feet to race about, +No youthful tongues to chatter on +About the joy that's been and gone? +The house might be a castle fine, +But what a lonely place to dine! + +No children in the house at all, +No fingermarks upon the wall, +No corner where the toys are piled-- +Sure indication of a child. +No little lips to breathe the prayer +That God shall keep you in His care, +No glad caress and welcome sweet +When night returns you to your street; +No little lips a kiss to give-- +Oh, what a lonely way to live! + +No children in the house! I fear +We could not stand it half a year. +What would we talk about at night, +Plan for and work with all our might, +Hold common dreams about and find +True union of heart and mind, +If we two had no greater care +Than what we both should eat and wear? +We never knew love's brightest flame +Until the day the baby came. + +And now we could not get along +Without their laughter and their song. +Joy is not bottled on a shelf, +It cannot feed upon itself, +And even love, if it shall wear, +Must find its happiness in care; +Dull we'd become of mind and speech +Had we no little ones to teach. +No children in the house to play! +Oh, we could never live that way! + + + + +The Loss Is Not So Great + + +It is better as it is: I have failed but I can sleep; +Though the pit I now am in is very dark and deep +I can walk to-morrow's streets and can meet to-morrow's men +Unashamed to face their gaze as I go to work again. + +I have lost the hope I had; in the dust are all my dreams, +But my loss is not so great or so dreadful as it seems; +I made my fight and though I failed I need not slink away +For I do not have to fear what another man may say. + +They may call me over-bold, they may say that I was frail; +They may tell I dared too much and was doomed at last to fail; +They may talk my battle o'er and discuss it as they choose, +But I did no brother wrong--I'm the only one to lose. + +It is better as it is: I have kept my self-respect. +I can walk to-morrow's streets meeting all men head erect. +No man can charge his loss to a pledge I did not keep; +I have no shame to regret: I have failed, but I can sleep. + + + + +Dan McGann Declares Himself + + +Said Dan McGann to a foreign man who worked at the selfsame bench, +"Let me tell you this," and for emphasis he flourished a Stilson wrench; +"Don't talk to me of the bourjoissee, don't open your mouth to speak +Of your socialists or your anarchists, don't mention the bolsheveek, +For I've had enough of this foreign stuff, I'm sick as a man can be +Of the speech of hate, and I'm tellin' you straight that this is the land + for me! + +"If you want to brag, just take that flag an' boast of its field o' blue, +An' praise the dead an' the blood they shed for the peace o' the likes + o' you. +Enough you've raved," and once more he waved his wrench in a forceful way, +"O' the cunning creed o' some Russian breed; I stand for the U.S.A.! +I'm done with your fads, and your wild-eyed lads. Don't flourish your rag + o' red +Where I can see or by night there'll be tall candles around your bed. + +"So tip your hat to a flag like that! Thank God for its stripes an' stars! +Thank God you're here where the roads are clear, away from your kings and + czars. +I can't just say what I feel to-day, for I'm not a talkin' man, +But, first an' last, I am standin' fast for all that's American. +So don't you speak of the bolsheveek, it's sick of that stuff I am! +One God, one flag is the creed I brag! I'm boostin' for Uncle Sam." + + + + +A Boy and His Stomach + + +What's the matter with you--ain't I always been your friend? +Ain't I been a pardner to you? All my pennies don't I spend +In gettin' nice things for you? Don't I give you lots of cake? +Say, stummick, what's the matter, that you had to go an' ache? + +Why, I loaded you with good things yesterday, I gave you more +Potatoes, squash an' turkey than you'd ever had before. +I gave you nuts an' candy, pumpkin pie an' chocolate cake, +An' las' night when I got to bed you had to go an' ache. + +Say, what's the matter with you--ain't you satisfied at all? +I gave you all you wanted, you was hard jes' like a ball, +An' you couldn't hold another bit of puddin', yet las' night +You ached mos' awful, stummick; that ain't treatin' me jes' right. + +I've been a friend to you, I have, why ain't you a friend o' mine? +They gave me castor oil last night because you made me whine. +I'm awful sick this mornin' an' I'm feelin' mighty blue, +'Cause you don't appreciate the things I do for you. + + + + +Home and the Office + + +Home is the place where the laughter should ring, + And man should be found at his best. +Let the cares of the day be as great as they may, + The night has been fashioned for rest. +So leave at the door when the toiling is o'er + All the burdens of worktime behind, +And just be a dad to your girl or your lad-- + A dad of the rollicking kind. + +The office is made for the tasks you must face; + It is built for the work you must do; +You may sit there and sigh as your cares pile up high, + And no one may criticize you; +You may worry and fret as you think of your debt, + You may grumble when plans go astray, +But when it comes night, and you shut your desk tight, + Don't carry the burdens away. + +Keep daytime for toil and the nighttime for play, + Work as hard as you choose in the town, +But when the day ends, and the darkness descends, + Just forget that you're wearing a frown-- +Go home with a smile! Oh, you'll find it worth while; + Go home light of heart and of mind; +Go home and be glad that you're loved as a dad, + A dad of the fun-loving kind. + + + + + +He's Taken Out His Papers + + +He's taken out his papers, an' he's just like you an' me. +He's sworn to love the Stars and Stripes an' die for it, says he. +An' he's done with dukes an' princes, an' he's done with kings an' queens, +An' he's pledged himself to freedom, for he knows what freedom means. + +He's bought himself a bit of ground, an', Lord, he's proud an' glad! +For in the land he came from that is what he never had. +Now his kids can beat his writin', an' they're readin' books, says he, +That the children in his country never get a chance to see. + +He's taken out his papers, an' he's prouder than a king: +"It means a lot to me," says he, "just like the breath o' spring, +For a new life lies before us; we've got hope an' faith an' cheer; +We can face the future bravely, an' our kids don't need to fear." + +He's taken out his papers, an' his step is light to-day, +For a load is off his shoulders an' he treads an easier way; +An' he'll tell you, if you ask him, so that you can understand, +Just what freedom means to people who have known some other land. + + + + +Castor Oil + + +I don't mind lickin's, now an' then, +An' I can even stand it when +My mother calls me in from play +To run some errand right away. +There's things 'bout bein' just a boy +That ain't all happiness an' joy, +But I suppose I've got to stand +My share o' trouble in this land, +An' I ain't kickin' much--but, say, +The worst of parents is that they +Don't realize just how they spoil +A feller's life with castor oil. + +Of all the awful stuff, Gee Whiz! +That is the very worst there is. +An' every time if I complain, +Or say I've got a little pain, +There's nothing else that they can think +'Cept castor oil for me to drink. +I notice, though, when Pa is ill, +That he gets fixed up with a pill, +An' Pa don't handle Mother rough +An' make her swallow nasty stuff; +But when I've got a little ache, +It's castor oil I've got to take. + +I don't mind goin' up to bed +Afore I get the chapter read; +I don't mind being scolded, too, +For lots of things I didn't do; +But, Gee! I hate it when they say, +"Come! Swallow this--an' right away!" +Let poets sing about the joy +It is to be a little boy, +I'll tell the truth about my case: +The poets here can have my place, +An' I will take their life of-toil +If they will take my castor oil. + + + + +A Father's Wish + + +What do I want my boy to be? +Oft is the question asked of me, +And oft I ask it of myself-- +What corner, niche or post or shelf +In the great hall of life would I +Select for him to occupy? +Statesman or writer, poet, sage +Or toiler for a weekly wage, +Artist or artisan? Oh, what +Is to become his future lot? +For him I do not dare to plan; +I only hope he'll be a man. + +I leave it free for him to choose +The tools of life which he shall use, +Brush, pen or chisel, lathe or wrench, +The desk of commerce or the bench, +And pray that when he makes his choice +In each day's task he shall rejoice. +I know somewhere there is a need +For him to labor and succeed; +Somewhere, if he be clean and true, +Loyal and honest through and through, +He shall be fit for any clan, +And so I hope he'll be a man. + +I would not build my hope or ask +That he shall do some certain task, +Or bend his will to suit my own; +He shall select his post alone. +Life needs a thousand kinds of men, +Toilers and masters of the pen, +Doctors, mechanics, sturdy hands +To do the work which it commands, +And wheresoe'er he's pleased to go, +Honor and triumph he may know. +Therefore I must do all I can +To teach my boy to be a man. + + + + +No Better Land Than This + + +If I knew a better country in this glorious world today +Where a man's work hours are shorter and he's drawing bigger pay, +If the Briton or the Frenchman had an easier life than mine, +I'd pack my goods this minute and I'd sail across the brine. +But I notice when an alien wants a land of hope and cheer, +And a future for his children, he comes out and settles here. + +Here's the glorious land of Freedom! Here's the milk and honey goal +For the peasant out of Russia, for the long-subjected Pole. +It is here the sons of Italy and men of Austria turn +For the comfort of their bodies and the wages they can earn. +And with all that men complain of, and with all that goes amiss, +There's no happier, better nation on the world's broad face than this. + +So I'm thinking when I listen to the wails of discontent, +And some foreign disbeliever spreads his evil sentiment, +That the breed of hate and envy that is sowing sin and shame +In this glorious land of Freedom should go back from whence it came. +And I hold it is the duty, rich or poor, of every man +Who enjoys this country's bounty to be all American. + + + + +A Boy and His Dog + + +A boy and his dog make a glorious pair: +No better friendship is found anywhere, +For they talk and they walk and they run and they play, +And they have their deep secrets for many a day; +And that boy has a comrade who thinks and who feels, +Who walks down the road with a dog at his heels. + +He may go where he will and his dog will be there, +May revel in mud and his dog will not care; +Faithful he'll stay for the slightest command +And bark with delight at the touch of his hand; +Oh, he owns a treasure which nobody steals, +Who walks down the road with a dog at his heels. + +No other can lure him away from his side; +He's proof against riches and station and pride; +Fine dress does not charm him, and flattery's breath +Is lost on the dog, for he's faithful to death; +He sees the great soul which the body conceals-- +Oh, it's great to be young with a dog at your heels! + + + + +"Wait Till Your Pa Comes Home" + + +"Wait till your Pa comes home!" Oh, dear! +What a dreadful threat for a boy to hear. +Yet never a boy of three or four +But has heard it a thousand times or more. +"Wait till your Pa comes home, my lad, +And see what you'll get for being bad, + +"Wait till your Pa comes home, you scamp! +You've soiled the walls with your fingers damp, +You've tracked the floor with your muddy feet +And fought with the boy across the street; +You've torn your clothes and you look a sight! +But wait till your Pa comes home to-night." + +Now since I'm the Pa of that daily threat +Which paints me as black as a thing of jet +I rise in protest right here to say +I won't be used in so fierce a way; +No child of mine in the evening gloam +Shall be afraid of my coming home. + +I want him waiting for me at night +With eyes that glisten with real delight; +When it's right that punished my boy should be +I don't want the job postponed for me; +I want to come home to a round of joy +And not to frighten a little boy. + +"Wait till your Pa comes home!" Oh, dear, +What a dreadful threat for a boy to hear. +Yet that is ever his Mother's way +Of saving herself from a bitter day; +And well she knows in the evening gloam +He won't be hurt when his Pa comes home. + + + + +Nothing to Laugh At + + +'Taint nothin' to laugh at as I can see! +If you'd been stung by a bumble bee, +An' your nose wuz swelled an' it smarted, too, +You wouldn't want people to laugh at you. +If you had a lump that wuz full of fire, +Like you'd been touched by a red hot wire, +An' your nose spread out like a load of hay, +You wouldn't want strangers who come your way +To ask you to let 'em see the place +An' laugh at you right before your face. + +What's funny about it, I'd like to know? +It isn't a joke to be hurted so! +An' how wuz I ever on earth to tell +'At the pretty flower which I stooped to smell +In our backyard wuz the very one +Which a bee wuz busily working on? +An' jus' as I got my nose down there, +He lifted his foot an' kicked for fair, +An' he planted his stinger right into me, +But it's nothin' to laugh at as I can see. + +I let out a yell an' my Maw came out +To see what the trouble wuz all about. +She says from my shriek she wuz sure 'at I +Had been struck by a motor car passin' by; +But when she found what the matter wuz +She laughed just like ever'body does +An' she made me stand while she poked about +To pull his turrible stinger out. +An' my Pa laughed, too, when he looked at me, +But it's nothin' to laugh at, as I can see. + +My Maw put witch hazel on the spot +To take down the swellin' but it has not. +It seems to git bigger as time goes by +An' I can't see good out o' this one eye; +An' it hurts clean down to my very toes +Whenever I've got to blow my nose. +An' all I can say is when this gits well +There ain't any flowers I'll stoop to smell. +I'm through disturbin' a bumble bee, +But it's nothin' to laugh at, as I can see. + + + + +No Room for Hate + + +We have room for the man with an honest dream, +With his heart on fire and his eyes agleam; +We have room for the man with a purpose true, +Who comes to our shores to start life anew, +But we haven't an inch of space for him +Who comes to plot against life and limb. + +We have room for the man who will learn our ways, +Who will stand by our Flag in its troubled days; +We have room for the man who will till the soil, +Who will give his hands to a fair day's toil, +But we haven't an inch of space to spare +For the breeder of hatred and black despair. + +We have room for the man who will neighbor here, +Who will keep his hands and his conscience clear; +We have room for the man who'll respect our laws +And pledge himself to our country's cause, +But we haven't an inch of land to give +To the alien breed that will alien live. + +Against the vicious we bar the gate! +This is no breeding ground for hate. +This is the land of the brave and free +And such we pray it shall always be. +We have room for men who will love our flag, +But none for the friends of the scarlet rag. + + + + +The Boy and the Flag + + +I want my boy to love his home, + His Mother, yes, and me: +I want him, wheresoe'er he'll roam, + With us in thought to be. +I want him to love what is fine, + Nor let his standards drag, +But, Oh! I want that boy of mine + To love his country's flag! + +I want him when he older grows + To love all things of earth; +And Oh! I want him, when he knows, + To choose the things of worth. +I want him to the heights to climb + Nor let ambition lag; +But, Oh! I want him all the time + To love his country's flag. + +I want my boy to know the best, + I want him to be great; +I want him in Life's distant West, + Prepared for any fate. +I want him to be simple, too, + Though clever, ne'er to brag, +But, Oh! I want him, through and through, + To love his country's flag. + +I want my boy to be a man, + And yet, in distant years, +I pray that he'll have eyes that can + Not quite keep back the tears +When, coming from some foreign shore + And alien scenes that fag, +Borne on its native breeze, once more + He sees his country's flag. + + + + +Too Big a Price + + +"They say my boy is bad," she said to me, + A tired old woman, thin and very frail. +"They caught him robbing railroad cars, an' he + Must spend from five to seven years in jail. +His Pa an' I had hoped so much for him. + He was so pretty as a little boy--" +Her eyes with tears grew very wet an' dim-- + "Now nothing that we've got can give us joy!" + +"What is it that you own?" I questioned then. + "The house we live in," slowly she replied, +"Two other houses worked an' slaved for, when + The boy was but a youngster at my side, +Some bonds we took the time he went to war; + I've spent my strength against the want of age-- +We've always had some end to struggle for. + Now shame an' ruin smear the final page. + +"His Pa has been a steady-goin' man, + Worked day an' night an' overtime as well; +He's lived an' dreamed an' sweated to his plan + To own the house an' profit should we sell; +He never drank nor played much cards at night, + He's been a worker since our wedding day, +He's lived his life to what he knows is right, + An' why should son of his now go astray? + +"I've rubbed my years away on scrubbing boards, + Washed floors for women that owned less than we, +An' while they played the ladies an' the lords, + We smiled an' dreamed of happiness to be." +"And all this time where was the boy?" said I. + "Out somewhere playin'!"--Like a rifle shot +The thought went home--"My God!" she gave a cry, + "We paid too big a price for what we got." + + + + +Always Saying "Don't!" + + +Folks are queer as they can be, +Always sayin' "don't" to me; +Don't do this an' don't do that. +Don't annoy or tease the cat, +Don't throw stones, or climb a tree, +Don't play in the road. Oh, Gee! +Seems like when I want to play +"Don't" is all that they can say. + +If I start to have some fun, +Someone hollers, "Don't you run!" +If I want to go an' play +Mother says: "Don't go away." +Seems my life is filled clear through +With the things I mustn't do. +All the time I'm shouted at: +"No, no, Sonny, don't do that!" + +Don't shout so an' make a noise, +Don't play with those naughty boys, +Don't eat candy, don't eat pie, +Don't you laugh and don't you cry, +Don't stand up and don't you fall, +Don't do anything at all. +Seems to me both night an' day +"Don't" is all that they can say. + +When I'm older in my ways +An' have little boys to raise, +Bet I'll let 'em race an' run +An' not always spoil their fun; +I'll not tell 'em all along +Everything they like is wrong, +An' you bet your life I won't +All the time be sayin' "don't." + + + + +Boy O' Mine + + +Boy o' mine, boy o' mine, this is my prayer for you, +This is my dream and my thought and my care for you: +Strong be the spirit which dwells in the breast of you, +Never may folly or shame get the best of you; +You shall be tempted in fancied security, +But make no choice that is stained with impurity. + +Boy o' mine, boy o' mine, time shall command of you +Thought from the brain of you, work from the hand of you; +Voices of pleasure shall whisper and call to you, +Luring you far from the hard tasks that fall to you; +Then as you're meeting life's bitterest test of men, +God grant you strength to be true as the best of men. + +Boy o' mine, boy o' mine, singing your way along, +Cling to your laughter and cheerfully play along; +Kind to your neighbor be, offer your hand to him, +You shall grow great as your heart shall expand to him; +But when for victory sweet you are fighting there, +Know that your record of life you are writing there. + +Boy o' mine, boy o' mine, this is my prayer for you; +Never may shame pen one line of despair for you; +Never may conquest or glory mean all to you; +Cling to your honor whatever shall fall to you; +Rather than victory, rather than fame to you, +Choose to be true and let nothing bring shame to you. + + + + +To a Little Girl + + +Oh, little girl with eyes of brown +And smiles that fairly light the town, +I wonder if you really know +Just why it is we love you so, +And why--with all the little girls +With shining eyes and tangled curls +That throng and dance this big world through-- +Our hearts have room for only you. + +Since other little girls are gay +And laugh and sing and romp in play, +And all are beautiful to see, +Why should you mean so much to me? +And why should Mother, day and night, +Make you her source of all delight, +And always find in your caress +Her greatest sum of happiness? + +Oh, there's a reason good for this, +You laughing little bright-eyed miss! +In all this town, with all its girls +With shining eyes and sun-kissed curls, +If we should search it through and through +We'd find not one so fair as you; +And none, however fair of face, +Within our hearts could take your place. + +For, one glad day not long ago, +God sent you down to us below, +And said that you were ours to keep, +To guard awake and watch asleep; +And ever since the day you came +No other child has seemed the same; +No other smiles are quite so fair +As those which happily you wear. + +We seem to live from day to day +To hear the things you have to say; +And just because God gave us you, +We prize the little things you do. +Though God has filled this world with flowers, +We like you best because you're ours-- +In you our greatest joys we know, +And that is why we love you so. + + + + +A Feller's Hat + + +It's funny 'bout a feller's hat-- +He can't remember where it's at, +Or where he took it off, or when, +The time he's wantin' it again. +He knows just where he leaves his shoes; +His sweater he won't often lose; +An' he can find his rubbers, but +He can't tell where his hat is put. + +A feller's hat gets anywhere. +Sometimes he'll find it in a chair, +Or on the sideboard, or maybe +It's in the kitchen, just where he +Gave it a toss beside the sink +When he came in to get a drink, +An' then forgot--but anyhow +He never knows where it is now. + +A feller's hat is never where +He thinks it is when he goes there; +It's never any use to look +For it upon a closet hook, +'Cause it is always in some place +It shouldn't be, to his disgrace, +An' he will find it, like as not, +Behind some radiator hot. + +A feller's hat can get away +From him most any time of day, +So he can't ever find it when +He wants it to go out again; +It hides in corners dark an' grim +An' seems to want to bother him; +It disappears from sight somehow-- +I wish I knew where mine is now. + + + + +The Good Little Boy + + +Once there was a boy who never +Tore his clothes, or hardly ever, +Never made his sister mad, +Never whipped fer bein' bad, +Never scolded by his Ma, +Never frowned at by his Pa, +Always fit fer folks to see, +Always good as good could be. + +This good little boy from Heaven, +So I'm told, was only seven, +Yet he never shed real tears +When his mother scrubbed his ears, +An' at times when he was dressed +Fer a party, in his best, +He was careful of his shirt +Not to get it smeared with dirt. + +Used to study late at night, +Learnin' how to read an' write; +When he played a baseball game, +Right away he always came +When his mother called him in. +An' he never made a din +But was quiet as a mouse +When they'd comp'ny in the house. + +Liked to wash his hands an' face, +Liked to work around the place; +Never, when he'd tired of play, +Left his wagon in the way, +Or his bat an' ball around-- +Put 'em where they could be found; +An' that good boy married Ma, +An' to-day he is my Pa. + + + + +Green Apple Time + + +Green apple time! an', Oh, the joy +Once more to be a healthy boy, +Casting a longin' greedy eye +At every tree he passes by! +Riskin' the direst consequence +To sneak inside a neighbor's fence +An' shake from many a loaded limb +The fruit that seems so near to him +Gosh! but once more I'd like to be +The boy I was in eighty-three. + +Here I am sittin' with my pipe, +Waitin' for apples to get ripe; +Waitin' until the friendly sun +Has bronzed 'em all an' says they're done; +Not darin' any more to climb +An' pick a few afore their time. +No legs to run, no teeth to chew +The way that healthy youngsters do; +Jus' old enough to sit an' wait +An' pick my apple from a plate. + +Plate apples ain't to be compared +With those you've ventured for an' dared. +It's winnin' 'em from branches high, +Or nippin' 'em when no one's by, +Or findin' 'em the time you feel +You really need another meal, +Or comin' unexpectedly +Upon a farmer's loaded tree +An' grabbin' all that you can eat, +That goes to make an apple sweet. + +Green apple time! Go to it, boy, +An' cram yourself right full o' joy; +Watch for the farmer's dog an' run; +There'll come a time it can't be done. +There'll come a day you can't digest +The fruit you've stuffed into your vest, +Nor climb, but you'll sit down like me +An' watch 'em ripening on the tree, +An' jus' like me you'll have to wait +To pick your apples from a plate. + + + + +She Mothered Five + + +She mothered five! +Night after night she watched a little bed, +Night after night she cooled a fevered head, +Day after day she guarded little feet, +Taught little minds the dangers of the street, +Taught little lips to utter simple prayers, +Whispered of strength that some day would be theirs, +And trained them all to use it as they should. +She gave her babies to the nation's good. + +She mothered five! +She gave her beauty--from her cheeks let fade +Their rose-blush beauty--to her mother trade. +She saw the wrinkles furrowing her brow, +Yet smiling said: "My boy grows stronger now." +When pleasures called she turned away and said: +"I dare not leave my babies to be fed +By strangers' hands; besides they are too small; +I must be near to hear them when they call." + +She mothered five! +Night after night they sat about her knee +And heard her tell of what some day would be. +From her they learned that in the world outside +Are cruelty and vice and selfishness and pride; +From her they learned the wrongs they ought to shun, +What things to love, what work must still be done. +She led them through the labyrinth of youth +And brought five men and women up to truth. + +She mothered five! +Her name may be unknown save to the few; +Of her the outside world but little knew; +But somewhere five are treading virtue's ways, +Serving the world and brightening its days; +Somewhere are five, who, tempted, stand upright, +Who cling to honor, keep her memory bright; +Somewhere this mother toils and is alive +No more as one, but in the breasts of five. + + + + +Little Girls Are Best + + +Little girls are mighty nice, + Take 'em any way they come; +They are always worth their price; + Life without 'em would be glum; +Run earth's lists of treasures through, + Pile 'em high until they fall, +Gold an' costly jewels, too-- + Little girls are best of all. + +Nothing equals 'em on earth! + I'm an old man an' I know +Any little girl is worth + More than all the gold below; +Eyes o' blue or brown or gray, + Raven hair or golden curls, +There's no joy on earth to-day + Quite so fine as little girls. + +Pudgy nose or freckled face, + Fairy-like or plain to see, +God has surely blessed the place + Where a little girl may be; +They're the jewels of His crown + Dropped to earth from heaven above, +Like wee angel souls sent down + To remind us of His love. + +God has made some lovely things-- + Roses red an' skies o' blue, +Trees an' babbling silver springs, + Gardens glistening with dew-- +But take every gift to man, + Big an' little, great an' small, +Judge it on its merits, an' + Little girls are best of all! + + + + +The World and Bud + + +If we were all alike, what a dreadful world 'twould be! +No one would know which one was you or which of us was me. +We'd never have a "Skinny" or a "Freckles" or a "Fat," +An' there wouldn't be a sissy boy to wear a velvet hat; +An' we'd all of us be pitchers when we played a baseball match, +For we'd never have a feller who'd have nerve enough to catch. + +If we were all alike an' looked an' thought the same, +I wonder how'd they call us, 'cause there'd only be one name. +An' there'd only be one flavor for our ice cream sodas, too, +An' one color for a necktie an' I 'spose that would be blue; +An' maybe we'd have mothers who were very fond of curls, +An' they'd make us fellers wear our hair like lovely little girls. + +Sometimes I think it's funny when I hear some feller say +That he isn't fond of chocolate, when I eat it every day. +Or some other fellow doesn't like the books I like to read; +But I'm glad that we are different, yes, siree! I am indeed. +If everybody looked alike an' talked alike, Oh, Gee! +We'd never know which one was you or which of us was me. + + + + +Aw Gee Whiz! + + +Queerest little chap he is, +Always saying: "Aw Gee Whiz!" +Needing something from the store +That you've got to send him for +And you call him from his play, +Then it is you hear him say: + "Aw Gee Whiz!" + +Seems that most expressive phrase +Is a part of childhood days; +Call him in at supper time, +Hands and face all smeared with grime, +Send him up to wash, and he +Answers you disgustedly: + "Aw Gee Whiz!" + +When it's time to go to bed +And he'd rather play instead, +As you call him from the street, +He comes in with dragging feet, +Knowing that he has to go, +Then it is he mutters low: + "Aw Gee Whiz!" + +Makes no difference what you ask +Of him as a little task; +He has yet to learn that life +Crosses many a joy with strife, +So when duty mars his play, +Always we can hear him say: + "Aw Gee Whiz!" + + + + +Practicing Time + + +Always whenever I want to play +I've got to practice an hour a day, +Get through breakfast an' make my bed, +And Mother says: "Marjorie, run ahead! +There's a time for work and a time for fun, +So go and get your practicing done." +And Bud, he chuckles and says to me: +"Yes, do your practicing, Marjorie." +A brother's an awful tease, you know, +And he just says that 'cause I hate it so. + +They leave me alone in the parlor there +To play the scales or "The Maiden's Prayer," +And if I stop, Mother's bound to call, +"Marjorie dear, you're not playing at all! +Don't waste your time, but keep right on, +Or you'll have to stay when the hour is gone." +Or maybe the maid looks in at me +And says: "You're not playing, as I can see. +Just hustle along--I've got work to do +And I can't dust the room until you get through." + +Then when I've run over the scales and things +Like "The Fairies' Dance," or "The Mountain Springs," +And my fingers ache and my head is sore, +I find I must sit there a half hour more. +An hour is terribly long, I say, +When you've got to practice and want to play. +So slowly at times has the big hand dropped +That I was sure that the clock had stopped, +But Mother called down to me: "Don't forget-- +A full hour, please. It's not over yet." + +Oh, when I get big and have children, too, +There's one thing that I will never do-- +I won't have brothers to tease the girls +And make them mad when they pull their curls +And laugh at them when they've got to stay +And practice their music an hour a day; +I won't have a maid like the one we've got, +That likes to boss you around a lot; +And I won't have a clock that can go so slow +When it's practice time, 'cause I hate it so. + + + + +The Christmas Gift for Mother + + +In the Christmas times of the long ago, +There was one event we used to know + That was better than any other; +It wasn't the toys that we hoped to get, +But the talks we had--and I hear them yet-- + Of the gift we'd buy for Mother. + +If ever love fashioned a Christmas gift, +Or saved its money and practiced thrift, + 'Twas done in those days, my brother-- +Those golden times of Long Gone By, +Of our happiest years, when you and I + Talked over the gift for Mother. + +We hadn't gone forth on our different ways +Nor coined our lives into yesterdays + In the fires that smelt and smother, +And we whispered and planned in our youthful glee +Of that marvelous "something" which was to be + The gift of our hearts to Mother. + +It had to be all that our purse could give, +Something she'd treasure while she could live, + And better than any other. +We gave it the best of our love and thought, +And, Oh, the joy when at last we'd bought + That marvelous gift for Mother! + +Now I think as we go on our different ways, +Of the joy of those vanished yesterdays. + How good it would be, my brother, +If this Christmas-time we could only know +That same sweet thrill of the Long Ago + When we shared in the gift for Mother. + + + + +Bedtime + + +It's bedtime, and we lock the door, +Put out the lights--the day is o'er; +All that can come of good or ill, +The record of this day to fill, +Is written down; the worries cease, +And old and young may rest in peace. + +We knew not when we started out +What dangers hedged us all about, +What little pleasures we should gain, +What should be ours to bear of pain. +But now the fires are burning low, +And this day's history we know. + +No harm has come. The laughter here +Has been unbroken by a tear; +We've met no hurt too great to bear, +We have not had to bow to care; +The children all are safe in bed, +There's nothing now for us to dread. + +When bedtime comes and we can say +That we have safely lived the day. +How sweet the calm that settles down +And shuts away the noisy town! +There is no danger now to fear +Until to-morrow shall appear. + +When the long bedtime comes, and I +In sleep eternal come to lie-- +When life has nothing more in store, +And silently I close the door, +God grant my weary soul may claim +Security from hurt and shame. + + + + +The Willing Horse + + +I'd rather be the willing horse that people ride to death +Than be the proud and haughty steed that children dare not touch; +I'd rather haul a merry pack and finish out of breath +Than never leave the barn to toil because I'm worth too much. +So boast your noble pedigrees +And talk of manners, if you please-- +The weary horse enjoys his ease + When all his work is done; +The willing horse, day in and out, +Can hear the merry children shout +And every time they are about + He shares in all their fun. + +I want no guards beside my door to pick and choose my friends for me; +I would not be shut off from men as is the fancy steed; +I do not care when I go by that no one turns his eyes to see +The dashing manner of my gait which marks my noble breed; +I am content to trudge the road +And willingly to draw my load-- +Sometimes to know the spur and goad + When I begin to lag; +I'd rather feel the collar jerk +And tug at me, the while I work, +Than all the tasks of life to shirk + As does the stylish nag. + +So let me be the willing horse that now and then is overtasked, +Let me be one the children love and freely dare to ride-- +I'd rather be the gentle steed of which too much is sometimes asked +Than be the one that never knows the youngsters at his side. +So drive me wheresoe'er you will, +On level road or up the hill, +Pile on my back the burdens still + And run me out of breath-- +In love and friendship, day by day, +And kindly words I'll take my pay; +A willing horse; that is the way + I choose to meet my death. + + + + +Where Children Play + + +On every street there's a certain place +Where the children gather to romp and race; +There's a certain house where they meet in throngs +To play their games and to sing their songs, +And they trample the lawn with their busy feet +And they scatter their playthings about the street, +But though some folks order them off, I say, +Let the house be mine where the children play. + +Armies gather about the door +And fill the air with their battle roar; +Cowboys swinging their lariat loops +Dash round the house with the wildest whoops, +And old folks have to look out when they +Are holding an Indian tribe at bay, +For danger may find them on flying feet, +Who pass by the house where the children meet. + +There are lawns too lovely to bear the weight +Of a troop of boys when they roller skate; +There are porches fine that must never know +The stamping of footsteps that come and go, +But on every street there's a favorite place +Where the children gather to romp and race, +And I'm glad in my heart that it's mine to say +Ours is the house where the children play. + + + + +How Do You Buy Your Money? + + +How do you buy your money? For money is bought and sold, +And each man barters himself on earth for his silver and shining gold, +And by the bargain he makes with men, the sum of his life is told. + +Some buy their coins in a manly way, some buy them with honest toil; +Some pay for their currency here on earth by tilling a patch of soil; +Some buy it with copper and iron and steel, and some with barrels of oil. + +The good man buys it from day to day by giving the best he can; +He coins his strength for his children's needs and lives to a simple plan, +And he keeps some time for the home he makes and some for his fellowman. + +But some men buy it with women's tears, and some with a blasted name; +And some will barter the joy of life for the fortune they hope to claim; +And some are so mad for the clink of gold that they buy it with deeds of + shame. + +How do you buy your money? For money demands its price, +And some men think when they purchase coin that they mustn't be over-nice-- +But beware of the man who would sell you gold at a shameful sacrifice! + + + + +Mother's Day + + +Let every day be Mother's Day! +Make roses grow along her way + And beauty everywhere. +Oh, never let her eyes be wet +With tears of sorrow or regret, + And never cease to care! +Come, grown up children, and rejoice +That you can hear your mother's voice! + +A day for her! For you she gave +Long years of love and service brave; + For you her youth was spent. +There was no weight of hurt or care +Too heavy for her strength to bear; + She followed where you went; +Her courage and her love sublime +You could depend on all the time. + +No day or night she set apart +On which to open wide her heart + And welcome you within; +There was no hour you would not be +First in her thought and memory, + Though you were black as sin! +Though skies were gray or skies were blue +Not once has she forgotten you. + +Let every day be Mother's Day! +With love and roses strew her way, + And smiles of joy and pride! +Come, grown up children, to the knee +Where long ago you used to be + And never turn aside; +Oh, never let her eyes grow wet +With tears, because her babes forget. + + + + +When We Play the Fool + + +Last night I stood in a tawdry place +And watched the ways of the human race. +I looked at a party of shrieking girls +Piled on a table that whirls and whirls, +And saw them thrown in a tangled heap, +Sprawling and squirming and several deep. +And unto the wife who was standing by, +"These are all angels to be," said I. + +I followed the ways of the merry throng +And heard the laughter and mirth and song. +Into a barrel which turned and swayed +Men and women a journey made, +And tumbling together they seemed to be +Like so many porpoises out at sea-- +Men and women who'd worked all day, +Eagerly seeking a chance to play. + +"What do you make of it all?" she said. +I answered: "The dead are a long time dead, +And care is bitter and duty stern, +And each must weep when it comes his turn. +And all grow weary and long for play, +So here is laughter to end the day. +Foolish? Oh, yes, it is that," said I, +"But better the laugh than the dreary sigh. + +"Now look at us here, for we're like them, too, +And many the foolish things we do. +We often grow silly and seek a smile +In a thousand ways that are not worth while; +Yet after the mirth and the jest are through, +We shall all be judged by the deeds we do, +And God shall forget on the Judgment Day +The fools we were in our hours of play." + + + + +What Makes an Artist + + +We got to talking art one day, discussing in a general way +How some can match with brush and paint the glory of a tree, +And some in stone can catch the things of which the dreamy poet sings, +While others seem to have no way to tell the joys they see. + +Old Blake had sat in silence there and let each one of us declare +Our notions of what's known as art, until he'd heard us through; +And then said he: "It seems to me that any man, whoe'er he be, +Becomes an artist by the good he daily tries to do. + +"He need not write the books men read to be an artist. No, indeed! +He need not work with paint and brush to show his love of art; +Who does a kindly deed to-day and helps another on his way, +Has painted beauty on a face and played the poet's part. + +"Though some of us cannot express our inmost thoughts of loveliness, +We prove we love the beautiful by how we act and live; +The poet singing of a tree no greater poet is than he +Who finds it in his heart some care unto a tree to give. + +"Though he who works in marble stone the name of artist here may own, +No less an artist is the man who guards his children well; +'Tis art to love the fine and true; by what we are and what we do +How much we love life's nobler things to all the world we tell." + + + + +She Powders Her Nose + + +A woman is queer, there's no doubt about that. +She hates to be thin and she hates to be fat; +One minute it's laughter, the next it's a cry-- +You can't understand her, however you try; +But there's one thing about her which everyone knows-- +A woman's not dressed till she powders her nose. + +You never can tell what a woman will say; +She's a law to herself every hour of the day. +It keeps a man guessing to know what to do, +And mostly he's wrong when his guessing is through; +But this you can bet on, wherever she goes +She'll find some occasion to powder her nose. + +I've studied the sex for a number of years; +I've watched her in laughter and seen her in tears; +On her ways and her whims I have pondered a lot, +To find what will please her and just what will not; +But all that I've learned from the start to the close +Is that sooner or later she'll powder her nose. + +At church or a ball game, a dance or a show, +There's one thing about her I know that I know-- +At weddings or funerals, dinners of taste, +You can bet that her hand will dive into her waist, +And every few minutes she'll strike up a pose, +And the whole world must wait till she powders her nose. + + + + +The Chip on Your Shoulder + + +You'll learn when you're older that chip on your shoulder + Which you dare other boys to upset, +And stand up and fight for and struggle and smite for, + Has caused you much shame and regret. +When Time, life's adviser, has made you much wiser, + You won't be so quick with the blow; +You won't be so willing to fight for a shilling, + And change a good friend to a foe. + +You won't be a sticker for trifles, and bicker + And quarrel for nothing at all; +You'll grow to be kinder, more thoughtful and blinder + To faults which are petty and small. +You won't take the trouble your two fists to double + When someone your pride may offend; +When with rage now you bristle you'll smile or you'll whistle, + And keep the good will of a friend. + +You'll learn when you're older that chip on your shoulder + Which proudly you battle to guard, +Has frequently shamed you and often defamed you + And left you a record that's marred! +When you've grown calm and steady, you won't be so ready + To fight for a difference that's small, +For you'll know, when you're older that chip on your shoulder + Is only a chip after all. + + + + +All for the Best + + +Things mostly happen for the best. +However hard it seems to-day, +When some fond plan has gone astray +Or what you've wished for most is lost +An' you sit countin' up the cost +With eyes half-blind by tears o' grief +While doubt is chokin' out belief, +You'll find when all is understood +That what seemed bad was really good. + +Life can't be counted in a day. +The present rain that will not stop +Next autumn means a bumper crop. +We wonder why some things must be-- +Care's purpose we can seldom see-- +An' yet long afterwards we turn +To view the past, an' then we learn +That what once filled our minds with doubt +Was good for us as it worked out. + +I've never known an hour of care +But that I've later come to see +That it has brought some joy to me. +Even the sorrows I have borne, +Leavin' me lonely an' forlorn +An' hurt an' bruised an' sick at heart, +In life's great plan have had a part. +An' though I could not understand +Why I should bow to Death's command, +As time went on I came to know +That it was really better so. + +Things mostly happen for the best. +So narrow is our vision here +That we are blinded by a tear +An' stunned by every hurt an' blow +Which comes to-day to strike us low. +An' yet some day we turn an' find +That what seemed cruel once was kind. +Most things, I hold, are wisely planned +If we could only understand. + + + + +The Kick Under the Table + + +After a man has been married awhile, +And his wife has grown used to his manner and style, +When she knows from the twinkle that lights up his eye +The thoughts he is thinking, the wherefore and why, +And just what he'll say, and just what he'll do, +And is sure that he'll make a bad break ere he's through, +She has one little trick that she'll work when she's able-- +She takes a sly kick at him under the table. + +He may fancy the story he's telling is true, +Or he's doing the thing which is proper to do; +He may fancy he's holding his own with the rest, +The life of the party and right at his best, +When quickly he learns to his utter dismay, +That he mustn't say what he's just started to say. +He is stopped at the place where he hoped to begin, +By his wife, who has taken a kick at his shin. + +If he picks the wrong fork for the salad, he knows +That fact by the feel of his wife's slippered toes. +If he's started a bit of untellable news, +On the calf of his leg there is planted a bruise. +Oh, I wonder sometimes what would happen to me +If the wife were not seated just where she could be +On guard every minute to watch every trick, +And keep me in line all the time with her kick. + + + + +Leader of the Gang + + +Seems only just a year ago that he was toddling round the place +In pretty little colored suits and with a pink and shining face. +I used to hold him in my arms to watch when our canary sang, +And now tonight he tells me that he's leader of his gang. + +It seems but yesterday, I vow, that I with fear was almost dumb, +Living those dreadful hours of care waiting the time for him to come; +And I can still recall the thrill of that first cry of his which rang +Within our walls. And now that babe tells me he's leader of his gang. + +Gone from our lives are all the joys which yesterday we used to own; +The baby that we thought we had, out of the little home has flown, +And in his place another stands, whose garments in disorder hang, +A lad who now with pride proclaims that he's the leader of his gang. + +And yet somehow I do not grieve for what it seems we may have lost; +To have so strong a boy as this, most cheerfully I pay the cost. +I find myself a sense of joy to comfort every little pang, +And pray that they shall find in him a worthy leader of the gang. + + + + +Ma and the Ouija Board + + +I don't know what it's all about, but Ma says that she wants to know +If spirits in the other world can really talk to us below. +An' Pa says, "Gosh! there's folks enough on earth to talk to, I should + think, +Without you pesterin' the folks whose souls have gone across the brink." +But Ma, she wants to find out things an' study on her own accord, +An' so a month or two ago she went an' bought a ouija board. + +It's just a shiny piece of wood, with letters printed here an' there, +An' has a little table which you put your fingers on with care, +An' then you sit an' whisper low some question that you want to know. +Then by an' by the spirit comes an' makes the little table go, +An' Ma, she starts to giggle then an' Pa just grumbles out, "Oh, Lord! +I wish you hadn't bought this thing. We didn't need a ouija board." + +"You're movin' it!" says Ma to Pa. "I'm not!" says Pa, "I know it's you; +You're makin' it spell things to us that you know very well aren't true." +"That isn't so," says Ma to him, "but I am certain from the way +The ouija moves that you're the one who's tellin' it just what to say." +"It's just 'lectricity," says Pa; "like batteries all men are stored, +But anyhow I don't believe we ought to have a ouija board." + +One night Ma got it out, an' said, "Now, Pa, I want you to be fair, +Just keep right still an' let your hands rest lightly on the table there. +Oh, Ouija, tell me, tell me true, are we to buy another car, +An' will we get it very soon?" she asked. "Oh, tell us from afar." +"Don't buy a car," the letters spelled, "the price this year you can't + afford." +Then Ma got mad, an' since that time she's never used the ouija board. + + + + +The Call of the Woods + + +I must get out to the woods again, to the whispering trees and the birds + awing, +Away from the haunts of pale-faced men, to the spaces wide where strength + is king; +I must get out where the skies are blue and the air is clean and the rest + is sweet, +Out where there's never a task to do or a goal to reach or a foe to meet. + +I must get out on the trails once more that wind through shadowy haunts and + cool, +Away from the presence of wall and door, and see myself in a crystal pool; +I must get out with the silent things, where neither laughter nor hate is + heard, +Where malice never the humblest stings and no one is hurt by a spoken word. + +Oh, I've heard the call of the tall white pine, and heard the call of the + running brook; +I'm tired of the tasks which each day are mine; I'm weary of reading a + printed book. +I want to get out of the din and strife, the clang and clamor of turning + wheel, +And walk for a day where life is life, and the joys are true and the + pictures real. + + + + +Committee Meetings + + +For this and that and various things + It seems that men must get together, +To purchase cups or diamond rings + Or to discuss the price of leather. +From nine to ten, or two to three, + Or any hour that's fast and fleeting, +There is a constant call for me + To go to some committee meeting. + +The church has serious work to do, + The lodge and club has need of workers, +They ask for just an hour or two-- + Surely I will not join the shirkers? +Though I have duties of my own + I should not drop before completing, +There comes the call by telephone + To go to some committee meeting. + +No longer may I eat my lunch + In quietude and contemplation; +I must foregather with the bunch + To raise a fund to save the nation. +And I must talk of plans and schemes + The while a scanty bite I'm eating, +Until I vow to-day it seems + My life is one committee meeting. + +When over me the night shall fall, + And my poor soul goes upwards winging +Unto that heavenly realm, where all + Is bright with joy and gay with singing, +I hope to hear St. Peter say-- + And I shall thank him for the greeting: +"Come in and rest from day to day; + Here there is no committee meeting!" + + + + +Pa and the Monthly Bills + + +When Ma gets out the monthly bills and sets them all in front of Dad, +She makes us children run away because she knows he may get mad; +An' then she smiles a bit and says: "I hope you will not fuss and fret-- +There's nothing here except the things I absolutely had to get!" +An' Pa he looks 'em over first. "The things you had to have!" says he; +"I s'pose that we'd have died without that twenty dollar longeree." + +Then he starts in to write the checks for laundry an' for light an' gas, +An' never says a word 'bout them--because they're small he lets 'em pass. +But when he starts to grunt an' groan, an' stops the while his pipe he + fills, +We know that he is gettin' down to where Ma's hid the bigger bills. +"Just what we had to have," says he, "an' I'm supposed to pay the tolls; +Nine dollars an' a half for--say, what the deuce are camisoles? + +"If you should break a leg," says Pa, "an couldn't get down town to shop, +I'll bet the dry goods men would see their business take an awful drop, +An' if they missed you for a week, they'd have to fire a dozen clerks! +Say, couldn't we have got along without this bunch of Billie Burkes?" +But Ma just sits an' grins at him, an' never has a word to say, +Because she says Pa likes to fuss about the bills he has to pay. + + + + +Bob White + + +Out near the links where I go to play +My favorite game from day to day, +There's a friend of mine that I've never met +Walked with or broken bread with, yet +I've talked to him oft and he's talked to me +Whenever I've been where he's chanced to be; +He's a cheery old chap who keeps out of sight, +A gay little fellow whose name is Bob White. + +Bob White! Bob White! I can hear him call +As I follow the trail to my little ball-- +Bob White! Bob White! with a note of cheer +That was just designed for a mortal ear. +Then I drift far off from the world of men +And I send an answer right back to him then; +An' we whistle away to each other there, +Glad of the life which is ours to share. + +Bob White! Bob White! May you live to be +The head of a numerous family! +May you boldly call to your friends out here, +With never an enemy's gun to fear. +I'm a better man as I pass along, +For your cheery call and your bit of song. +May your food be plenty and skies be bright +To the end of your days, good friend Bob White! + + + + +When Ma Wants Something New + + +Last night Ma said to Pa: "My dear, +The Williamsons are coming here +To visit for a week or two, +An' I must have a talk with you. +We need some things which we must get-- +You promised me a dinner set, +An' I should like it while they're here." +An' Pa looked up an' said: "My dear, +A dinner set? Well, I guess not. +What's happened to the one we've got?" + +"We need a parlor rug," says Ma. +"We've got a parlor rug," says Pa. +"We ought to have another chair." +"You're sittin' in a good one there." +"The parlor curtains are a fright." +"When these are washed they look all right." +"The old stuff's pitiful to see." +"It still looks mighty good to me." +"The sofa's worn beyond repair." +"It doesn't look so bad, I swear." + +"Gee Whiz, you make me tired," says Ma. +"Why, what's the matter now?" says Pa. +"You come an' go an' never see +How old our stuff has grown to be; +It still looks just the same to you +As what it did when it was new, +An' every time you think it strange +That I should like to have a change." +"I'm gettin' old," says Pa. "Maybe +You'd like a younger man than me." + +"If this old rug was worn an' thin, +At night you'd still come walkin' in +An' throw your hat upon a chair +An' never see a single tear; +So long as any chair could stand +An' bear your weight you'd think it grand. +If home depended all on you, +It never would get something new." +"All right," says Pa, "go buy the stuff! +But, say, am I still good enough?" + + + + +Sittin' on the Porch + + +Sittin' on the porch at night when all the tasks are done, +Just restin' there an' talkin', with my easy slippers on, +An' my shirt band thrown wide open an' my feet upon the rail, +Oh, it's then I'm at my richest, with a wealth that cannot fail; +For the scent of early roses seems to flood the evening air, +An' a throne of downright gladness is my wicker rocking chair. + +The dog asleep beside me, an' the children rompin' 'round +With their shrieks of merry laughter, Oh, there is no gladder sound +To the ears o' weary mortals, spite of all the scoffers say, +Or a grander bit of music than the children at their play! +An' I tell myself times over, when I'm sittin' there at night, +That the world in which I'm livin' is a place o' real delight. + +Then the moon begins its climbin' an' the stars shine overhead, +An' the mother calls the children an' she takes 'em up to bed, +An' I smoke my pipe in silence an' I think o' many things, +An' balance up my riches with the lonesomeness o' kings, +An' I come to this conclusion, an' I'll wager that I'm right-- +That I'm happier than they are, sittin' on my porch at night. + + + + +With Dog and Gun + + +Out in the woods with a dog an' gun +Is my idea of a real day's fun. +'Tain't the birds that I'm out to kill +That furnish me with the finest thrill, +'Cause I never worry or fret a lot, +Or curse my luck if I miss a shot. +There's many a time, an' I don't know why, +That I shoot too low or I aim too high, +An' all I can see is the distant whirr +Of a bird that's gittin' back home to her-- +Yep, gittin' back home at the end o' day, +An' I'm just as glad that he got away. + +There's a whole lot more in the woods o' fall +Than the birds you bag--if you think at all. +There's colors o' gold an' red an' brown +As never were known in the busy town; +There's room to breathe in the purest air +An' something worth looking at everywhere; +There's the dog who's leadin' you on an' on +To a patch o' cover where birds have gone, +An' standin' there, without move or change, +Till you give the sign that you've got the range. +That's thrill enough for my blood, I say, +So why should I care if they get away? + +Fact is, there are times that I'd ruther miss +Than to bring 'em down, 'cause I feel like this: +There's a heap more joy in a living thing +Than a breast crushed in or a broken wing, +An' I can't feel right, an' I never will, +When I look at a bird that I've dared to kill. +Oh, I'm jus' plumb happy to tramp about +An' follow my dog as he hunts 'em out, +Jus' watchin' him point in his silent way +Where the Bob Whites are an' the partridge stay; +For the joy o' the great outdoors I've had, +So why should I care if my aim is bad? + + + + +Old Mister Laughter + +Old Mister Laughter + Comes a-grinnin' down the way, +Singin': "Never mind your troubles, + For they'll surely pass away." +Singin': "Now the sun is shinin' + An' there's roses everywhere; +To-morrow will be soon enough + To fret about your care." + +Old Mister Laughter + Comes a-grinnin' at my door, +Singin': "Don't go after money + When you've got enough and more." +Singin': "Laugh with me this mornin' + An' be happy while you may. +What's the use of riches + If they never let you play?" + +Old Mister Laughter + Comes a-grinnin' all the time, +Singin' happy songs o' gladness + In a good old-fashioned rhyme. +Singin': "Keep the smiles a-goin', + Till they write your epitaph, +And don't let fame or fortune + Ever steal away your laugh." + + + + +A Family Row + + +I freely confess there are good friends of mine, +With whom we are often invited to dine, +Who get on my nerves so that I cannot eat +Or stay with my usual ease in my seat; +For I know that if something should chance to occur +Which he may not like or which doesn't please her, +That we'll have to try to be pleasant somehow +While they stage a fine little family row. + +Now a family row is a private affair, +And guests, I am certain, should never be there; +I have freely maintained that a man and his wife +Cannot always agree on their journey through life, +But they ought not to bicker and wrangle and shout +And show off their rage when their friends are about; +It takes all the joy from a party, I vow, +When some couple starts up a family row. + +It's a difficult job to stay cool and polite +When your host and your hostess are staging a fight: +It's hard to talk sweet to a dame with a frown +Or smile at a man that you want to knock down. +You sit like a dummy and look far away, +But you just can't help hearing the harsh things they say. +It ruins the dinner, I'm telling you now, +When your host and your hostess get mixed in a row. + + + + +The Lucky Man + + +Luck had a favor to bestow +And wondered where to let it go. + +"No lazy man on earth," said she, +"Shall get this happy gift from me. + +"I will not pass it to the man +Who will not do the best he can. + +"I will not make this splendid gift +To one who has not practiced thrift. + +"It shall not benefit deceit, +Nor help the man who's played the cheat. + +"He that has failed to fight with pluck +Shall never know the Goddess Luck. + +"I'll look around a bit to see +What man has earned some help from me." + +She found a man whose hands were soiled +Because from day to day he'd toiled. + +He'd dreamed by night and worked by day +To make life's contest go his way. + +He'd kept his post and daily slaved, +And something of his wage he'd saved. + +He'd clutched at every circumstance +Which might have been his golden chance. + +The goddess smiled and then, kerslap! +She dropped her favor in his lap. + + + + +Lonely + + +They're all away + And the house is still, +And the dust lies thick + On the window sill, +And the stairway creaks + In a solemn tone +This taunting phrase: + "You are all alone." + +They've gone away + And the rooms are bare; +I miss his cap + From a parlor chair. +And I miss the toys + In the lonely hall, +But most of any + I miss his call. + +I miss the shouts + And the laughter gay +Which greeted me + At the close of day, +And there isn't a thing + In the house we own +But sobbingly says: + "You are all alone." + +It's only a house + That is mine to know, +An empty house + That is cold with woe; +Like a prison grim + With its bars of black, +And it won't be home + Till they all come back. + + + + +The Cookie Jar + + +You can rig up a house with all manner of things, +The prayer rugs of sultans and princes and kings; +You can hang on its walls the old tapestries rare +Which some dead Egyptian once treasured with care; +But though costly and gorgeous its furnishings are, +It must have, to be homelike, an old cookie jar. + +There are just a few things that a home must possess, +Besides all your money and all your success-- +A few good old books which some loved one has read, +Some trinkets of those whose sweet spirits have fled, +And then in the pantry, not shoved back too far +For the hungry to get to, that old cookie jar. + +Let the house be a mansion, I care not at all! +Let the finest of pictures be hung on each wall, +Let the carpets be made of the richest velour, +And the chairs only those which great wealth can procure, +I'd still want to keep for the joy of my flock +That homey, old-fashioned, well-filled cookie crock. + +Like the love of the Mother it shines through our years; +It has soothed all our hurts and has dried away tears; +It has paid us for toiling; in sorrow or joy, +It has always shown kindness to each girl and boy; +And I'm sorry for people, whoever they are, +Who live in a house where there's no cookie jar. + + + + +Little Wrangles + + +Lord, we've had our little wrangles, an' we've had our little bouts; +There's many a time, I reckon, that we have been on the outs; +My tongue's a trifle hasty an' my temper's apt to fly, +An' Mother, let me tell you, has a sting in her reply, +But I couldn't live without her, an' it's plain as plain can be +That in fair or sunny weather Mother needs a man like me. + +I've banged the door an' muttered angry words beneath my breath, +For at times when she was scoldin' Mother's plagued me most to death, +But we've always laughed it over, when we'd both cooled down a bit, +An' we never had a difference but a smile would settle it. +An' if such a thing could happen, we could share life's joys an' tears +An' live right on together for another thousand years. + +Some men give up too easy in the game o' married life; +They haven't got the courage to be worthy of a wife; +An' I've seen a lot o' women that have made their lives a mess, +'Cause they couldn't bear the burdens that are, mixed with happiness. +So long as folks are human they'll have many faults that jar, +An' the way to live with people is to take them as they are. + +We've been forty years together, good an' bad, an' rain an' shine; +I've forgotten Mother's faults now an' she never mentions mine. +In the days when sorrow struck us an' we shared a common woe +We just leaned upon each other, an' our weakness didn't show. +An' I learned how much I need her an' how tender she can be +An' through it, maybe, Mother saw the better side o' me. + + + + +The Wide Outdoors + + +The rich may pay for orchids rare, but, Oh the apple tree +Flings out its blossoms to the world for every eye to see, +And all who sigh for loveliness may walk beneath the sky +And claim a richer beauty than man's gold can ever buy. + +The blooming cherry trees are free for all to look upon; +The dogwood buds for all of us, and not some favorite one; +The wide outdoors is no man's own; the stranger on the street +Can cast his eyes on many a rose and claim its fragrance sweet. + +Small gardens are shut in by walls, but none can wall the sky, +And none can hide the friendly trees from all who travel by; +And none can hold the apple boughs and claim them for his own, +For all the beauties of the earth belong to God alone. + +So let me walk the world just now and wander far and near; +Earth's loveliness is mine to see, its music mine to hear; +There's not a single apple bough that spills its blooms about +But I can claim the joy of it, and none can shut me out. + + + + +"Where's Mamma?" + + +Comes in flying from the street; + "Where's Mamma?" +Friend or stranger thus he'll greet: + "Where's Mamma?" +Doesn't want to say hello, +Home from school or play he'll go +Straight to what he wants to know: + "Where's Mamma?" + +Many times a day he'll shout, + "Where's Mamma?" +Seems afraid that she's gone out; + "Where's Mamma?" +Is his first thought at the door-- +She's the one he's looking for, +And he questions o'er and o'er, + "Where's Mamma?" + +Can't be happy till he knows: + "Where's Mamma?" +So he begs us to disclose + "Where's Mamma?" +And it often seems to me, +As I hear his anxious plea, +That no sweeter phrase can be: + "Where's Mamma?" + +Like to hear it day by day; + "Where's Mamma?" +Loveliest phrase that lips can say: + "Where's Mamma?" +And I pray as time shall flow, +And the long years come and go, +That he'll always want to know + "Where's Mamma?" + + + + +Summer Dreams + + +Drowsy old summer, with nothing to do, +I'd like to be drowsin' an' dreamin' with you; +I'd like to stretch out in the shade of a tree, +An' fancy the white clouds were ships out at sea, +Or castles with turrets and treasures and things, +And peopled with princesses, fairies and kings, +An' just drench my soul with the glorious joy +Which was mine to possess as a barefooted boy. + +Drowsy old summer, your skies are as blue +As the skies which a dreamy-eyed youngster once knew, +An' I fancy to-day all the pictures are there-- +The ships an' the pirates an' princesses fair, +The red scenes of battle, the gay, cheering throngs +Which greeted the hero who righted all wrongs; +But somehow or other, these old eyes of mine +Can't see what they did as a youngster of nine. + +Drowsy old summer, I'd like to forget +Some things which I've learned an' some hurts I have met; +I'd like the old visions of splendor an' joy +Which were mine to possess as a barefooted boy +When I dreamed of the glorious deeds I would do +As soon as I'd galloped my brief boyhood through; +I'd like to come back an' look into your skies +With that wondrous belief an' those far-seeing eyes. + +Drowsy old summer, my dream days have gone; +Only things which are real I must now look upon; +No longer I see in the skies overhead +The pictures that were, for the last one has fled. +I have learned that not all of our dreams can come true; +That the toilers are many and heroes are few; +But I'd like once again to look up there an' see +The man that I fancied some day I might be. + + + + +I Ain't Dead Yet + + +Time was I used to worry and I'd sit around an' sigh, +And think with every ache I got that I was goin' to die, +I'd see disaster comin' from a dozen different ways +An' prophesy calamity an' dark and dreary days. +But I've come to this conclusion, that it's foolishness to fret; +I've had my share o' sickness, but I + Ain't + Dead + Yet! + +Wet springs have come to grieve me an' I've grumbled at the showers, +But I can't recall a June-time that forgot to bring the flowers. +I've had my business troubles, and looked failure in the face, +But the crashes I expected seemed to pass right by the place. +So I'm takin' life more calmly, pleased with everything I get, +An' not over-hurt by losses, 'cause I + Ain't + Dead + Yet! + +I've feared a thousand failures an' a thousand deaths I've died, +I've had this world in ruins by the gloom I've prophesied. +But the sun shines out this mornin' an' the skies above are blue, +An' with all my griefs an' trouble, I have somehow lived 'em through. +There may be cares before me, much like those that I have met; +Death will come some day an' take me, but I + Ain't + Dead + Yet! + + + + +The Cure for Weariness + + +Seemed like I couldn't stand it any more, + The factory whistles blowin' day by day, +An' men an' children hurryin' by the door, + An' street cars clangin' on their busy way. +The faces of the people seemed to be + Washed pale by tears o' grief an' strife an' care, +Till everywhere I turned to I could see + The same old gloomy pictures of despair. + +The windows of the shops all looked the same, + Decked out with stuff their owners wished to sell; +When visitors across our doorway came + I could recite the tales they'd have to tell. +All things had lost their old-time power to please; + Dog-tired I was an' irritable, too, +An' so I traded chimney tops for trees, + An' shingled roof for open skies of blue. + +I dropped my tools an' took my rod an' line + An' tackle box an' left the busy town; +I found a favorite restin' spot of mine + Where no one seeks for fortune or renown. +I whistled to the birds that flew about, + An' built a lot of castles in my dreams; +I washed away the stains of care an' doubt + An' thanked the Lord for woods an' running streams. + +I've cooked my meals before an open fire, + I've had the joy of green smoke in my face, +I've followed for a time my heart's desire + An' now the path of duty I retrace. +I've had my little fishin' trip, an' go + Once more contented to the haunts of men; +I'm ready now to hear the whistles blow + An' see the roofs an' chimney tops again. + + + + +To an Old Friend + + +When we have lived our little lives and wandered all their byways through, +When we've seen all that we shall see and finished all that we must do, +When we shall take one backward look off yonder where our journey ends, +I pray that you shall be as glad as I shall be that we were friends. + +Time was we started out to find the treasures and the joys of life; +We sought them in the land of gold through many days of bitter strife. +When we were young we yearned for fame; in search of joy we went afar, +Only to learn how very cold and distant all the strangers are. + +When we have met all we shall meet and know what destiny has planned, +I shall rejoice in that last hour that I have known your friendly hand; +I shall go singing down the way off yonder as my sun descends +As one who's had a happy life, made glorious by the best of friends. + + + + +Satisfied With Life + + +I have known the green trees and the skies overhead +And the blossoms of spring and the fragrance they shed; +I have known the blue sea, and the mountains afar +And the song of the pines and the light of a star; +And should I pass now, I could say with a smile +That my pilgrimage here has been well worth my while. + +I have known the warm handclasp of friends who were true; +I have shared in their pleasures and wept with them, too; +I have heard the gay laughter which sweeps away care +And none of the comrades I've made could I spare; +And should this be all, I could say ere I go, +That life is worth while just such friendships to know. + +I have builded a home where we've loved and been glad; +I have known the rich joy of a girl and a lad; +I have had their caresses through storm and through shine, +And watched them grow lovely, those youngsters of mine; +And I think as I hold them at night on my knee, +That life has been generous surely to me. + + + + +Autumn Evenings + + +Apples on the table an' the grate-fire blazin' high, +Oh, I'm sure the whole world hasn't any happier man than I; +The Mother sittin' mendin' little stockin's, toe an' knee, +An' tellin' all that's happened through the busy day to me: +Oh, I don't know how to say it, but these cosy autumn nights +Seem to glow with true contentment an' a thousand real delights. + +The dog sprawled out before me knows that huntin' days are here, +'Cause he dreams and seems to whimper that a flock o' quail are near; +An' the children playin' checkers till it's time to go to bed, +Callin' me to settle questions whether black is beatin' red; +Oh, these nights are filled with gladness, an' I puff my pipe an' smile, +An' tell myself the struggle an' the work are both worth while. + +The flames are full o' pictures that keep dancin' to an' fro, +Bringin' back the scenes o' gladness o' the happy long ago, +An' the whole wide world is silent an' I tell myself just this-- +That within these walls I cherish, there is all my world there is! +Can I keep the love abiding in these hearts so close to me, +An' the laughter of these evenings, I shall gain life's victory. + + + + +Memorial Day + + +These did not pass in selfishness; they died for all mankind; +They died to build a better world for all who stay behind; +And we who hold their memory dear, and bring them flowers to-day, +Should consecrate ourselves once more to live and die as they. + +These were defenders of the faith and guardians of the truth; +That you and I might live and love, they gladly gave their youth; +And we who set this day apart to honor them who sleep +Should pledge ourselves to hold the faith they gave their lives to keep. + +If tears are all we shed for them, then they have died in vain; +If flowers are all we bring them now, forgotten they remain; +If by their courage we ourselves to courage are not led, +Then needlessly these graves have closed above our heroes dead. + +To symbolize our love with flowers is not enough to do; +We must be brave as they were brave, and true as they were true. +They died to build a better world, and we who mourn to-day +Should consecrate ourselves once more to live and die as they. + + + + +The Happy Man + + +If you would know a happy man, + Go find the fellow who +Has had a bout with trouble grim + And just come smiling through. + +The load is off his shoulders now, + Where yesterday he frowned +And saw no joy in life, to-day + He laughs his way around. + +He's done the very thing he thought + That he could never do; +His sun is shining high to-day + And all his skies are blue. + +He's stronger than he was before; + Should trouble come anew +He'll know how much his strength can bear + And how much he can do. + +To-day he has the right to smile, + And he may gaily sing, +For he has conquered where he feared + The pain of failure's sting. + +Comparison has taught him, too, + The sweetest hours are those +Which follow on the heels of care, + With laughter and repose. + +If you would meet a happy man, + Go find the fellow who +Has had a bout with trouble grim + And just come smiling through. + + + + +The Song of the Builder + + +I sink my piers to the solid rock, + And I send my steel to the sky, +And I pile up the granite, block by block + Full twenty stories high; +Nor wind nor weather shall wash away +The thing that I've builded, day by day. + +Here's something of mine that shall ever stand + Till another shall tear it down; +Here is the work of my brain and hand, + Towering above the town. +And the idlers gay in their smug content, +Have nothing to leave for a monument. + +Here from my girders I look below + At the throngs which travel by, +For little that's real will they leave to show + When it comes their time to die. +But I, when my time of life is through, +Will leave this building for men to view. + +Oh, the work is hard and the days are long, + But hammers are tools for men, +And granite endures and steel is strong, + Outliving both brush and pen. +And ages after my voice is stilled, +Men shall know I lived by the things I build. + + + + +Old Years and New + + +Old years and new years, all blended into one, +The best of what there is to be, the best of what is gone-- +Let's bury all the failures in the dim and dusty past +And keep the smiles of friendship and laughter to the last. + +Old years and new years, life's in the making still; +We haven't come to glory yet, but there's the hope we will; +The dead old year was twelve months long, but now from it we're free, +And what's one year of good or bad to all the years to be? + +Old years and new years, we need them one and all +To reach the dome of character and build its sheltering wall; +Past failures tried the souls of us, but if their tests we stood. +The sum of what we are to be may yet be counted good. + +Old years and new years, with all their pain and strife, +Are but the bricks and steel and stone with which we fashion life; +So put the sin and shame away, and keep the fine and true, +And on the glory of the past let's build the better new. + + + + +When We're All Alike + + +I've trudged life's highway up and down; + I've watched the lines of men march by; +I've seen them in the busy town, + And seen them under country sky; +I've talked with toilers in the ranks, + And walked with men whose hands were white, +And learned, when closed were stores and banks, + We're nearly all alike at night. + +Just find the wise professor when + He isn't lost in ancient lore, +And he, like many other men, + Romps with his children on the floor. +He puts his gravity aside + To share in innocent delight. +Stripped of position's pomp and pride, + We're nearly all the same at night. + +Serving a common cause, we go + Unto our separate tasks by day, +And rich or poor or great or low, + Regardless of their place or pay, +Cherish the common dreams of men-- + A home where love and peace unite. +We serve the self-same end and plan, + We're all alike when it is night. + +Each for his loved ones wants to do + His utmost. Brothers are we all, +When we have run the work-day through, + In romping with our children small; +Rich men and poor delight in play + When care and caste have taken flight. +At home, in all we think and say, + We're very much the same at night. + + + + +The Things You Can't Forget + + +They ain't much, seen from day to day-- +The big elm tree across the way, +The church spire, an' the meetin' place +Lit up by many a friendly face. +You pass 'em by a dozen times +An' never think o' them in rhymes, +Or fit for poet's singin'. Yet +They're all the things you can't forget; +An' they're the things you'll miss some day +If ever you should go away. + +The people here ain't much to see-- +Jes' common folks like you an' me, +Doin' the ordinary tasks +Which life of everybody asks: +Old Dr. Green, still farin' 'round +To where his patients can be found, +An' Parson Hill, serene o' face, +Carryin' God's message every place, +An' Jim, who keeps the grocery store-- +Yet they are folks you'd hunger for. + +They seem so plain when close to view-- +Bill Barker, an' his brother too, +The Jacksons, men of higher rank +Because they chance to run the bank, +Yet friends to every one round here, +Quiet an' kindly an' sincere, +Not much to sing about or praise, +Livin' their lives in modest ways-- +Yet in your memory they'd stay +If ever you should go away. + +These are things an' these the men +Some day you'll long to see again. +Now it's so near you scarcely see +The beauty o' that big elm tree, +But some day later on you will +An' wonder if it's standin' still, +An' if the birds return to sing +An' make their nests there every spring. +Mebbe you scorn them now, but they +Will bring you back again some day. + + + + +The Making of Friends + + +If nobody smiled and nobody cheered and nobody helped us along, +If each every minute looked after himself and good things all went to the + strong, +If nobody cared just a little for you, and nobody thought about me, +And we stood all alone to the battle of life, what a dreary old world it + would be! + +If there were no such a thing as a flag in the sky as a symbol of + comradeship here, +If we lived as the animals live in the woods, with nothing held sacred or + dear, +And selfishness ruled us from birth to the end, and never a neighbor had + we, +And never we gave to another in need, what a dreary old world it would be! + +Oh, if we were rich as the richest on earth and strong as the strongest + that lives, +Yet never we knew the delight and the charm of the smile which the other + man gives, +If kindness were never a part of ourselves, though we owned all the land we + could see, +And friendship meant nothing at all to us here, what a dreary old world it + would be! + +Life is sweet just because of the friends we have made and the things which + in common we share; +We want to live on not because of ourselves, but because of the people who + care; +It's giving and doing for somebody else--on that all life's splendor + depends, +And the joy of this world, when you've summed it all up, is found in the + making of friends. + + + + +The Deeds of Anger + + +I used to lose my temper an' git mad an' tear around +An' raise my voice so wimmin folks would tremble at the sound; +I'd do things I was ashamed of when the fit of rage had passed, +An' wish I hadn't done 'em, an' regret 'em to the last; +But I've learned from sad experience how useless is regret, +For the mean things done in anger are the things you can't forget. + +'Tain't no use to kiss the youngster once your hand has made him cry; +You'll recall the time you struck him till the very day you die; +He'll forget it an' forgive you an' to-morrow seem the same, +But you'll keep the hateful picture of your sorrow an' your shame, +An' it's bound to rise to taunt you, though you long have squared the debt, +For the things you've done in meanness are the things you can't forget. + +Lord, I sometimes sit an' shudder when some scene comes back to me, +Which shows me big an' brutal in some act o' tyranny, +When some triflin' thing upset me an' I let my temper fly, +An' was sorry for it after--but it's vain to sit an' sigh. +So I'd be a whole sight happier now my sun begins to set, +If it wasn't for the meanness which I've done an' can't forget. + +Now I think I've learned my lesson an' I'm treadin' gentler ways, +An' I try to build my mornings into happy yesterdays; +I don't let my temper spoil 'em in the way I used to do +An' let some splash of anger smear the record when it's through; +I want my memories pleasant, free from shame or vain regret, +Without any deeds of anger which I never can forget. + + + + +I'd Rather Be a Failure + + +I'd rather be a failure than the man who's never tried; +I'd rather seek the mountain-top than always stand aside. +Oh, let me hold some lofty dream and make my desperate fight, +And though I fail I still shall know I tried to serve the right. + +The idlers line the ways of life and they are quick to sneer; +They note the failing strength of man and greet it with a jeer; +But there is something deep inside which scoffers fail to view-- +They never see the glorious deed the failure tried to do. + +Some men there are who never leave the city's well-worn streets; +They never know the dangers grim the bold adventurer meets; +They never seek a better way nor serve a nobler plan; +They never risk with failure to advance the cause of man. + +Oh, better 'tis to fail and fall in sorrow and despair, +Than stand where all is safe and sure and never face a care; +Yes, stamp me with the failure's brand and let men sneer at me, +For though I've failed the Lord shall know the man I tried to be. + + + + +Couldn't Live Without You + + +You're just a little fellow with a lot of funny ways, +Just three-foot-six of mischief set with eyes that fairly blaze; +You're always up to something with those busy hands o' yours, +And you leave a trail o' ruin on the walls an' on the doors, +An' I wonder, as I watch you, an' your curious tricks I see, +Whatever is the reason that you mean so much to me. + +You're just a chubby rascal with a grin upon your face, +Just seven years o' gladness, an' a hard and trying case; +You think the world's your playground, an' in all you say an' do +You fancy everybody ought to bow an' scrape to you; +Dull care's a thing you laugh at just as though 'twill never be, +So I wonder, little fellow, why you mean so much to me. + +Now your face is smeared with candy or perhaps it's only dirt, +An' it's really most alarming how you tear your little shirt; +But I have to smile upon you, an' with all your wilful ways, +I'm certain that I need you 'round about me all my days; +Yes, I've got to have you with me, for somehow it's come to be +That I couldn't live without you, for you're all the world to me. + + + + +Just a Boy + + +Get to understand the lad-- +He's not eager to be bad; +If the right he always knew, +He would be as old as you. +Were he now exceeding wise, +He'd be just about your size; +When he does things that annoy, +Don't forget, he's just a boy. + +Could he know and understand, +He would need no guiding hand; +But he's young and hasn't learned +How life's corners must be turned; +Doesn't know from day to day +There is more in life than play, +More to face than selfish joy-- +Don't forget he's just a boy. + +Being just a boy, he'll do +Much you will not want him to; +He'll be careless of his ways, +Have his disobedient days, +Wilful, wild and headstrong, too, +Just as, when a boy, were you; +Things of value he'll destroy, +But, reflect, he's just a boy. + +Just a boy who needs a friend, +Patient, kindly to the end, +Needs a father who will show +Him the things he wants to know; +Take him with you when you walk, +Listen when he wants to talk, +His companionship enjoy, +Don't forget, he's just a boy! + + + + +What Home's Intended For + + +When the young folks gather 'round in the good old-fashioned way, +Singin' all the latest songs gathered from the newest play, +Or they start the phonograph an' shove the chairs back to the wall +An' hold a little party dance, I'm happiest of all. +Then I sorter settle back, plumb contented to the core, +An' I tell myself most proudly, that's what home's intended for. + +When the laughter's gaily ringin' an' the room is filled with song, +I like, to sit an' watch 'em, all that glad an' merry throng, +For the ragtime they are playin' on the old piano there +Beats any high-toned music where the bright lights shine an' glare, +An' the racket they are makin' stirs my pulses more and more, +So I whisper in my gladness: that's what home's intended for. + +Then I smile an' say to Mother, let 'em move the chairs about, +Let 'em frolic in the parlor, let 'em shove the tables out, +Jus' so long as they are near us, jus' so long as they will stay +By the fireplace we are keepin', harm will never come their way, +An' you'll never hear me grumble at the bills that keep me poor, +It's the finest part o' livin'--that's what home's intended for. + + + + +Safe at Home + + +Let the old fire blaze + An' the youngsters shout +An' the dog on the rug + Sprawl full length out, +An' Mother an' I + Sort o' settle down-- +An' it's little we care + For the noisy town. + +Oh, it's little we care + That the wind may blow, +An' the streets grow white + With the drifted snow; +We'll face the storm + With the break o' day, +But to-night we'll dream + An' we'll sing an' play. + +We'll sit by the fire + Where it's snug an' warm, +An' pay no heed + To the winter storm; +With a sheltering roof + Let the blizzard roar; +We are safe at home-- + Can a king say more? + +That's all that counts + When the day is done: +The smiles of love + And the youngsters' fun, +The cares put down + With the evening gloam-- +Here's the joy of all: + To be safe at home. + + + + +When Friends Drop In + + +It may be I'm old-fashioned, but the times I like the best +Are not the splendid parties with the women gaily dressed, +And the music tuned for dancing and the laughter of the throng, +With a paid comedian's antics or a hired musician's song, +But the quiet times of friendship, with the chuckles and the grin, +And the circle at the fireside when a few good friends drop in. + +There's something 'round the fireplace that no club can imitate, +And no throng can ever equal just a few folks near the grate; +Though I sometimes like an opera, there's no music quite so sweet +As the singing of the neighbors that you're always glad to meet; +Oh, I know when they come calling that the fun will soon begin, +And I'm happiest those evenings when a few good friends drop in. + +There's no pomp of preparation, there's no style or sham or fuss; +We are glad to welcome callers who are glad to be with us, +And we sit around and visit or we start a merry game, +And we show them by our manner that we're mighty pleased they came, +For there's something real about it, and the yarns we love to spin, +And the time flies, Oh, so swiftly when a few good friends drop in. + +Let me live my life among them, cheerful, kindly folks and true, +And I'll ask no greater glory till my time of life is through; +Let me share the love and favor of the few who know me best, +And I'll spend my time contented till my sun sinks in the west; +I will take what fortune sends me and the little I may win, +And be happy on those evenings when a few good friends drop in. + + + + +The Book of Memory + + +Turn me loose and let me be +Young once more and fancy free; +Let me wander where I will, +Down the lane and up the hill, +Trudging barefoot in the dust +In an age that knows no "must," +And no voice insistently +Speaks of duty unto me; +Let me tread the happy ways +Of those by-gone yesterdays. + +Fame had never whispered then, +Making slaves of eager men; +Greed had never called me down +To the gray walls of the town, +Offering frankincense and myrrh +If I'd be its prisoner; +I was free to come and go +Where the cherry blossoms blow, +Free to wander where I would, +Finding life supremely good. + +But I turned, as all must do, +From the happiness I knew +To the land of care and strife, +Seeking for a fuller life; +Heard the lure of fame and sought +That renown so dearly bought; +Listened to the voice of greed +Saying: "These the things you need," +Now the gray town holds me fast, +Prisoner to the very last. + +Age has stamped me as its own; +Youth to younger hearts has flown; +Still the cherry blossoms blow +In the land loused to know; +Still the fragrant clover spills +Perfume over dales and hills, +But I'm not allowed to stray +Where the young are free to play; +All the years will grant to me +Is the book of memory. + + + + +Pretending Not to See + + +Sometimes at the table, when +He gets misbehavin', then +Mother calls across to me: +"Look at him, now! Don't you see +What he's doin', sprawlin.' there! +Make him sit up in his chair. +Don't you see the messy way +That he's eating?" An' I say: +"No. He seems all right just now. +What's he doing anyhow?" + +Mother placed him there by me, +An' she thinks I ought to see +Every time he breaks the laws +An' correct him, just because +There will come a time some day +When he mustn't act that way. +But I can't be all along +Scoldin' him for doin' wrong. +So if something goes astray, +I jus' look the other way. + +Mother tells me now an' then +I'm the easiest o' men, +An' in dealin' with the lad +I will never see the bad +That he does, an' I suppose +Mother's right for Mother knows; +But I'd hate to feel that I'm +Here to scold him all the time. +Little faults might spoil the day, +So I look the other way. + +Look the other way an' try +Not to let him catch my eye, +Knowin' all the time that he +Doesn't mean so bad to be; +Knowin', too, that now an' then +I am not the best o' men; +Hopin', too, the times I fall +That the Father of us all, +Lovin', watchin' over me, +Will pretend He doesn't see. + + + + +The Joys of Home + + +Curling smoke from a chimney low, +And only a few more steps to go, +Faces pressed at a window pane +Watching for someone to come again, +And I am the someone they wait to see-- +These are the joys life gives to me. + +What has my neighbor excelling this: +A good wife's love and a baby's kiss? +What if his chimneys tower higher? +Peace is found at our humble fire. +What if his silver and gold are more? +Rest is ours when the day is o'er. + +Strive for fortune and slave for fame, +You find that joy always stays the same: +Rich man and poor man dream and pray +For a home where laughter shall ever stay, +And the wheels go round and men spend their might +For the few glad hours they may claim at night. + +Home, where the kettle shall gaily sing, +Is all that matters with serf or king; +Gold and silver and laurelled fame +Are only sweet when the hearth's aflame +With a cheerful fire, and the loved ones there +Are unafraid of the wolves of care. + +So let me come home at night to rest +With those who know I have done my best; +Let the wife rejoice and my children smile, +And I'll know by their love that I am worthwhile, +For this is conquest and world success-- +A home where abideth happiness. + + + + +We're Dreamers All + + +Oh, man must dream of gladness wherever his pathways lead, +And a hint of something better is written in every creed; +And nobody wakes at morning but hopes ere the day is o'er +To have come to a richer pleasure than ever he's known before. + +For man is a dreamer ever. He glimpses the hills afar +And plans for the joys off yonder where all his to-morrows are; +When trials and cares beset him, in the distance he still can see +A hint of a future splendid and the glory that is to be. + +There's never a man among us but cherishes dreams of rest; +We toil for that something better than that which is now our best. +Oh, what if the cup be bitter and what if we're racked with pain? +There are wonderful days to follow when never we'll grieve again. + +Back of the sound of the hammer, and back of the hissing steam, +And back of the hand at the throttle is ever a lofty dream; +All of us, great or humble, look over the present need +To the dawn of the glad to-morrow which is promised in every creed. + + + + +What Is Success? + + +Success is being friendly when another needs a friend; +It's in the cheery words you speak, and in the coins you lend; +Success is not alone in skill and deeds of daring great; +It's in the roses that you plant beside your garden gate. + +Success is in the way you walk the paths of life each day; +It's in the little things you do and in the things you say; +Success is in the glad hello you give your fellow man; +It's in the laughter of your home and all the joys you plan. + +Success is not in getting rich or rising high to fame; +It's not alone in winning goals which all men hope to claim; +It's in the man you are each day, through happiness or care; +It's in the cheery words you speak and in the smile you wear. + +Success is being big of heart and clean and broad of mind; +It's being faithful to your friends, and to the stranger, kind; +It's in the children whom you love, and all they learn from you-- +Success depends on character and everything you do. + + + + +The Three Me's + + +I'd like to steal a day and be +All alone with little me, +Little me that used to run +Everywhere in search of fun; +Little me of long ago +Who was glad and didn't know +Life is freighted down with care +For the backs of men to bear; +Little me who thought a smile +Ought to linger all the while-- +On his Mother's pretty face +And a tear should never trace +Lines of sorrow, hurt or care +On those cheeks so wondrous fair. + +I should like once more to be +All alone with youthful me; +Youthful me who saw the hills +Where the sun its splendor spills +And was certain that in time +To the topmost height he'd climb; +Youthful me, serene of soul, +Who beheld a shining goal. +And imagined he could gain +Glory without grief or pain, +Confident and quick with life, +Madly eager for the strife, +Knowing not that bitter care +Waited for his coming there. + +I should like to sit alone +With the me now older grown, +Like to lead the little me +And the youth that used to be +Once again along the ways +Of our glorious yesterdays. +We could chuckle soft and low +At the things we didn't know, +And could laugh to think how bold +We had been in days of old, +And how blind we were to care +With its heartache and despair, +We could smile away the tears +And the pain of later years. + + + + +Brothers All + + +Under the toiler's grimy shirt, +Under the sweat and the grease and dirt, +Under the rough outside you view, +Is a man who thinks and feels as you. + +Go talk with him, +Go walk with him, +Sit down with him by a running stream, +Away from the things that are hissing steam, +Away from his bench, +His hammer and wrench, +And the grind of need +And the sordid deed, +And this you'll find +As he bares his mind: +In the things which count when this life is through +He's as tender and big and as good as you. + +Be fair with him, +And share with him +An hour of time in a restful place, +Brother to brother and face to face, +And he'll whisper low +Of the long ago, +Of a loved one dead +And the tears he shed; +And you'll come to see +That in suffering he, +With you, is hurt by the self-same rod +And turns for help to the self-same God. + +You hope as he, +You dream of splendors, and so does he; +His children must be as you'd have yours be; +He shares your love +For the Flag above, +He laughs and sings +For the self-same things; +When he's understood +He is mostly good, +Thoughtful of others and kind and true, +Brave, devoted--and much like you. + +Under the toiler's grimy shirt, +Under the sweat and the grease and dirt, +Under the rough outside you view, +Is a man who thinks and feels as you. + + + + +When We Understand the Plan + + +I reckon when the world we leave +And cease to smile and cease to grieve, +When each of us shall quit the strife +And drop the working tools of life, +Somewhere, somehow, we'll come to find +Just what our Maker had in mind. + +Perhaps through clearer eyes than these +We'll read life's hidden mysteries, +And learn the reason for our tears-- +Why sometimes came unhappy years, +And why our dearest joys were brief +And bound so closely unto grief. + +There is so much beyond our scope, +As blindly on through life we grope, +So much we cannot understand, +However wisely we have planned, +That all who walk this earth about +Are constantly beset by doubt. + +No one of us can truly say +Why loved ones must be called away, +Why hearts are hurt, or e'en explain +Why some must suffer years of pain; +Yet some day all of us shall know +The reason why these things are so. + +I reckon in the years to come, +When these poor lips of clay are dumb, +And these poor hands have ceased to toil, +Somewhere upon a fairer soil +God shall to all of us make clear +The purpose of our trials here. + + + + +The Spoiler + +With a twinkle in his eye +He'd come gayly walkin' by +An' he'd whistle to the children + An' he'd beckon 'em to come, +Then he'd chuckle low an' say, +"Come along, I'm on my way, +An' it's I that need your company + To buy a little gum." + +When his merry call they'd hear, +All the children, far an' near, +Would come flyin' from the gardens + Like the chickens after wheat; +When we'd shake our heads an' say: +"No, you mustn't go to-day!" +He'd beg to let him have 'em + In a pack about his feet. + +Oh, he spoiled 'em, one an' all; +There was not a youngster small +But was over-fed on candy + An' was stuffed with lollypops, +An' I think his greatest joy +Was to get some girl or boy +An' bring 'em to their parents + All besmeared by chocolate drops. + +Now the children's hearts are sore +For he comes to them no more, +And no more to them he whistles + And no more for them he stops; +But in Paradise, I think, +With his chuckle and his wink, +He is leading little angels + To the heavenly candy shops. + + + + +A Vanished Joy + + +When I was but a little lad of six and seven and eight, +One joy I knew that has been lost in customs up-to-date, +Then Saturday was baking day and Mother used to make, +The while I stood about and watched, the Sunday pies and cake; +And I was there to have fulfilled a small boy's fondest wish, +The glorious privilege of youth--to scrape the frosting dish! + +On Saturdays I never left to wander far away-- +I hovered near the kitchen door on Mother's baking day; +The fragrant smell of cooking seemed to hold me in its grip, +And naught cared I for other sports while there were sweets to sip; +I little cared that all my chums had sought the brook to fish; +I chose to wait that moment glad when I could scrape the dish. + +Full many a slice of apple I have lifted from a pie +Before the upper crust went on, escaping Mother's eye; +Full many a time my fingers small in artfulness have strayed +Into some sweet temptation rare which Mother's hands had made; +But eager-eyed and watery-mouthed, I craved the greater boon, +When Mother let me clean the dish and lick the frosting spoon. + +The baking days of old are gone, our children cannot know +The glorious joys that childhood owned and loved so long ago. +New customs change the lives of all and in their heartless way +They've robbed us of the glad event once known as baking day. +The stores provide our every need, yet many a time I wish +Our kids could know that bygone thrill and scrape the frosting dish. + + + + +"Carry On" + + +They spoke it bravely, grimly, in their darkest hours of doubt; +They spoke it when their hope was low and when their strength gave out; +We heard it from the dying in those troubled days now gone, +And they breathed it as their slogan for the living: "Carry on!" + +Now the days of strife are over, and the skies are fair again, +But those two brave words of courage on our lips should still remain; +In the trials which beset us and the cares we look upon, +To our dead we should be faithful--we have still to "carry on!" + +"Carry on!" through storm and danger, "carry on" through dark despair, +"Carry on" through hurt and failure, "carry on" through grief and care; +'Twas the slogan they bequeathed us as they fell beside the way, +And for them and for our children, let us "carry on!" to-day. + + + + +Life's Single Standard + +There are a thousand ways to cheat and a thousand ways to sin; +There are ways uncounted to lose the game, but there's only one way to win; +And whether you live by the sweat of your brow or in luxury's garb you're + dressed, +You shall stand at last, when your race is run, to be judged by the single + test. + +Some men lie by the things they make; some lie in the deeds they do; +And some play false for a woman's love, and some for a cheer or two; +Some rise to fame by the force of skill, grow great by the might of power, +Then wreck the temple they toiled to build, in a single, shameful hour. + +The follies outnumber the virtues good; sin lures in a thousand ways; +But slow is the growth of man's character and patience must mark his days; +For only those victories shall count, when the work of life is done, +Which bear the stamp of an honest man, and by courage and faith were won. + +There are a thousand ways to fail, but only one way to win! +Sham cannot cover the wrong you do nor wash out a single sin, +And never shall victory come to you, whatever of skill you do, +Save you've done your best in the work of life and unto your best were + true. + + + + +Learn to Smile + + +The good Lord understood us when He taught us how to smile; +He knew we couldn't stand it to be solemn all the while; +He knew He'd have to shape us so that when our hearts were gay, +We could let our neighbors know it in a quick and easy way. + +So He touched the lips of Adam and He touched the lips of Eve, +And He said: "Let these be solemn when your sorrows make you grieve, +But when all is well in Eden and your life seems worth the while, +Let your faces wear the glory and the sunshine of a smile. + +"Teach the symbol to your children, pass it down through all the years. +Though they know their share of sadness and shall weep their share of + tears, +Through the ages men and women shall prove their faith in Me +By the smile upon their faces when their hearts are trouble-free." + +The good Lord understood us when He sent us down to earth, +He knew our need for laughter and for happy signs of mirth; +He knew we couldn't stand it to be solemn all the while, +But must share our joy with others--so He taught us how to smile. + + + + +The True Man + + +This is the sort of a man was he: +True when it hurt him a lot to be; +Tight in a corner an' knowin' a lie +Would have helped him out, but he wouldn't buy +His freedom there in so cheap a way-- +He told the truth though he had to pay. + +Honest! Not in the easy sense, +When he needn't worry about expense-- +We'll all play square when it doesn't count +And the sum at stake's not a large amount-- +But he was square when the times were bad, +An' keepin' his word took all he had. + +Honor is something we all profess, +But most of us cheat--some more, some less-- +An' the real test isn't the way we do +When there isn't a pinch in either shoe; +It's whether we're true to our best or not +When the right thing's certain to hurt a lot. + +That is the sort of a man was he: +Straight when it hurt him a lot to be; +Times when a lie would have paid him well, +No matter the cost, the truth he'd tell; +An' he'd rather go down to a drab defeat +Than save himself if he had to cheat. + + + + +Cleaning the Furnace + + +Last night Pa said to Ma: "My dear, it's gettin' on to fall, +It's time I did a little job I do not like at all. +I wisht 'at I was rich enough to hire a man to do +The dirty work around this house an' clean up when he's through, +But since I'm not, I'm truly glad that I am strong an' stout, +An' ain't ashamed to go myself an' clean the furnace out." + +Then after supper Pa put on his overalls an' said +He'd work down in the cellar till 'twas time to go to bed. +He started in to rattle an' to bang an' poke an' stir, +An' the dust began a-climbin' up through every register +Till Ma said: "Goodness gracious; go an' shut those things up tight +Or we'll all be suffocated an' the house will be a sight." + +Then he carted out the ashes in a basket an' a pail, +An' from cellar door to alley he just left an ashy trail. +Then he pulled apart the chimney, an' 'twas full of something black, +An' he skinned most all his knuckles when he tried to put it back. +We could hear him talkin' awful, an' Ma looked at us an' said: +"I think it would be better if you children went to bed." + +When he came up from the cellar there were ashes in his hair, +There were ashes in his eyebrows--but he didn't seem to care-- +There were ashes in his mustache, there were ashes in his eyes, +An' we never would have known him if he'd took us by surprise. +"Well, I got it clean," he sputtered, and Ma said: "I guess that's true; +Once the dirt was in the furnace, but now most of it's on you." + + + + +Trouble Brings Friends + + +It's seldom trouble comes alone. I've noticed this: When things go wrong +An' trouble comes a-visitin', it always brings a friend along; +Sometimes it's one you've known before, and then perhaps it's someone new +Who stretches out a helping hand an' stops to see what he can do. + +If never trials came to us, if grief an' sorrow passed us by, +If every day the sun came out an' clouds were never in the sky, +We'd still have neighbors, I suppose, each one pursuin' selfish ends, +But only neighbors they would be--we'd never know them as our friends. + +Out of the troubles I have had have come my richest friendships here, +Kind hands have helped to bear my care, kind words have fallen on my ear; +An' so I say when trouble comes I know before the storm shall end +That I shall find my bit of care has also brought to me a friend. + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of When Day is Done, by Edgar A. Guest + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10460 *** diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..12cf40e --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #10460 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10460) diff --git a/old/10460.txt b/old/10460.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..11b1e2a --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10460.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4832 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of When Day is Done, by Edgar A. Guest + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: When Day is Done + +Author: Edgar A. Guest + +Release Date: December 14, 2003 [EBook #10460] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHEN DAY IS DONE *** + + + + +Produced by Ted Garvin, Ginny Brewer and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +WHEN DAY IS DONE + +by + +EDGAR A. GUEST + + +1921 + +To +S.H.D. +A real friend who never knows when day is done + + + +INDEX + + +Age of Ink, The +All for the Best +Always Saying "Don't!" +Autumn Evenings +Aw Gee Whiz! + +Bedtime +Better Job, The +Bob White +Book of Memory. The +Boy and His Dad, A +Boy and His Dog, A +Boy and His Stomach, A +Boy and the Flag, The +Boy O'Mine +Brothers All + +Call of the Woods, The +"Carry On" +Castor Oil +Chip on Your Shoulder, The +Christmas Carol, A +Christmas Gift for Mother, The +Cleaning the Furnace +Committee Meetings +Contradictin' Joe +Cookie Jar, The +Couldn't Live Without You +Cure for Weariness, The + +Dan McGann Declares Himself +Deeds of Anger, The + +Family Row, A +Father's Wish, A +Feller's Hat, A +Fellowship of Books, The +Forgotten Boyhood + +God Made This Day for Me +Golf Luck +Good Little Boy, The +Grate Fire, The +Green Apple Time + +Happy Man, The +He's Taken Out His Papers +Home and the Office +Homely Man, The +How Do You Buy Your Money? + +I Ain't Dead Yet +I'd Rather Be a Failure +If I Had Youth +If This Were All + +Joys of Home, The +Joys We Miss, The +Just a Boy + +Kick Under the Table, The + +Leader of the Gang +Learn to Smile +Life Is What We Make It +Life's Single Standard +Little Girls Are Best +Little Wrangles +Lonely +Looking Back +Loss Is Not So Great, The +Lucky Man, The + +Ma and the Ouija Board +Making of Friends, The +Memorial Day +Mother's Day +My Religion + +No Better Land Than This +No Children! +No Room for Hate +Nothing to Laugh At +No Use Sighin' + +Old Mister Laughter +Old Years and New + +Pa and the Monthly Bills +Peaks of Valor, The +Practicing Time +Pretending Not to See + +Safe at Home +Satisfied With Life +She Mothered Five +She Powders Her Nose +Simple' Things, The +Sittin' on the Porch +Song of the Builder, The +Spoiler, The +Summer Dreams + +Things You Can't Forget, The +Three Me's, The +To a Little Girl +To an Old Friend +Too Big a Price +Trouble Brings Friends +True Man, The + +Vanished Joy, A + +"Wait Till Your Pa Comes Home" +We're Dreamers All +What Home's Intended For +What I Call Living +What Is Success? +What Makes an Artist +What We Need +When Day Is Done +When Friends Drop In +When Ma Wants Something New +When Mother's Sewing Buttons On +When Sorrow Comes +When The Minister Calls +When We Play the Fool +When We're All Alike +When We Understand the Plan +Where Children Play +"Where's Mamma?" +Wide Outdoors, The +Willing Horse, The +With Dog and Gun +World and Bud, The + + + + +When Day Is Done + + +When day is done and the night slips down, +And I've turned my back on the busy town, +And come once more to the welcome gate +Where the roses nod and the children wait, +I tell myself as I see them smile +That life is good and its tasks worth while. + +When day is done and I've come once more +To my quiet street and the friendly door, +Where the Mother reigns and the children play +And the kettle sings in the old-time way, +I throw my coat on a near-by chair +And say farewell to my pack of care. + +When day is done, all the hurt and strife +And the selfishness and the greed of life, +Are left behind in the busy town; +I've ceased to worry about renown +Or gold or fame, and I'm just a dad, +Content to be with his girl and lad. + +Whatever the day has brought of care, +Here love and laughter are mine to share, +Here I can claim what the rich desire-- +Rest and peace by a ruddy fire, +The welcome words which the loved ones speak +And the soft caress of a baby's cheek. + +When day is done and I reach my gate, +I come to a realm where there is no hate, +For here, whatever my worth may be, +Are those who cling to their faith in me; +And with love on guard at my humble door, +I have all that the world has struggled for. + + + + +The Simple Things + + +I would not be too wise--so very wise + That I must sneer at simple songs and creeds, +And let the glare of wisdom blind my eyes + To humble people and their humble needs. + +I would not care to climb so high that I + Could never hear the children at their play, +Could only see the people passing by, + And never hear the cheering words they say. + +I would not know too much--too much to smile + At trivial errors of the heart and hand, +Nor be too proud to play the friend the while, + Nor cease to help and know and understand. + +I would not care to sit upon a throne, + Or build my house upon a mountain-top, +Where I must dwell in glory all alone + And never friend come in or poor man stop. + +God grant that I may live upon this earth + And face the tasks which every morning brings +And never lose the glory and the worth + Of humble service and the simple things. + + + + +Life Is What We Make It + + +Life is a jest; + Take the delight of it. +Laughter is best; + Sing through the night of it. +Swiftly the tear + And the hurt and the ache of it +Find us down here; + Life must be what we make of it. + +Life is a song; + Dance to the thrill of it. +Grief's hours are long, + And cold is the chill of it. +Joy is man's need; + Let us smile for the sake of it. +This be our creed: + Life must be what we make of it. + +Life is a soul; + The virtue and vice of it, +Strife for a goal, + And man's strength is the price of it. +Your life and mine, + The bare bread and the cake of it +End in this line: + Life must be what we make of it. + + + + +What We Need + + +We were settin' there an' smokin' of our pipes, discussin' things, +Like licker, votes for wimmin, an' the totterin'thrones o' kings, +When he ups an' strokes his whiskers with his hand an' says t'me: +"Changin' laws an' legislatures ain't, as fur as I can see, +Goin' to make this world much better, unless somehow we can +Find a way to make a better an' a finer sort o' man. + +"The trouble ain't with statutes or with systems--not at all; +It's with humans jest like we air an' their petty ways an' small. +We could stop our writin' law-books an' our regulatin' rules +If a better sort of manhood was the product of our schools. +For the things that we air needin' ain't no writin' from a pen +Or bigger guns to shoot with, but a bigger typeof men. + +"I reckon all these problems air jest ornery like the weeds. +They grow in soil that oughta nourish only decent deeds, +An' they waste our time an' fret us when, if we were thinkin' straight +An' livin' right, they wouldn't be so terrible an' great. +A good horse needs no snaffle, an' a good man, I opine, +Doesn't need a law to check him or to force him into line. + +"If we ever start in teachin' to our children, year by year, +How to live with one another, there'll be less o' trouble here. +If we'd teach 'em how to neighbor an' to walk in honor's ways, +We could settle every problem which the mind o' man can raise. +What we're needin' isn't systems or some regulatin' plan, +But a bigger an' a finer an' a truer type o' man." + + + + +A Boy and His Dad + + +A boy and his dad on a fishing-trip-- +There is a glorious fellowship! +Father and son and the open sky +And the white clouds lazily drifting by, +And the laughing stream as it runs along +With the clicking reel like a martial song, +And the father teaching the youngster gay +How to land a fish in the sportsman's way. + +I fancy I hear them talking there +In an open boat, and the speech is fair; +And the boy is learning the ways of men +From the finest man in his youthful ken. +Kings, to the youngster, cannot compare +With the gentle father who's with him there. +And the greatest mind of the human race +Not for one minute could take his place. + +Which is happier, man or boy? +The soul of the father is steeped in joy, +For he's finding out, to his heart's delight, +That his son is fit for the future fight. +He is learning the glorious depths of him, +And the thoughts he thinks and his every whim, +And he shall discover, when night comes on, +How close he has grown to his little son. + +A boy and his dad on a fishing-trip-- +Oh, I envy them, as I see them there +Under the sky in the open air, +For out of the old, old long-ago +Come the summer days that I used to know, +When I learned life's truths from my father's lips +As I shared the joy of his fishing-trips-- +Builders of life's companionship! + + + + +If I Had Youth + + +If I had youth I'd bid the world to try me; + I'd answer every challenge to my will. +And though the silent mountains should defy me, + I'd try to make them subject to my skill. +I'd keep my dreams and follow where they led me; + I'd glory in the hazards which abound. +I'd eat the simple fare privations fed me, + And gladly make my couch upon the ground. + +If I had youth I'd ask no odds of distance, + Nor wish to tread the known and level ways. +I'd want to meet and master strong resistance, + And in a worth-while struggle spend my days. +I'd seek the task which calls for full endeavor; + I'd feel the thrill of battle in my veins. +I'd bear my burden gallantly, and never + Desert the hills to walk on common plains. + +If I had youth no thought of failure lurking + Beyond to-morrow's dawn should fright my soul. +Let failure strike--it still should find me working + With faith that I should some day reach my goal. +I'd dice with danger--aye!--and glory in it; + I'd make high stakes the purpose of my throw. +I'd risk for much, and should I fail to win it, + I would not ever whimper at the blow. + +If I had youth no chains of fear should bind me; + I'd brave the heights which older men must shun. +I'd leave the well-worn lanes of life behind me, + And seek to do what men have never done. +Rich prizes wait for those who do not waver; + The world needs men to battle for the truth. +It calls each hour for stronger hearts and braver. + This is the age for those who still have youth! + + + + +Looking Back + + +I might have been rich if I'd wanted the gold instead of the friendships + I've made. +I might have had fame if I'd sought for renown in the hours when I + purposely played. +Now I'm standing to-day on the far edge of life, and I'm just looking + backward to see +What I've done with the years and the days that were mine, and all that + has happened to me. + +I haven't built much of a fortune to leave to those who shall carry my + name, +And nothing I've done shall entitle me now to a place on the tablets of + fame. +But I've loved the great sky and its spaces of blue; I've lived with the + birds and the trees; +I've turned from the splendor of silver and gold to share in such pleasures + as these. + +I've given my time to the children who came; together we've romped and + we've played, +And I wouldn't exchange the glad hours spent with them for the money that + I might have made. +I chose to be known and be loved by the few, and was deaf to the plaudits + of men; +And I'd make the same choice should the chance come to me to live my life + over again. + +I've lived with my friends and I've shared in their joys, known sorrow with + all of its tears; +I have harvested much from my acres of life, though some say I've + squandered my years. +For much that is fine has been mine to enjoy, and I think I have lived to + my best, +And I have no regret, as I'm nearing the end, for the gold that I might + have possessed. + + + + +God Made This Day for Me + + +Jes' the sort o' weather and jes' the sort of sky +Which seem to suit my fancy, with the white clouds driftin' by +On a sea o' smooth blue water. Oh, I ain't an egotist, +With an "I" in all my thinkin', but I'm willin' to insist +That the Lord who made us humans an' the birds in every tree +Knows my special sort o' weather an' he made this day fer me. + +This is jes' my style o' weather--sunshine floodin' all the place, +An' the breezes from the eastward blowin' gently on my face; +An' the woods chock full o' singin' till you'd think birds never had +A single care to fret 'em or a grief to make 'em sad. +Oh, I settle down contented in the shadow of a tree, +An' tell myself right proudly that the day was made fer me. + +It's my day, my sky an' sunshine, an' the temper o' the breeze-- +Here's the weather I would fashion could I run things as I please: +Beauty dancin' all around me, music ringin' everywhere, +Like a weddin' celebration--why, I've plumb fergot my care +An' the tasks I should be doin' fer the rainy days to be, +While I'm huggin' the delusion that God made this day fer me. + + + + +The Grate Fire + + +I'm sorry for a fellow if he cannot look and see +In a grate fire's friendly flaming all the joys which used to be. +If in quiet contemplation of a cheerful ruddy blaze +He sees nothing there recalling all his happy yesterdays, +Then his mind is dead to fancy and his life is bleak and bare, +And he's doomed to walk the highways that are always thick with care. + +When the logs are dry as tinder and they crackle with the heat, +And the sparks, like merry children, come a-dancing round my feet, +In the cold, long nights of autumn I can sit before the blaze +And watch a panorama born of all my yesterdays. +I can leave the present burdens and the moment's bit of woe, +And claim once more the gladness of the bygone long-ago. + +No loved ones ever vanish from the grate fire's merry throng; +No hands in death are folded and no lips are stilled to song. +All the friends who were are living--like the sparks that fly about +They come romping out to greet me with the same old merry shout, +Till it seems to me I'm playing once again on boyhood's stage, +Where there's no such thing as sorrow and there's no such thing as age. + +I can be the care-free schoolboy! I can play the lover, too! +I can walk through Maytime orchards with the old sweetheart I knew, +I can dream the glad dreams over, greet the old familiar friends +In a land where there's no parting and the laughter never ends. +All the gladness life has given from a grate fire I reclaim, +And I'm sorry for the fellow-who sees nothing there but flame. + + + + +The Homely Man + + +Looks as though a cyclone hit him-- +Can't buy clothes that seem to fit him; +An' his cheeks are rough like leather, +Made for standin' any weather. +Outwards he was fashioned plainly, +Loose o' joint an' blamed ungainly, +But I'd give a lot if I'd +Been built half as fine inside. + +Best thing I can tell you of him +Is the way the children love him. +Now an' then I get to thinkin' +He's much like old Abe Lincoln; +Homely like a gargoyle graven-- +Worse'n that when he's unshaven; +But I'd take his ugly phiz +Jes' to have a heart like his. + +I ain't over-sentimental, +But old Blake is so blamed gentle +An' so thoughtfull-like of others +He reminds us of our mothers. +Rough roads he is always smoothing +An' his way is, Oh, so soothin', +That he takes away the sting +When your heart is sorrowing. + +Children gather round about him +Like they can't get on without him. +An' the old depend upon him, +Pilin' all their burdens on him, +Like as though the thing that grieves 'em +Has been lifted when he leaves 'em. +Homely? That can't be denied, +But he's glorious inside. + + + + +The Joys We Miss + + +There never comes a lonely day but that we miss the laughing ways +Of those who used to walk with us through all our happy yesterdays. +We seldom miss the earthly great--the famous men that life has known-- +But, as the years go racing by, we miss the friends we used to own. + +The chair wherein he used to sit recalls the kindly father true +For, Oh, so filled with fun he was, and, Oh, so very much he knew! +And as we face the problems grave with which the years of life are filled. +We miss the hand which guided us and miss the voice forever stilled. + +We little guessed how much he did to smooth our pathway day by day, +How much of joy he brought to us, how much of care he brushed away; +But now that we must tread alone the thorough-fare of life, we find +How many burdens we were spared by him who was so brave and kind. + +Death robs the living, not the dead--they sweetly sleep whose tasks are + done; +But we are weaker than before who still must live and labor on. +For when come care and grief to us, and heavy burdens bring us woe, +We miss the smiling, helpful friends on whom we leaned long years ago. + +We miss the happy, tender ways of those who brought us mirth and cheer; +We never gather round the hearth but that we wish our friends were near; +For peace is born of simple things--a kindly word, a goodnight kiss, +The prattle of a babe, and love--these are the vanished joys we miss. + + + + +The Fellowship of Books + + +I care not who the man may be, + Nor how his tasks may fret him, +Nor where he fares, nor how his cares + And troubles may beset him, +If books have won the love of him, + Whatever fortune hands him, +He'll always own, when he's alone, + A friend who understands him. + +Though other friends may come and go, + And some may stoop to treason, +His books remain, through loss or gain, + And season after season +The faithful friends for every mood, + His joy and sorrow sharing, +For old time's sake, they'll lighter make + The burdens he is bearing. + +Oh, he has counsel at his side, + And wisdom for his duty, +And laughter gay for hours of play, + And tenderness and beauty, +And fellowship divinely rare, + True friends who never doubt him, +Unchanging love, and God above, + Who keeps good books about him. + + + + +When Sorrow Comes + + +When sorrow comes, as come it must, +In God a man must place his trust. +There is no power in mortal speech +The anguish of his soul to reach, +No voice, however sweet and low, +Can comfort him or ease the blow. + +He cannot from his fellowmen +Take strength that will sustain him then. +With all that kindly hands will do, +And all that love may offer, too, +He must believe throughout the test +That God has willed it for the best. + +We who would be his friends are dumb; +Words from our lips but feebly come; +We feel, as we extend our hands, +That one Power only understands +And truly knows the reason why +So beautiful a soul must die. + +We realize how helpless then +Are all the gifts of mortal men. +No words which we have power to say +Can take the sting of grief away-- +That Power which marks the sparrow's fall +Must comfort and sustain us all. + +When sorrow comes, as come it must, +In God a man must place his trust. +With all the wealth which he may own, +He cannot meet the test alone, +And only he may stand serene +Who has a faith on which to lean. + + + + +Golf Luck + + +As a golfer I'm not one who cops the money; + I shall always be a member of the dubs; +There are times my style is positively funny; + I am awkward in my handling of the clubs. +I am not a skillful golfer, nor a plucky, + But this about myself I proudly say-- +When I win a hole by freaky stroke or lucky, + I never claim I played the shot that way. + +There are times, despite my blundering behavior, + When fortune seems to follow at my heels; +Now and then I play supremely in her favor, + And she lets me pull the rankest sort of steals; +She'll give to me the friendliest assistance, + I'll jump a ditch at times when I should not, +I'll top the ball and get a lot of distance-- + But I don't claim that's how I played the shot. + +I've hooked a ball when just that hook I needed, + And wondered how I ever turned the trick; +I've thanked my luck for what a friendly tree did, + Although my fortune made my rival sick; +Sometimes my shots turn out just as I planned 'em, + The sort of shots I usually play, +But when up to the cup I chance to land 'em, + I never claim I played 'em just that way. + +There's little in my game that will commend me; + I'm not a shark who shoots the course in par; +I need good fortune often to befriend me; + I have my faults and know just what they are. +I play golf in a desperate do-or-die way, + And into traps and trouble oft I stray, +But when by chance the breaks are coming my way, + I do not claim I played the shots that way. + + + + +Contradictin' Joe + + +Heard of Contradictin' Joe? +Most contrary man I know. +Always sayin', "That's not so." + +Nothing's ever said, but he +Steps right up to disagree-- +Quarrelsome as he can be. + +If you start in to recite +All the details of a fight, +He'll butt in to set you right. + +Start a story that is true, +He'll begin correctin' you-- +Make you out a liar, too! + +Mention time o' year or day, +Makes no difference what you say, +Nothing happened just that way. + +Bet you, when his soul takes flight, +An' the angels talk at night, +He'll butt in to set 'em right. + +There where none should have complaints +He will be with "no's" and "ain'ts" +Contradictin' all the saints. + + + + +The Better Job + + +If I were running a factory +I'd stick up a sign for all to see; +I'd print it large and I'd nail it high +On every wall that the men walked by; +And I'd have it carry this sentence clear: +"The 'better job' that you want is here!" + +It's the common trait of the human race +To pack up and roam from place to place; +Men have done it for ages and do it now; +Seeking to better themselves somehow +They quit their posts and their tools they drop +For a better job in another shop. + +It may be I'm wrong, but I hold to this-- +That something surely must be amiss +When a man worth while must move away +For the better job with the better pay; +And something is false in our own renown +When men can think of a better town. + +So if I were running a factory +I'd stick up this sign for all to see, +Which never an eye in the place could miss: +"There isn't a better town than this! +You need not go wandering, far or near-- +The 'better job' that you want is here!" + + + + +My Religion + + +My religion's lovin' God, who made us, one and all, +Who marks, no matter where it be, the humble sparrow's fall; +An' my religion's servin' Him the very best I can +By not despisin' anything He made, especially man! +It's lovin' sky an' earth an' sun an' birds an' flowers an' trees, +But lovin' human beings more than any one of these. + +I ain't no hand at preachin' an' I can't expound the creeds; +I fancy every fellow's faith must satisfy his needs +Or he would hunt for something else. An' I can't tell the why +An' wherefore of the doctrines deep--and what's more I don't try. +I reckon when this life is done and we can know His plan, +God won't be hard on anyone who's tried to be a man. + +My religion doesn't hinge on some one rite or word; +I hold that any honest prayer a mortal makes is heard; +To love a church is well enough, but some get cold with pride +An' quite forget their fellowmen for whom the Saviour died; +I fancy he best worships God, when all is said an' done, +Who tries to be, from day to day, a friend to everyone. + +If God can mark the sparrow's fall, I don't believe He'll fail +To notice us an' how we act when doubts an' fears assail; +I think He'll hold what's in our hearts above what's in our creeds, +An' judge all our religion here by our recorded deeds; +An' since man is God's greatest work since life on earth began, +He'll get to Heaven, I believe, who helps his fellowman. + + + + +What I Call Living + + +The miser thinks he's living when he's hoarding up his gold; +The soldier calls it living when he's doing something bold; +The sailor thinks it living to be tossed upon the sea, +And upon this vital subject no two of us agree. +But I hold to the opinion, as I walk my way along, +That living's made of laughter and good-fellowship and song. + +I wouldn't call it living always to be seeking gold, +To bank all the present gladness for the days when I'll be old. +I wouldn't call it living to spend all my strength for fame, +And forego the many pleasures which to-day are mine to claim. +I wouldn't for the splendor of the world set out to roam, +And forsake my laughing children and the peace I know at home. +Oh, the thing that I call living isn't gold or fame at all! + +It's good-fellowship and sunshine, and it's roses by the wall; +It's evenings glad with music and a hearth fire that's ablaze, +And the joys which come to mortals in a thousand different ways. +It is laughter and contentment and the struggle for a goal; +It is everything that's needful in the shaping of a soul. + + + + + +If This Were All + + +If this were all of life we'll know, + If this brief space of breath +Were all there is to human toil, + If death were really death, +And never should the soul arise + A finer world to see, +How foolish would our struggles seem, + How grim the earth would be! + +If living were the whole of life, + To end in seventy years, +How pitiful its joys would seem! + How idle all its tears! +There'd be no faith to keep us true, + No hope to keep us strong, +And only fools would cherish dreams-- + No smile would last for long. + +How purposeless the strife would be + If there were nothing more, +If there were not a plan to serve, + An end to struggle for! +No reason for a mortal's birth + Except to have him die-- +How silly all the goals would seem + For which men bravely try. + +There must be something after death; + Behind the toil of man +There must exist a God divine + Who's working out a plan; +And this brief journey that we know + As life must really be +The gateway to a finer world + That some day we shall see. + + + + +A Christmas Carol + + +God bless you all this Christmas Day +And drive the cares and griefs away. +Oh, may the shining Bethlehem star +Which led the wise men from afar +Upon your heads, good sirs, still glow +To light the path that ye should go. + +As God once blessed the stable grim +And made it radiant for Him; +As it was fit to shield His Son, +May thy roof be a holy one; +May all who come this house to share +Rest sweetly in His gracious care. + +Within thy walls may peace abide, +The peace for which the Savior died. +Though humble be the rafters here, +Above them may the stars shine clear, +And in this home thou lovest well +May excellence of spirit dwell. + +God bless you all this Christmas Day; +May Bethlehem's star still light thy way +And guide thee to the perfect peace +When every fear and doubt shall cease. +And may thy home such glory know +As did the stable long ago. + + + + +Forgotten Boyhood + + +He wears a long and solemn face +And drives the children from his place; +He doesn't like to hear them shout +Or race and run and romp about, +And if they chance to climb his tree, +He is as ugly as can be. +If in his yard they drive a ball, +Which near his pretty flowers should fall, +He hides the leather sphere away, +Thus hoping to prevent their play. + +The youngsters worry him a lot, +This sorry man who has forgot +That once upon a time, he too +The self-same mischief used to do. +The boyhood he has left behind +Has strangely vanished from his mind, +And he is old and gray and cross +For having suffered such a loss. +He thinks he never had the joy +That is the birthright of a boy. + +He has forgotten how he ran, +Or to a dog's tail tied a can, +Broke window panes, and loved to swipe +Some neighbor's apples, red and ripe-- +He thinks that always, day or night, +His conduct was exactly right. +In boys to-day he cannot see +The youngster that he used to be, +Forgotten is that by-gone day, +When he was mischievous as they. + +Poor man! I'm sorry for your lot. +The best of life you have forgot. +Could you remember what you were, +Unharnessed and untouched by spur, +These youngsters that you drive away +Would be your comrades here to-day. +Among them you could gayly walk +And share their laughter and their talk; +You could be young and blithe as they, +Could you recall your yesterday. + + + + +The Peaks of Valor + + +These are the peaks of valor; keeping clean your father's name, +Too brave for petty profit to risk the brand of shame, +Adventuring for the future, yet mindful of the past, +For God, for country and for home, still valorous to the last. + +These are the peaks of valor: a speech that knows no lie, +A standard of what's right and wrong which no man's wealth can buy, +All unafraid of failure, to venture forth to fight, +Yet never for the victory's sake to turn away from right. + +Ten thousand times the victor is he who fails to win, +Who could have worn the conqueror's crown by stooping low in sin; +Ten thousand times the braver is he who turns away +And scorns to crush a weaker man that he may rule the day. + +These are the peaks of valor: standing firm and standing true +To the best your father taught you and the best you've learned anew, +Helpful to all who need you, winning what joys you can, +Writing in triumph to the end your record as a man. + + + + +When the Minister Calls + + +My Paw says that it used to be, +Whenever the minister came for tea, +'At they sat up straight in their chairs at night +An' put all their common things out o' sight, +An' nobody cracked a joke or grinned, +But they talked o' the way that people sinned, +An' the burnin' fires that would cook you sure +When you came to die, if you wasn't pure-- +Such a gloomy affair it used to be +Whenever the minister came for tea. + +But now when the minister comes to call +I get him out for a game of ball, +And you'd never know if you'd see him bat, +Without any coat or vest or hat, +That he is a minister, no, siree! +He looks like a regular man to me. +An' he knows just how to go down to the dirt +For the grounders hot without gettin' hurt-- +An' when they call us, both him an' me +Have to git washed up again for tea. + +Our minister says if you'll just play fair +You'll be fit for heaven or anywhere; +An' fun's all right if your hands are clean +An' you never cheat an' you don't get mean. +He says that he never has understood +Why a feller can't play an' still be good. +An' my Paw says that he's just the kind +Of a minister that he likes to find-- +So I'm always tickled as I can be +Whenever our minister comes for tea. + + + + +The Age of Ink + + +Swiftly the changes come. Each day +Sees some lost beauty blown away +And some new touch of lovely grace +Come into life to take its place. +The little babe that once we had +One morning woke a roguish lad; +The babe that we had put to bed +Out of our arms and lives had fled. + +Frocks vanished from our castle then, +Ne'er to be worn or seen again, +And in his knickerbocker pride +He boasted pockets at each side +And stored them deep with various things-- +Stones, tops and jacks and-colored strings; +Then for a time we claimed the joy +Of calling him our little boy. + +Brief was the reign of such a spell. +One morning sounded out a bell; +With tears I saw her brown eyes swim +And knew that it was calling him. +Time, the harsh master of us all, +Was bidding him to heed his call; +This shadow fell across life's pool-- +Our boy was on his way to school. + +Our little boy! And still we dreamed, +For such a little boy he seemed! +And yesterday, with eyes aglow +Like one who has just come to know +Some great and unexpected bliss, +He bounded in, announcing this: +"Oh, Dad! Oh, Ma! Say, what d'you think? +This year we're going to write with ink!" + +Here was a change I'd not foreseen, +Another step from what had been. +I paused a little while to think +About this older age of ink-- +What follows this great step, thought I, +What next shall come as the time goes by? +And something said: "His pathway leads +Unto the day he'll write with deeds." + + + + +No Use Sighin' + + +No use frettin' when the rain comes down, +No use grievin' when the gray clouds frown, +No use sighin' when the wind blows strong, +No use wailin' when the world's all wrong; +Only thing that a man can do +Is work an' wait till the sky gets blue. + +No use mopin' when you lose the game, +No use sobbin' if you're free from shame, +No use cryin' when the harm is done, +Just keep on tryin' an' workin' on; +Only thing for a man to do, +Is take the loss an' begin anew. + +No use weepin' when the milk is spilled, +No use growlin' when your hopes are killed, +No use kickin' when the lightnin' strikes +Or the floods come along an' wreck your dykes; +Only thing for a man right then +Is to grit his teeth an' start again. + +For it's how life is an' the way things are +That you've got to face if you travel far; +An' the storms will come an' the failures, too, +An' plans go wrong spite of all you do; +An' the only thing that will help you win, +Is the grit of a man and a stern set chin. + + + + +No Children! + + +No children in the house to play-- +It must be hard to live that way! +I wonder what the people do +When night comes on and the work is through, +With no glad little folks to shout, +No eager feet to race about, +No youthful tongues to chatter on +About the joy that's been and gone? +The house might be a castle fine, +But what a lonely place to dine! + +No children in the house at all, +No fingermarks upon the wall, +No corner where the toys are piled-- +Sure indication of a child. +No little lips to breathe the prayer +That God shall keep you in His care, +No glad caress and welcome sweet +When night returns you to your street; +No little lips a kiss to give-- +Oh, what a lonely way to live! + +No children in the house! I fear +We could not stand it half a year. +What would we talk about at night, +Plan for and work with all our might, +Hold common dreams about and find +True union of heart and mind, +If we two had no greater care +Than what we both should eat and wear? +We never knew love's brightest flame +Until the day the baby came. + +And now we could not get along +Without their laughter and their song. +Joy is not bottled on a shelf, +It cannot feed upon itself, +And even love, if it shall wear, +Must find its happiness in care; +Dull we'd become of mind and speech +Had we no little ones to teach. +No children in the house to play! +Oh, we could never live that way! + + + + +The Loss Is Not So Great + + +It is better as it is: I have failed but I can sleep; +Though the pit I now am in is very dark and deep +I can walk to-morrow's streets and can meet to-morrow's men +Unashamed to face their gaze as I go to work again. + +I have lost the hope I had; in the dust are all my dreams, +But my loss is not so great or so dreadful as it seems; +I made my fight and though I failed I need not slink away +For I do not have to fear what another man may say. + +They may call me over-bold, they may say that I was frail; +They may tell I dared too much and was doomed at last to fail; +They may talk my battle o'er and discuss it as they choose, +But I did no brother wrong--I'm the only one to lose. + +It is better as it is: I have kept my self-respect. +I can walk to-morrow's streets meeting all men head erect. +No man can charge his loss to a pledge I did not keep; +I have no shame to regret: I have failed, but I can sleep. + + + + +Dan McGann Declares Himself + + +Said Dan McGann to a foreign man who worked at the selfsame bench, +"Let me tell you this," and for emphasis he flourished a Stilson wrench; +"Don't talk to me of the bourjoissee, don't open your mouth to speak +Of your socialists or your anarchists, don't mention the bolsheveek, +For I've had enough of this foreign stuff, I'm sick as a man can be +Of the speech of hate, and I'm tellin' you straight that this is the land + for me! + +"If you want to brag, just take that flag an' boast of its field o' blue, +An' praise the dead an' the blood they shed for the peace o' the likes + o' you. +Enough you've raved," and once more he waved his wrench in a forceful way, +"O' the cunning creed o' some Russian breed; I stand for the U.S.A.! +I'm done with your fads, and your wild-eyed lads. Don't flourish your rag + o' red +Where I can see or by night there'll be tall candles around your bed. + +"So tip your hat to a flag like that! Thank God for its stripes an' stars! +Thank God you're here where the roads are clear, away from your kings and + czars. +I can't just say what I feel to-day, for I'm not a talkin' man, +But, first an' last, I am standin' fast for all that's American. +So don't you speak of the bolsheveek, it's sick of that stuff I am! +One God, one flag is the creed I brag! I'm boostin' for Uncle Sam." + + + + +A Boy and His Stomach + + +What's the matter with you--ain't I always been your friend? +Ain't I been a pardner to you? All my pennies don't I spend +In gettin' nice things for you? Don't I give you lots of cake? +Say, stummick, what's the matter, that you had to go an' ache? + +Why, I loaded you with good things yesterday, I gave you more +Potatoes, squash an' turkey than you'd ever had before. +I gave you nuts an' candy, pumpkin pie an' chocolate cake, +An' las' night when I got to bed you had to go an' ache. + +Say, what's the matter with you--ain't you satisfied at all? +I gave you all you wanted, you was hard jes' like a ball, +An' you couldn't hold another bit of puddin', yet las' night +You ached mos' awful, stummick; that ain't treatin' me jes' right. + +I've been a friend to you, I have, why ain't you a friend o' mine? +They gave me castor oil last night because you made me whine. +I'm awful sick this mornin' an' I'm feelin' mighty blue, +'Cause you don't appreciate the things I do for you. + + + + +Home and the Office + + +Home is the place where the laughter should ring, + And man should be found at his best. +Let the cares of the day be as great as they may, + The night has been fashioned for rest. +So leave at the door when the toiling is o'er + All the burdens of worktime behind, +And just be a dad to your girl or your lad-- + A dad of the rollicking kind. + +The office is made for the tasks you must face; + It is built for the work you must do; +You may sit there and sigh as your cares pile up high, + And no one may criticize you; +You may worry and fret as you think of your debt, + You may grumble when plans go astray, +But when it comes night, and you shut your desk tight, + Don't carry the burdens away. + +Keep daytime for toil and the nighttime for play, + Work as hard as you choose in the town, +But when the day ends, and the darkness descends, + Just forget that you're wearing a frown-- +Go home with a smile! Oh, you'll find it worth while; + Go home light of heart and of mind; +Go home and be glad that you're loved as a dad, + A dad of the fun-loving kind. + + + + + +He's Taken Out His Papers + + +He's taken out his papers, an' he's just like you an' me. +He's sworn to love the Stars and Stripes an' die for it, says he. +An' he's done with dukes an' princes, an' he's done with kings an' queens, +An' he's pledged himself to freedom, for he knows what freedom means. + +He's bought himself a bit of ground, an', Lord, he's proud an' glad! +For in the land he came from that is what he never had. +Now his kids can beat his writin', an' they're readin' books, says he, +That the children in his country never get a chance to see. + +He's taken out his papers, an' he's prouder than a king: +"It means a lot to me," says he, "just like the breath o' spring, +For a new life lies before us; we've got hope an' faith an' cheer; +We can face the future bravely, an' our kids don't need to fear." + +He's taken out his papers, an' his step is light to-day, +For a load is off his shoulders an' he treads an easier way; +An' he'll tell you, if you ask him, so that you can understand, +Just what freedom means to people who have known some other land. + + + + +Castor Oil + + +I don't mind lickin's, now an' then, +An' I can even stand it when +My mother calls me in from play +To run some errand right away. +There's things 'bout bein' just a boy +That ain't all happiness an' joy, +But I suppose I've got to stand +My share o' trouble in this land, +An' I ain't kickin' much--but, say, +The worst of parents is that they +Don't realize just how they spoil +A feller's life with castor oil. + +Of all the awful stuff, Gee Whiz! +That is the very worst there is. +An' every time if I complain, +Or say I've got a little pain, +There's nothing else that they can think +'Cept castor oil for me to drink. +I notice, though, when Pa is ill, +That he gets fixed up with a pill, +An' Pa don't handle Mother rough +An' make her swallow nasty stuff; +But when I've got a little ache, +It's castor oil I've got to take. + +I don't mind goin' up to bed +Afore I get the chapter read; +I don't mind being scolded, too, +For lots of things I didn't do; +But, Gee! I hate it when they say, +"Come! Swallow this--an' right away!" +Let poets sing about the joy +It is to be a little boy, +I'll tell the truth about my case: +The poets here can have my place, +An' I will take their life of-toil +If they will take my castor oil. + + + + +A Father's Wish + + +What do I want my boy to be? +Oft is the question asked of me, +And oft I ask it of myself-- +What corner, niche or post or shelf +In the great hall of life would I +Select for him to occupy? +Statesman or writer, poet, sage +Or toiler for a weekly wage, +Artist or artisan? Oh, what +Is to become his future lot? +For him I do not dare to plan; +I only hope he'll be a man. + +I leave it free for him to choose +The tools of life which he shall use, +Brush, pen or chisel, lathe or wrench, +The desk of commerce or the bench, +And pray that when he makes his choice +In each day's task he shall rejoice. +I know somewhere there is a need +For him to labor and succeed; +Somewhere, if he be clean and true, +Loyal and honest through and through, +He shall be fit for any clan, +And so I hope he'll be a man. + +I would not build my hope or ask +That he shall do some certain task, +Or bend his will to suit my own; +He shall select his post alone. +Life needs a thousand kinds of men, +Toilers and masters of the pen, +Doctors, mechanics, sturdy hands +To do the work which it commands, +And wheresoe'er he's pleased to go, +Honor and triumph he may know. +Therefore I must do all I can +To teach my boy to be a man. + + + + +No Better Land Than This + + +If I knew a better country in this glorious world today +Where a man's work hours are shorter and he's drawing bigger pay, +If the Briton or the Frenchman had an easier life than mine, +I'd pack my goods this minute and I'd sail across the brine. +But I notice when an alien wants a land of hope and cheer, +And a future for his children, he comes out and settles here. + +Here's the glorious land of Freedom! Here's the milk and honey goal +For the peasant out of Russia, for the long-subjected Pole. +It is here the sons of Italy and men of Austria turn +For the comfort of their bodies and the wages they can earn. +And with all that men complain of, and with all that goes amiss, +There's no happier, better nation on the world's broad face than this. + +So I'm thinking when I listen to the wails of discontent, +And some foreign disbeliever spreads his evil sentiment, +That the breed of hate and envy that is sowing sin and shame +In this glorious land of Freedom should go back from whence it came. +And I hold it is the duty, rich or poor, of every man +Who enjoys this country's bounty to be all American. + + + + +A Boy and His Dog + + +A boy and his dog make a glorious pair: +No better friendship is found anywhere, +For they talk and they walk and they run and they play, +And they have their deep secrets for many a day; +And that boy has a comrade who thinks and who feels, +Who walks down the road with a dog at his heels. + +He may go where he will and his dog will be there, +May revel in mud and his dog will not care; +Faithful he'll stay for the slightest command +And bark with delight at the touch of his hand; +Oh, he owns a treasure which nobody steals, +Who walks down the road with a dog at his heels. + +No other can lure him away from his side; +He's proof against riches and station and pride; +Fine dress does not charm him, and flattery's breath +Is lost on the dog, for he's faithful to death; +He sees the great soul which the body conceals-- +Oh, it's great to be young with a dog at your heels! + + + + +"Wait Till Your Pa Comes Home" + + +"Wait till your Pa comes home!" Oh, dear! +What a dreadful threat for a boy to hear. +Yet never a boy of three or four +But has heard it a thousand times or more. +"Wait till your Pa comes home, my lad, +And see what you'll get for being bad, + +"Wait till your Pa comes home, you scamp! +You've soiled the walls with your fingers damp, +You've tracked the floor with your muddy feet +And fought with the boy across the street; +You've torn your clothes and you look a sight! +But wait till your Pa comes home to-night." + +Now since I'm the Pa of that daily threat +Which paints me as black as a thing of jet +I rise in protest right here to say +I won't be used in so fierce a way; +No child of mine in the evening gloam +Shall be afraid of my coming home. + +I want him waiting for me at night +With eyes that glisten with real delight; +When it's right that punished my boy should be +I don't want the job postponed for me; +I want to come home to a round of joy +And not to frighten a little boy. + +"Wait till your Pa comes home!" Oh, dear, +What a dreadful threat for a boy to hear. +Yet that is ever his Mother's way +Of saving herself from a bitter day; +And well she knows in the evening gloam +He won't be hurt when his Pa comes home. + + + + +Nothing to Laugh At + + +'Taint nothin' to laugh at as I can see! +If you'd been stung by a bumble bee, +An' your nose wuz swelled an' it smarted, too, +You wouldn't want people to laugh at you. +If you had a lump that wuz full of fire, +Like you'd been touched by a red hot wire, +An' your nose spread out like a load of hay, +You wouldn't want strangers who come your way +To ask you to let 'em see the place +An' laugh at you right before your face. + +What's funny about it, I'd like to know? +It isn't a joke to be hurted so! +An' how wuz I ever on earth to tell +'At the pretty flower which I stooped to smell +In our backyard wuz the very one +Which a bee wuz busily working on? +An' jus' as I got my nose down there, +He lifted his foot an' kicked for fair, +An' he planted his stinger right into me, +But it's nothin' to laugh at as I can see. + +I let out a yell an' my Maw came out +To see what the trouble wuz all about. +She says from my shriek she wuz sure 'at I +Had been struck by a motor car passin' by; +But when she found what the matter wuz +She laughed just like ever'body does +An' she made me stand while she poked about +To pull his turrible stinger out. +An' my Pa laughed, too, when he looked at me, +But it's nothin' to laugh at, as I can see. + +My Maw put witch hazel on the spot +To take down the swellin' but it has not. +It seems to git bigger as time goes by +An' I can't see good out o' this one eye; +An' it hurts clean down to my very toes +Whenever I've got to blow my nose. +An' all I can say is when this gits well +There ain't any flowers I'll stoop to smell. +I'm through disturbin' a bumble bee, +But it's nothin' to laugh at, as I can see. + + + + +No Room for Hate + + +We have room for the man with an honest dream, +With his heart on fire and his eyes agleam; +We have room for the man with a purpose true, +Who comes to our shores to start life anew, +But we haven't an inch of space for him +Who comes to plot against life and limb. + +We have room for the man who will learn our ways, +Who will stand by our Flag in its troubled days; +We have room for the man who will till the soil, +Who will give his hands to a fair day's toil, +But we haven't an inch of space to spare +For the breeder of hatred and black despair. + +We have room for the man who will neighbor here, +Who will keep his hands and his conscience clear; +We have room for the man who'll respect our laws +And pledge himself to our country's cause, +But we haven't an inch of land to give +To the alien breed that will alien live. + +Against the vicious we bar the gate! +This is no breeding ground for hate. +This is the land of the brave and free +And such we pray it shall always be. +We have room for men who will love our flag, +But none for the friends of the scarlet rag. + + + + +The Boy and the Flag + + +I want my boy to love his home, + His Mother, yes, and me: +I want him, wheresoe'er he'll roam, + With us in thought to be. +I want him to love what is fine, + Nor let his standards drag, +But, Oh! I want that boy of mine + To love his country's flag! + +I want him when he older grows + To love all things of earth; +And Oh! I want him, when he knows, + To choose the things of worth. +I want him to the heights to climb + Nor let ambition lag; +But, Oh! I want him all the time + To love his country's flag. + +I want my boy to know the best, + I want him to be great; +I want him in Life's distant West, + Prepared for any fate. +I want him to be simple, too, + Though clever, ne'er to brag, +But, Oh! I want him, through and through, + To love his country's flag. + +I want my boy to be a man, + And yet, in distant years, +I pray that he'll have eyes that can + Not quite keep back the tears +When, coming from some foreign shore + And alien scenes that fag, +Borne on its native breeze, once more + He sees his country's flag. + + + + +Too Big a Price + + +"They say my boy is bad," she said to me, + A tired old woman, thin and very frail. +"They caught him robbing railroad cars, an' he + Must spend from five to seven years in jail. +His Pa an' I had hoped so much for him. + He was so pretty as a little boy--" +Her eyes with tears grew very wet an' dim-- + "Now nothing that we've got can give us joy!" + +"What is it that you own?" I questioned then. + "The house we live in," slowly she replied, +"Two other houses worked an' slaved for, when + The boy was but a youngster at my side, +Some bonds we took the time he went to war; + I've spent my strength against the want of age-- +We've always had some end to struggle for. + Now shame an' ruin smear the final page. + +"His Pa has been a steady-goin' man, + Worked day an' night an' overtime as well; +He's lived an' dreamed an' sweated to his plan + To own the house an' profit should we sell; +He never drank nor played much cards at night, + He's been a worker since our wedding day, +He's lived his life to what he knows is right, + An' why should son of his now go astray? + +"I've rubbed my years away on scrubbing boards, + Washed floors for women that owned less than we, +An' while they played the ladies an' the lords, + We smiled an' dreamed of happiness to be." +"And all this time where was the boy?" said I. + "Out somewhere playin'!"--Like a rifle shot +The thought went home--"My God!" she gave a cry, + "We paid too big a price for what we got." + + + + +Always Saying "Don't!" + + +Folks are queer as they can be, +Always sayin' "don't" to me; +Don't do this an' don't do that. +Don't annoy or tease the cat, +Don't throw stones, or climb a tree, +Don't play in the road. Oh, Gee! +Seems like when I want to play +"Don't" is all that they can say. + +If I start to have some fun, +Someone hollers, "Don't you run!" +If I want to go an' play +Mother says: "Don't go away." +Seems my life is filled clear through +With the things I mustn't do. +All the time I'm shouted at: +"No, no, Sonny, don't do that!" + +Don't shout so an' make a noise, +Don't play with those naughty boys, +Don't eat candy, don't eat pie, +Don't you laugh and don't you cry, +Don't stand up and don't you fall, +Don't do anything at all. +Seems to me both night an' day +"Don't" is all that they can say. + +When I'm older in my ways +An' have little boys to raise, +Bet I'll let 'em race an' run +An' not always spoil their fun; +I'll not tell 'em all along +Everything they like is wrong, +An' you bet your life I won't +All the time be sayin' "don't." + + + + +Boy O' Mine + + +Boy o' mine, boy o' mine, this is my prayer for you, +This is my dream and my thought and my care for you: +Strong be the spirit which dwells in the breast of you, +Never may folly or shame get the best of you; +You shall be tempted in fancied security, +But make no choice that is stained with impurity. + +Boy o' mine, boy o' mine, time shall command of you +Thought from the brain of you, work from the hand of you; +Voices of pleasure shall whisper and call to you, +Luring you far from the hard tasks that fall to you; +Then as you're meeting life's bitterest test of men, +God grant you strength to be true as the best of men. + +Boy o' mine, boy o' mine, singing your way along, +Cling to your laughter and cheerfully play along; +Kind to your neighbor be, offer your hand to him, +You shall grow great as your heart shall expand to him; +But when for victory sweet you are fighting there, +Know that your record of life you are writing there. + +Boy o' mine, boy o' mine, this is my prayer for you; +Never may shame pen one line of despair for you; +Never may conquest or glory mean all to you; +Cling to your honor whatever shall fall to you; +Rather than victory, rather than fame to you, +Choose to be true and let nothing bring shame to you. + + + + +To a Little Girl + + +Oh, little girl with eyes of brown +And smiles that fairly light the town, +I wonder if you really know +Just why it is we love you so, +And why--with all the little girls +With shining eyes and tangled curls +That throng and dance this big world through-- +Our hearts have room for only you. + +Since other little girls are gay +And laugh and sing and romp in play, +And all are beautiful to see, +Why should you mean so much to me? +And why should Mother, day and night, +Make you her source of all delight, +And always find in your caress +Her greatest sum of happiness? + +Oh, there's a reason good for this, +You laughing little bright-eyed miss! +In all this town, with all its girls +With shining eyes and sun-kissed curls, +If we should search it through and through +We'd find not one so fair as you; +And none, however fair of face, +Within our hearts could take your place. + +For, one glad day not long ago, +God sent you down to us below, +And said that you were ours to keep, +To guard awake and watch asleep; +And ever since the day you came +No other child has seemed the same; +No other smiles are quite so fair +As those which happily you wear. + +We seem to live from day to day +To hear the things you have to say; +And just because God gave us you, +We prize the little things you do. +Though God has filled this world with flowers, +We like you best because you're ours-- +In you our greatest joys we know, +And that is why we love you so. + + + + +A Feller's Hat + + +It's funny 'bout a feller's hat-- +He can't remember where it's at, +Or where he took it off, or when, +The time he's wantin' it again. +He knows just where he leaves his shoes; +His sweater he won't often lose; +An' he can find his rubbers, but +He can't tell where his hat is put. + +A feller's hat gets anywhere. +Sometimes he'll find it in a chair, +Or on the sideboard, or maybe +It's in the kitchen, just where he +Gave it a toss beside the sink +When he came in to get a drink, +An' then forgot--but anyhow +He never knows where it is now. + +A feller's hat is never where +He thinks it is when he goes there; +It's never any use to look +For it upon a closet hook, +'Cause it is always in some place +It shouldn't be, to his disgrace, +An' he will find it, like as not, +Behind some radiator hot. + +A feller's hat can get away +From him most any time of day, +So he can't ever find it when +He wants it to go out again; +It hides in corners dark an' grim +An' seems to want to bother him; +It disappears from sight somehow-- +I wish I knew where mine is now. + + + + +The Good Little Boy + + +Once there was a boy who never +Tore his clothes, or hardly ever, +Never made his sister mad, +Never whipped fer bein' bad, +Never scolded by his Ma, +Never frowned at by his Pa, +Always fit fer folks to see, +Always good as good could be. + +This good little boy from Heaven, +So I'm told, was only seven, +Yet he never shed real tears +When his mother scrubbed his ears, +An' at times when he was dressed +Fer a party, in his best, +He was careful of his shirt +Not to get it smeared with dirt. + +Used to study late at night, +Learnin' how to read an' write; +When he played a baseball game, +Right away he always came +When his mother called him in. +An' he never made a din +But was quiet as a mouse +When they'd comp'ny in the house. + +Liked to wash his hands an' face, +Liked to work around the place; +Never, when he'd tired of play, +Left his wagon in the way, +Or his bat an' ball around-- +Put 'em where they could be found; +An' that good boy married Ma, +An' to-day he is my Pa. + + + + +Green Apple Time + + +Green apple time! an', Oh, the joy +Once more to be a healthy boy, +Casting a longin' greedy eye +At every tree he passes by! +Riskin' the direst consequence +To sneak inside a neighbor's fence +An' shake from many a loaded limb +The fruit that seems so near to him +Gosh! but once more I'd like to be +The boy I was in eighty-three. + +Here I am sittin' with my pipe, +Waitin' for apples to get ripe; +Waitin' until the friendly sun +Has bronzed 'em all an' says they're done; +Not darin' any more to climb +An' pick a few afore their time. +No legs to run, no teeth to chew +The way that healthy youngsters do; +Jus' old enough to sit an' wait +An' pick my apple from a plate. + +Plate apples ain't to be compared +With those you've ventured for an' dared. +It's winnin' 'em from branches high, +Or nippin' 'em when no one's by, +Or findin' 'em the time you feel +You really need another meal, +Or comin' unexpectedly +Upon a farmer's loaded tree +An' grabbin' all that you can eat, +That goes to make an apple sweet. + +Green apple time! Go to it, boy, +An' cram yourself right full o' joy; +Watch for the farmer's dog an' run; +There'll come a time it can't be done. +There'll come a day you can't digest +The fruit you've stuffed into your vest, +Nor climb, but you'll sit down like me +An' watch 'em ripening on the tree, +An' jus' like me you'll have to wait +To pick your apples from a plate. + + + + +She Mothered Five + + +She mothered five! +Night after night she watched a little bed, +Night after night she cooled a fevered head, +Day after day she guarded little feet, +Taught little minds the dangers of the street, +Taught little lips to utter simple prayers, +Whispered of strength that some day would be theirs, +And trained them all to use it as they should. +She gave her babies to the nation's good. + +She mothered five! +She gave her beauty--from her cheeks let fade +Their rose-blush beauty--to her mother trade. +She saw the wrinkles furrowing her brow, +Yet smiling said: "My boy grows stronger now." +When pleasures called she turned away and said: +"I dare not leave my babies to be fed +By strangers' hands; besides they are too small; +I must be near to hear them when they call." + +She mothered five! +Night after night they sat about her knee +And heard her tell of what some day would be. +From her they learned that in the world outside +Are cruelty and vice and selfishness and pride; +From her they learned the wrongs they ought to shun, +What things to love, what work must still be done. +She led them through the labyrinth of youth +And brought five men and women up to truth. + +She mothered five! +Her name may be unknown save to the few; +Of her the outside world but little knew; +But somewhere five are treading virtue's ways, +Serving the world and brightening its days; +Somewhere are five, who, tempted, stand upright, +Who cling to honor, keep her memory bright; +Somewhere this mother toils and is alive +No more as one, but in the breasts of five. + + + + +Little Girls Are Best + + +Little girls are mighty nice, + Take 'em any way they come; +They are always worth their price; + Life without 'em would be glum; +Run earth's lists of treasures through, + Pile 'em high until they fall, +Gold an' costly jewels, too-- + Little girls are best of all. + +Nothing equals 'em on earth! + I'm an old man an' I know +Any little girl is worth + More than all the gold below; +Eyes o' blue or brown or gray, + Raven hair or golden curls, +There's no joy on earth to-day + Quite so fine as little girls. + +Pudgy nose or freckled face, + Fairy-like or plain to see, +God has surely blessed the place + Where a little girl may be; +They're the jewels of His crown + Dropped to earth from heaven above, +Like wee angel souls sent down + To remind us of His love. + +God has made some lovely things-- + Roses red an' skies o' blue, +Trees an' babbling silver springs, + Gardens glistening with dew-- +But take every gift to man, + Big an' little, great an' small, +Judge it on its merits, an' + Little girls are best of all! + + + + +The World and Bud + + +If we were all alike, what a dreadful world 'twould be! +No one would know which one was you or which of us was me. +We'd never have a "Skinny" or a "Freckles" or a "Fat," +An' there wouldn't be a sissy boy to wear a velvet hat; +An' we'd all of us be pitchers when we played a baseball match, +For we'd never have a feller who'd have nerve enough to catch. + +If we were all alike an' looked an' thought the same, +I wonder how'd they call us, 'cause there'd only be one name. +An' there'd only be one flavor for our ice cream sodas, too, +An' one color for a necktie an' I 'spose that would be blue; +An' maybe we'd have mothers who were very fond of curls, +An' they'd make us fellers wear our hair like lovely little girls. + +Sometimes I think it's funny when I hear some feller say +That he isn't fond of chocolate, when I eat it every day. +Or some other fellow doesn't like the books I like to read; +But I'm glad that we are different, yes, siree! I am indeed. +If everybody looked alike an' talked alike, Oh, Gee! +We'd never know which one was you or which of us was me. + + + + +Aw Gee Whiz! + + +Queerest little chap he is, +Always saying: "Aw Gee Whiz!" +Needing something from the store +That you've got to send him for +And you call him from his play, +Then it is you hear him say: + "Aw Gee Whiz!" + +Seems that most expressive phrase +Is a part of childhood days; +Call him in at supper time, +Hands and face all smeared with grime, +Send him up to wash, and he +Answers you disgustedly: + "Aw Gee Whiz!" + +When it's time to go to bed +And he'd rather play instead, +As you call him from the street, +He comes in with dragging feet, +Knowing that he has to go, +Then it is he mutters low: + "Aw Gee Whiz!" + +Makes no difference what you ask +Of him as a little task; +He has yet to learn that life +Crosses many a joy with strife, +So when duty mars his play, +Always we can hear him say: + "Aw Gee Whiz!" + + + + +Practicing Time + + +Always whenever I want to play +I've got to practice an hour a day, +Get through breakfast an' make my bed, +And Mother says: "Marjorie, run ahead! +There's a time for work and a time for fun, +So go and get your practicing done." +And Bud, he chuckles and says to me: +"Yes, do your practicing, Marjorie." +A brother's an awful tease, you know, +And he just says that 'cause I hate it so. + +They leave me alone in the parlor there +To play the scales or "The Maiden's Prayer," +And if I stop, Mother's bound to call, +"Marjorie dear, you're not playing at all! +Don't waste your time, but keep right on, +Or you'll have to stay when the hour is gone." +Or maybe the maid looks in at me +And says: "You're not playing, as I can see. +Just hustle along--I've got work to do +And I can't dust the room until you get through." + +Then when I've run over the scales and things +Like "The Fairies' Dance," or "The Mountain Springs," +And my fingers ache and my head is sore, +I find I must sit there a half hour more. +An hour is terribly long, I say, +When you've got to practice and want to play. +So slowly at times has the big hand dropped +That I was sure that the clock had stopped, +But Mother called down to me: "Don't forget-- +A full hour, please. It's not over yet." + +Oh, when I get big and have children, too, +There's one thing that I will never do-- +I won't have brothers to tease the girls +And make them mad when they pull their curls +And laugh at them when they've got to stay +And practice their music an hour a day; +I won't have a maid like the one we've got, +That likes to boss you around a lot; +And I won't have a clock that can go so slow +When it's practice time, 'cause I hate it so. + + + + +The Christmas Gift for Mother + + +In the Christmas times of the long ago, +There was one event we used to know + That was better than any other; +It wasn't the toys that we hoped to get, +But the talks we had--and I hear them yet-- + Of the gift we'd buy for Mother. + +If ever love fashioned a Christmas gift, +Or saved its money and practiced thrift, + 'Twas done in those days, my brother-- +Those golden times of Long Gone By, +Of our happiest years, when you and I + Talked over the gift for Mother. + +We hadn't gone forth on our different ways +Nor coined our lives into yesterdays + In the fires that smelt and smother, +And we whispered and planned in our youthful glee +Of that marvelous "something" which was to be + The gift of our hearts to Mother. + +It had to be all that our purse could give, +Something she'd treasure while she could live, + And better than any other. +We gave it the best of our love and thought, +And, Oh, the joy when at last we'd bought + That marvelous gift for Mother! + +Now I think as we go on our different ways, +Of the joy of those vanished yesterdays. + How good it would be, my brother, +If this Christmas-time we could only know +That same sweet thrill of the Long Ago + When we shared in the gift for Mother. + + + + +Bedtime + + +It's bedtime, and we lock the door, +Put out the lights--the day is o'er; +All that can come of good or ill, +The record of this day to fill, +Is written down; the worries cease, +And old and young may rest in peace. + +We knew not when we started out +What dangers hedged us all about, +What little pleasures we should gain, +What should be ours to bear of pain. +But now the fires are burning low, +And this day's history we know. + +No harm has come. The laughter here +Has been unbroken by a tear; +We've met no hurt too great to bear, +We have not had to bow to care; +The children all are safe in bed, +There's nothing now for us to dread. + +When bedtime comes and we can say +That we have safely lived the day. +How sweet the calm that settles down +And shuts away the noisy town! +There is no danger now to fear +Until to-morrow shall appear. + +When the long bedtime comes, and I +In sleep eternal come to lie-- +When life has nothing more in store, +And silently I close the door, +God grant my weary soul may claim +Security from hurt and shame. + + + + +The Willing Horse + + +I'd rather be the willing horse that people ride to death +Than be the proud and haughty steed that children dare not touch; +I'd rather haul a merry pack and finish out of breath +Than never leave the barn to toil because I'm worth too much. +So boast your noble pedigrees +And talk of manners, if you please-- +The weary horse enjoys his ease + When all his work is done; +The willing horse, day in and out, +Can hear the merry children shout +And every time they are about + He shares in all their fun. + +I want no guards beside my door to pick and choose my friends for me; +I would not be shut off from men as is the fancy steed; +I do not care when I go by that no one turns his eyes to see +The dashing manner of my gait which marks my noble breed; +I am content to trudge the road +And willingly to draw my load-- +Sometimes to know the spur and goad + When I begin to lag; +I'd rather feel the collar jerk +And tug at me, the while I work, +Than all the tasks of life to shirk + As does the stylish nag. + +So let me be the willing horse that now and then is overtasked, +Let me be one the children love and freely dare to ride-- +I'd rather be the gentle steed of which too much is sometimes asked +Than be the one that never knows the youngsters at his side. +So drive me wheresoe'er you will, +On level road or up the hill, +Pile on my back the burdens still + And run me out of breath-- +In love and friendship, day by day, +And kindly words I'll take my pay; +A willing horse; that is the way + I choose to meet my death. + + + + +Where Children Play + + +On every street there's a certain place +Where the children gather to romp and race; +There's a certain house where they meet in throngs +To play their games and to sing their songs, +And they trample the lawn with their busy feet +And they scatter their playthings about the street, +But though some folks order them off, I say, +Let the house be mine where the children play. + +Armies gather about the door +And fill the air with their battle roar; +Cowboys swinging their lariat loops +Dash round the house with the wildest whoops, +And old folks have to look out when they +Are holding an Indian tribe at bay, +For danger may find them on flying feet, +Who pass by the house where the children meet. + +There are lawns too lovely to bear the weight +Of a troop of boys when they roller skate; +There are porches fine that must never know +The stamping of footsteps that come and go, +But on every street there's a favorite place +Where the children gather to romp and race, +And I'm glad in my heart that it's mine to say +Ours is the house where the children play. + + + + +How Do You Buy Your Money? + + +How do you buy your money? For money is bought and sold, +And each man barters himself on earth for his silver and shining gold, +And by the bargain he makes with men, the sum of his life is told. + +Some buy their coins in a manly way, some buy them with honest toil; +Some pay for their currency here on earth by tilling a patch of soil; +Some buy it with copper and iron and steel, and some with barrels of oil. + +The good man buys it from day to day by giving the best he can; +He coins his strength for his children's needs and lives to a simple plan, +And he keeps some time for the home he makes and some for his fellowman. + +But some men buy it with women's tears, and some with a blasted name; +And some will barter the joy of life for the fortune they hope to claim; +And some are so mad for the clink of gold that they buy it with deeds of + shame. + +How do you buy your money? For money demands its price, +And some men think when they purchase coin that they mustn't be over-nice-- +But beware of the man who would sell you gold at a shameful sacrifice! + + + + +Mother's Day + + +Let every day be Mother's Day! +Make roses grow along her way + And beauty everywhere. +Oh, never let her eyes be wet +With tears of sorrow or regret, + And never cease to care! +Come, grown up children, and rejoice +That you can hear your mother's voice! + +A day for her! For you she gave +Long years of love and service brave; + For you her youth was spent. +There was no weight of hurt or care +Too heavy for her strength to bear; + She followed where you went; +Her courage and her love sublime +You could depend on all the time. + +No day or night she set apart +On which to open wide her heart + And welcome you within; +There was no hour you would not be +First in her thought and memory, + Though you were black as sin! +Though skies were gray or skies were blue +Not once has she forgotten you. + +Let every day be Mother's Day! +With love and roses strew her way, + And smiles of joy and pride! +Come, grown up children, to the knee +Where long ago you used to be + And never turn aside; +Oh, never let her eyes grow wet +With tears, because her babes forget. + + + + +When We Play the Fool + + +Last night I stood in a tawdry place +And watched the ways of the human race. +I looked at a party of shrieking girls +Piled on a table that whirls and whirls, +And saw them thrown in a tangled heap, +Sprawling and squirming and several deep. +And unto the wife who was standing by, +"These are all angels to be," said I. + +I followed the ways of the merry throng +And heard the laughter and mirth and song. +Into a barrel which turned and swayed +Men and women a journey made, +And tumbling together they seemed to be +Like so many porpoises out at sea-- +Men and women who'd worked all day, +Eagerly seeking a chance to play. + +"What do you make of it all?" she said. +I answered: "The dead are a long time dead, +And care is bitter and duty stern, +And each must weep when it comes his turn. +And all grow weary and long for play, +So here is laughter to end the day. +Foolish? Oh, yes, it is that," said I, +"But better the laugh than the dreary sigh. + +"Now look at us here, for we're like them, too, +And many the foolish things we do. +We often grow silly and seek a smile +In a thousand ways that are not worth while; +Yet after the mirth and the jest are through, +We shall all be judged by the deeds we do, +And God shall forget on the Judgment Day +The fools we were in our hours of play." + + + + +What Makes an Artist + + +We got to talking art one day, discussing in a general way +How some can match with brush and paint the glory of a tree, +And some in stone can catch the things of which the dreamy poet sings, +While others seem to have no way to tell the joys they see. + +Old Blake had sat in silence there and let each one of us declare +Our notions of what's known as art, until he'd heard us through; +And then said he: "It seems to me that any man, whoe'er he be, +Becomes an artist by the good he daily tries to do. + +"He need not write the books men read to be an artist. No, indeed! +He need not work with paint and brush to show his love of art; +Who does a kindly deed to-day and helps another on his way, +Has painted beauty on a face and played the poet's part. + +"Though some of us cannot express our inmost thoughts of loveliness, +We prove we love the beautiful by how we act and live; +The poet singing of a tree no greater poet is than he +Who finds it in his heart some care unto a tree to give. + +"Though he who works in marble stone the name of artist here may own, +No less an artist is the man who guards his children well; +'Tis art to love the fine and true; by what we are and what we do +How much we love life's nobler things to all the world we tell." + + + + +She Powders Her Nose + + +A woman is queer, there's no doubt about that. +She hates to be thin and she hates to be fat; +One minute it's laughter, the next it's a cry-- +You can't understand her, however you try; +But there's one thing about her which everyone knows-- +A woman's not dressed till she powders her nose. + +You never can tell what a woman will say; +She's a law to herself every hour of the day. +It keeps a man guessing to know what to do, +And mostly he's wrong when his guessing is through; +But this you can bet on, wherever she goes +She'll find some occasion to powder her nose. + +I've studied the sex for a number of years; +I've watched her in laughter and seen her in tears; +On her ways and her whims I have pondered a lot, +To find what will please her and just what will not; +But all that I've learned from the start to the close +Is that sooner or later she'll powder her nose. + +At church or a ball game, a dance or a show, +There's one thing about her I know that I know-- +At weddings or funerals, dinners of taste, +You can bet that her hand will dive into her waist, +And every few minutes she'll strike up a pose, +And the whole world must wait till she powders her nose. + + + + +The Chip on Your Shoulder + + +You'll learn when you're older that chip on your shoulder + Which you dare other boys to upset, +And stand up and fight for and struggle and smite for, + Has caused you much shame and regret. +When Time, life's adviser, has made you much wiser, + You won't be so quick with the blow; +You won't be so willing to fight for a shilling, + And change a good friend to a foe. + +You won't be a sticker for trifles, and bicker + And quarrel for nothing at all; +You'll grow to be kinder, more thoughtful and blinder + To faults which are petty and small. +You won't take the trouble your two fists to double + When someone your pride may offend; +When with rage now you bristle you'll smile or you'll whistle, + And keep the good will of a friend. + +You'll learn when you're older that chip on your shoulder + Which proudly you battle to guard, +Has frequently shamed you and often defamed you + And left you a record that's marred! +When you've grown calm and steady, you won't be so ready + To fight for a difference that's small, +For you'll know, when you're older that chip on your shoulder + Is only a chip after all. + + + + +All for the Best + + +Things mostly happen for the best. +However hard it seems to-day, +When some fond plan has gone astray +Or what you've wished for most is lost +An' you sit countin' up the cost +With eyes half-blind by tears o' grief +While doubt is chokin' out belief, +You'll find when all is understood +That what seemed bad was really good. + +Life can't be counted in a day. +The present rain that will not stop +Next autumn means a bumper crop. +We wonder why some things must be-- +Care's purpose we can seldom see-- +An' yet long afterwards we turn +To view the past, an' then we learn +That what once filled our minds with doubt +Was good for us as it worked out. + +I've never known an hour of care +But that I've later come to see +That it has brought some joy to me. +Even the sorrows I have borne, +Leavin' me lonely an' forlorn +An' hurt an' bruised an' sick at heart, +In life's great plan have had a part. +An' though I could not understand +Why I should bow to Death's command, +As time went on I came to know +That it was really better so. + +Things mostly happen for the best. +So narrow is our vision here +That we are blinded by a tear +An' stunned by every hurt an' blow +Which comes to-day to strike us low. +An' yet some day we turn an' find +That what seemed cruel once was kind. +Most things, I hold, are wisely planned +If we could only understand. + + + + +The Kick Under the Table + + +After a man has been married awhile, +And his wife has grown used to his manner and style, +When she knows from the twinkle that lights up his eye +The thoughts he is thinking, the wherefore and why, +And just what he'll say, and just what he'll do, +And is sure that he'll make a bad break ere he's through, +She has one little trick that she'll work when she's able-- +She takes a sly kick at him under the table. + +He may fancy the story he's telling is true, +Or he's doing the thing which is proper to do; +He may fancy he's holding his own with the rest, +The life of the party and right at his best, +When quickly he learns to his utter dismay, +That he mustn't say what he's just started to say. +He is stopped at the place where he hoped to begin, +By his wife, who has taken a kick at his shin. + +If he picks the wrong fork for the salad, he knows +That fact by the feel of his wife's slippered toes. +If he's started a bit of untellable news, +On the calf of his leg there is planted a bruise. +Oh, I wonder sometimes what would happen to me +If the wife were not seated just where she could be +On guard every minute to watch every trick, +And keep me in line all the time with her kick. + + + + +Leader of the Gang + + +Seems only just a year ago that he was toddling round the place +In pretty little colored suits and with a pink and shining face. +I used to hold him in my arms to watch when our canary sang, +And now tonight he tells me that he's leader of his gang. + +It seems but yesterday, I vow, that I with fear was almost dumb, +Living those dreadful hours of care waiting the time for him to come; +And I can still recall the thrill of that first cry of his which rang +Within our walls. And now that babe tells me he's leader of his gang. + +Gone from our lives are all the joys which yesterday we used to own; +The baby that we thought we had, out of the little home has flown, +And in his place another stands, whose garments in disorder hang, +A lad who now with pride proclaims that he's the leader of his gang. + +And yet somehow I do not grieve for what it seems we may have lost; +To have so strong a boy as this, most cheerfully I pay the cost. +I find myself a sense of joy to comfort every little pang, +And pray that they shall find in him a worthy leader of the gang. + + + + +Ma and the Ouija Board + + +I don't know what it's all about, but Ma says that she wants to know +If spirits in the other world can really talk to us below. +An' Pa says, "Gosh! there's folks enough on earth to talk to, I should + think, +Without you pesterin' the folks whose souls have gone across the brink." +But Ma, she wants to find out things an' study on her own accord, +An' so a month or two ago she went an' bought a ouija board. + +It's just a shiny piece of wood, with letters printed here an' there, +An' has a little table which you put your fingers on with care, +An' then you sit an' whisper low some question that you want to know. +Then by an' by the spirit comes an' makes the little table go, +An' Ma, she starts to giggle then an' Pa just grumbles out, "Oh, Lord! +I wish you hadn't bought this thing. We didn't need a ouija board." + +"You're movin' it!" says Ma to Pa. "I'm not!" says Pa, "I know it's you; +You're makin' it spell things to us that you know very well aren't true." +"That isn't so," says Ma to him, "but I am certain from the way +The ouija moves that you're the one who's tellin' it just what to say." +"It's just 'lectricity," says Pa; "like batteries all men are stored, +But anyhow I don't believe we ought to have a ouija board." + +One night Ma got it out, an' said, "Now, Pa, I want you to be fair, +Just keep right still an' let your hands rest lightly on the table there. +Oh, Ouija, tell me, tell me true, are we to buy another car, +An' will we get it very soon?" she asked. "Oh, tell us from afar." +"Don't buy a car," the letters spelled, "the price this year you can't + afford." +Then Ma got mad, an' since that time she's never used the ouija board. + + + + +The Call of the Woods + + +I must get out to the woods again, to the whispering trees and the birds + awing, +Away from the haunts of pale-faced men, to the spaces wide where strength + is king; +I must get out where the skies are blue and the air is clean and the rest + is sweet, +Out where there's never a task to do or a goal to reach or a foe to meet. + +I must get out on the trails once more that wind through shadowy haunts and + cool, +Away from the presence of wall and door, and see myself in a crystal pool; +I must get out with the silent things, where neither laughter nor hate is + heard, +Where malice never the humblest stings and no one is hurt by a spoken word. + +Oh, I've heard the call of the tall white pine, and heard the call of the + running brook; +I'm tired of the tasks which each day are mine; I'm weary of reading a + printed book. +I want to get out of the din and strife, the clang and clamor of turning + wheel, +And walk for a day where life is life, and the joys are true and the + pictures real. + + + + +Committee Meetings + + +For this and that and various things + It seems that men must get together, +To purchase cups or diamond rings + Or to discuss the price of leather. +From nine to ten, or two to three, + Or any hour that's fast and fleeting, +There is a constant call for me + To go to some committee meeting. + +The church has serious work to do, + The lodge and club has need of workers, +They ask for just an hour or two-- + Surely I will not join the shirkers? +Though I have duties of my own + I should not drop before completing, +There comes the call by telephone + To go to some committee meeting. + +No longer may I eat my lunch + In quietude and contemplation; +I must foregather with the bunch + To raise a fund to save the nation. +And I must talk of plans and schemes + The while a scanty bite I'm eating, +Until I vow to-day it seems + My life is one committee meeting. + +When over me the night shall fall, + And my poor soul goes upwards winging +Unto that heavenly realm, where all + Is bright with joy and gay with singing, +I hope to hear St. Peter say-- + And I shall thank him for the greeting: +"Come in and rest from day to day; + Here there is no committee meeting!" + + + + +Pa and the Monthly Bills + + +When Ma gets out the monthly bills and sets them all in front of Dad, +She makes us children run away because she knows he may get mad; +An' then she smiles a bit and says: "I hope you will not fuss and fret-- +There's nothing here except the things I absolutely had to get!" +An' Pa he looks 'em over first. "The things you had to have!" says he; +"I s'pose that we'd have died without that twenty dollar longeree." + +Then he starts in to write the checks for laundry an' for light an' gas, +An' never says a word 'bout them--because they're small he lets 'em pass. +But when he starts to grunt an' groan, an' stops the while his pipe he + fills, +We know that he is gettin' down to where Ma's hid the bigger bills. +"Just what we had to have," says he, "an' I'm supposed to pay the tolls; +Nine dollars an' a half for--say, what the deuce are camisoles? + +"If you should break a leg," says Pa, "an couldn't get down town to shop, +I'll bet the dry goods men would see their business take an awful drop, +An' if they missed you for a week, they'd have to fire a dozen clerks! +Say, couldn't we have got along without this bunch of Billie Burkes?" +But Ma just sits an' grins at him, an' never has a word to say, +Because she says Pa likes to fuss about the bills he has to pay. + + + + +Bob White + + +Out near the links where I go to play +My favorite game from day to day, +There's a friend of mine that I've never met +Walked with or broken bread with, yet +I've talked to him oft and he's talked to me +Whenever I've been where he's chanced to be; +He's a cheery old chap who keeps out of sight, +A gay little fellow whose name is Bob White. + +Bob White! Bob White! I can hear him call +As I follow the trail to my little ball-- +Bob White! Bob White! with a note of cheer +That was just designed for a mortal ear. +Then I drift far off from the world of men +And I send an answer right back to him then; +An' we whistle away to each other there, +Glad of the life which is ours to share. + +Bob White! Bob White! May you live to be +The head of a numerous family! +May you boldly call to your friends out here, +With never an enemy's gun to fear. +I'm a better man as I pass along, +For your cheery call and your bit of song. +May your food be plenty and skies be bright +To the end of your days, good friend Bob White! + + + + +When Ma Wants Something New + + +Last night Ma said to Pa: "My dear, +The Williamsons are coming here +To visit for a week or two, +An' I must have a talk with you. +We need some things which we must get-- +You promised me a dinner set, +An' I should like it while they're here." +An' Pa looked up an' said: "My dear, +A dinner set? Well, I guess not. +What's happened to the one we've got?" + +"We need a parlor rug," says Ma. +"We've got a parlor rug," says Pa. +"We ought to have another chair." +"You're sittin' in a good one there." +"The parlor curtains are a fright." +"When these are washed they look all right." +"The old stuff's pitiful to see." +"It still looks mighty good to me." +"The sofa's worn beyond repair." +"It doesn't look so bad, I swear." + +"Gee Whiz, you make me tired," says Ma. +"Why, what's the matter now?" says Pa. +"You come an' go an' never see +How old our stuff has grown to be; +It still looks just the same to you +As what it did when it was new, +An' every time you think it strange +That I should like to have a change." +"I'm gettin' old," says Pa. "Maybe +You'd like a younger man than me." + +"If this old rug was worn an' thin, +At night you'd still come walkin' in +An' throw your hat upon a chair +An' never see a single tear; +So long as any chair could stand +An' bear your weight you'd think it grand. +If home depended all on you, +It never would get something new." +"All right," says Pa, "go buy the stuff! +But, say, am I still good enough?" + + + + +Sittin' on the Porch + + +Sittin' on the porch at night when all the tasks are done, +Just restin' there an' talkin', with my easy slippers on, +An' my shirt band thrown wide open an' my feet upon the rail, +Oh, it's then I'm at my richest, with a wealth that cannot fail; +For the scent of early roses seems to flood the evening air, +An' a throne of downright gladness is my wicker rocking chair. + +The dog asleep beside me, an' the children rompin' 'round +With their shrieks of merry laughter, Oh, there is no gladder sound +To the ears o' weary mortals, spite of all the scoffers say, +Or a grander bit of music than the children at their play! +An' I tell myself times over, when I'm sittin' there at night, +That the world in which I'm livin' is a place o' real delight. + +Then the moon begins its climbin' an' the stars shine overhead, +An' the mother calls the children an' she takes 'em up to bed, +An' I smoke my pipe in silence an' I think o' many things, +An' balance up my riches with the lonesomeness o' kings, +An' I come to this conclusion, an' I'll wager that I'm right-- +That I'm happier than they are, sittin' on my porch at night. + + + + +With Dog and Gun + + +Out in the woods with a dog an' gun +Is my idea of a real day's fun. +'Tain't the birds that I'm out to kill +That furnish me with the finest thrill, +'Cause I never worry or fret a lot, +Or curse my luck if I miss a shot. +There's many a time, an' I don't know why, +That I shoot too low or I aim too high, +An' all I can see is the distant whirr +Of a bird that's gittin' back home to her-- +Yep, gittin' back home at the end o' day, +An' I'm just as glad that he got away. + +There's a whole lot more in the woods o' fall +Than the birds you bag--if you think at all. +There's colors o' gold an' red an' brown +As never were known in the busy town; +There's room to breathe in the purest air +An' something worth looking at everywhere; +There's the dog who's leadin' you on an' on +To a patch o' cover where birds have gone, +An' standin' there, without move or change, +Till you give the sign that you've got the range. +That's thrill enough for my blood, I say, +So why should I care if they get away? + +Fact is, there are times that I'd ruther miss +Than to bring 'em down, 'cause I feel like this: +There's a heap more joy in a living thing +Than a breast crushed in or a broken wing, +An' I can't feel right, an' I never will, +When I look at a bird that I've dared to kill. +Oh, I'm jus' plumb happy to tramp about +An' follow my dog as he hunts 'em out, +Jus' watchin' him point in his silent way +Where the Bob Whites are an' the partridge stay; +For the joy o' the great outdoors I've had, +So why should I care if my aim is bad? + + + + +Old Mister Laughter + +Old Mister Laughter + Comes a-grinnin' down the way, +Singin': "Never mind your troubles, + For they'll surely pass away." +Singin': "Now the sun is shinin' + An' there's roses everywhere; +To-morrow will be soon enough + To fret about your care." + +Old Mister Laughter + Comes a-grinnin' at my door, +Singin': "Don't go after money + When you've got enough and more." +Singin': "Laugh with me this mornin' + An' be happy while you may. +What's the use of riches + If they never let you play?" + +Old Mister Laughter + Comes a-grinnin' all the time, +Singin' happy songs o' gladness + In a good old-fashioned rhyme. +Singin': "Keep the smiles a-goin', + Till they write your epitaph, +And don't let fame or fortune + Ever steal away your laugh." + + + + +A Family Row + + +I freely confess there are good friends of mine, +With whom we are often invited to dine, +Who get on my nerves so that I cannot eat +Or stay with my usual ease in my seat; +For I know that if something should chance to occur +Which he may not like or which doesn't please her, +That we'll have to try to be pleasant somehow +While they stage a fine little family row. + +Now a family row is a private affair, +And guests, I am certain, should never be there; +I have freely maintained that a man and his wife +Cannot always agree on their journey through life, +But they ought not to bicker and wrangle and shout +And show off their rage when their friends are about; +It takes all the joy from a party, I vow, +When some couple starts up a family row. + +It's a difficult job to stay cool and polite +When your host and your hostess are staging a fight: +It's hard to talk sweet to a dame with a frown +Or smile at a man that you want to knock down. +You sit like a dummy and look far away, +But you just can't help hearing the harsh things they say. +It ruins the dinner, I'm telling you now, +When your host and your hostess get mixed in a row. + + + + +The Lucky Man + + +Luck had a favor to bestow +And wondered where to let it go. + +"No lazy man on earth," said she, +"Shall get this happy gift from me. + +"I will not pass it to the man +Who will not do the best he can. + +"I will not make this splendid gift +To one who has not practiced thrift. + +"It shall not benefit deceit, +Nor help the man who's played the cheat. + +"He that has failed to fight with pluck +Shall never know the Goddess Luck. + +"I'll look around a bit to see +What man has earned some help from me." + +She found a man whose hands were soiled +Because from day to day he'd toiled. + +He'd dreamed by night and worked by day +To make life's contest go his way. + +He'd kept his post and daily slaved, +And something of his wage he'd saved. + +He'd clutched at every circumstance +Which might have been his golden chance. + +The goddess smiled and then, kerslap! +She dropped her favor in his lap. + + + + +Lonely + + +They're all away + And the house is still, +And the dust lies thick + On the window sill, +And the stairway creaks + In a solemn tone +This taunting phrase: + "You are all alone." + +They've gone away + And the rooms are bare; +I miss his cap + From a parlor chair. +And I miss the toys + In the lonely hall, +But most of any + I miss his call. + +I miss the shouts + And the laughter gay +Which greeted me + At the close of day, +And there isn't a thing + In the house we own +But sobbingly says: + "You are all alone." + +It's only a house + That is mine to know, +An empty house + That is cold with woe; +Like a prison grim + With its bars of black, +And it won't be home + Till they all come back. + + + + +The Cookie Jar + + +You can rig up a house with all manner of things, +The prayer rugs of sultans and princes and kings; +You can hang on its walls the old tapestries rare +Which some dead Egyptian once treasured with care; +But though costly and gorgeous its furnishings are, +It must have, to be homelike, an old cookie jar. + +There are just a few things that a home must possess, +Besides all your money and all your success-- +A few good old books which some loved one has read, +Some trinkets of those whose sweet spirits have fled, +And then in the pantry, not shoved back too far +For the hungry to get to, that old cookie jar. + +Let the house be a mansion, I care not at all! +Let the finest of pictures be hung on each wall, +Let the carpets be made of the richest velour, +And the chairs only those which great wealth can procure, +I'd still want to keep for the joy of my flock +That homey, old-fashioned, well-filled cookie crock. + +Like the love of the Mother it shines through our years; +It has soothed all our hurts and has dried away tears; +It has paid us for toiling; in sorrow or joy, +It has always shown kindness to each girl and boy; +And I'm sorry for people, whoever they are, +Who live in a house where there's no cookie jar. + + + + +Little Wrangles + + +Lord, we've had our little wrangles, an' we've had our little bouts; +There's many a time, I reckon, that we have been on the outs; +My tongue's a trifle hasty an' my temper's apt to fly, +An' Mother, let me tell you, has a sting in her reply, +But I couldn't live without her, an' it's plain as plain can be +That in fair or sunny weather Mother needs a man like me. + +I've banged the door an' muttered angry words beneath my breath, +For at times when she was scoldin' Mother's plagued me most to death, +But we've always laughed it over, when we'd both cooled down a bit, +An' we never had a difference but a smile would settle it. +An' if such a thing could happen, we could share life's joys an' tears +An' live right on together for another thousand years. + +Some men give up too easy in the game o' married life; +They haven't got the courage to be worthy of a wife; +An' I've seen a lot o' women that have made their lives a mess, +'Cause they couldn't bear the burdens that are, mixed with happiness. +So long as folks are human they'll have many faults that jar, +An' the way to live with people is to take them as they are. + +We've been forty years together, good an' bad, an' rain an' shine; +I've forgotten Mother's faults now an' she never mentions mine. +In the days when sorrow struck us an' we shared a common woe +We just leaned upon each other, an' our weakness didn't show. +An' I learned how much I need her an' how tender she can be +An' through it, maybe, Mother saw the better side o' me. + + + + +The Wide Outdoors + + +The rich may pay for orchids rare, but, Oh the apple tree +Flings out its blossoms to the world for every eye to see, +And all who sigh for loveliness may walk beneath the sky +And claim a richer beauty than man's gold can ever buy. + +The blooming cherry trees are free for all to look upon; +The dogwood buds for all of us, and not some favorite one; +The wide outdoors is no man's own; the stranger on the street +Can cast his eyes on many a rose and claim its fragrance sweet. + +Small gardens are shut in by walls, but none can wall the sky, +And none can hide the friendly trees from all who travel by; +And none can hold the apple boughs and claim them for his own, +For all the beauties of the earth belong to God alone. + +So let me walk the world just now and wander far and near; +Earth's loveliness is mine to see, its music mine to hear; +There's not a single apple bough that spills its blooms about +But I can claim the joy of it, and none can shut me out. + + + + +"Where's Mamma?" + + +Comes in flying from the street; + "Where's Mamma?" +Friend or stranger thus he'll greet: + "Where's Mamma?" +Doesn't want to say hello, +Home from school or play he'll go +Straight to what he wants to know: + "Where's Mamma?" + +Many times a day he'll shout, + "Where's Mamma?" +Seems afraid that she's gone out; + "Where's Mamma?" +Is his first thought at the door-- +She's the one he's looking for, +And he questions o'er and o'er, + "Where's Mamma?" + +Can't be happy till he knows: + "Where's Mamma?" +So he begs us to disclose + "Where's Mamma?" +And it often seems to me, +As I hear his anxious plea, +That no sweeter phrase can be: + "Where's Mamma?" + +Like to hear it day by day; + "Where's Mamma?" +Loveliest phrase that lips can say: + "Where's Mamma?" +And I pray as time shall flow, +And the long years come and go, +That he'll always want to know + "Where's Mamma?" + + + + +Summer Dreams + + +Drowsy old summer, with nothing to do, +I'd like to be drowsin' an' dreamin' with you; +I'd like to stretch out in the shade of a tree, +An' fancy the white clouds were ships out at sea, +Or castles with turrets and treasures and things, +And peopled with princesses, fairies and kings, +An' just drench my soul with the glorious joy +Which was mine to possess as a barefooted boy. + +Drowsy old summer, your skies are as blue +As the skies which a dreamy-eyed youngster once knew, +An' I fancy to-day all the pictures are there-- +The ships an' the pirates an' princesses fair, +The red scenes of battle, the gay, cheering throngs +Which greeted the hero who righted all wrongs; +But somehow or other, these old eyes of mine +Can't see what they did as a youngster of nine. + +Drowsy old summer, I'd like to forget +Some things which I've learned an' some hurts I have met; +I'd like the old visions of splendor an' joy +Which were mine to possess as a barefooted boy +When I dreamed of the glorious deeds I would do +As soon as I'd galloped my brief boyhood through; +I'd like to come back an' look into your skies +With that wondrous belief an' those far-seeing eyes. + +Drowsy old summer, my dream days have gone; +Only things which are real I must now look upon; +No longer I see in the skies overhead +The pictures that were, for the last one has fled. +I have learned that not all of our dreams can come true; +That the toilers are many and heroes are few; +But I'd like once again to look up there an' see +The man that I fancied some day I might be. + + + + +I Ain't Dead Yet + + +Time was I used to worry and I'd sit around an' sigh, +And think with every ache I got that I was goin' to die, +I'd see disaster comin' from a dozen different ways +An' prophesy calamity an' dark and dreary days. +But I've come to this conclusion, that it's foolishness to fret; +I've had my share o' sickness, but I + Ain't + Dead + Yet! + +Wet springs have come to grieve me an' I've grumbled at the showers, +But I can't recall a June-time that forgot to bring the flowers. +I've had my business troubles, and looked failure in the face, +But the crashes I expected seemed to pass right by the place. +So I'm takin' life more calmly, pleased with everything I get, +An' not over-hurt by losses, 'cause I + Ain't + Dead + Yet! + +I've feared a thousand failures an' a thousand deaths I've died, +I've had this world in ruins by the gloom I've prophesied. +But the sun shines out this mornin' an' the skies above are blue, +An' with all my griefs an' trouble, I have somehow lived 'em through. +There may be cares before me, much like those that I have met; +Death will come some day an' take me, but I + Ain't + Dead + Yet! + + + + +The Cure for Weariness + + +Seemed like I couldn't stand it any more, + The factory whistles blowin' day by day, +An' men an' children hurryin' by the door, + An' street cars clangin' on their busy way. +The faces of the people seemed to be + Washed pale by tears o' grief an' strife an' care, +Till everywhere I turned to I could see + The same old gloomy pictures of despair. + +The windows of the shops all looked the same, + Decked out with stuff their owners wished to sell; +When visitors across our doorway came + I could recite the tales they'd have to tell. +All things had lost their old-time power to please; + Dog-tired I was an' irritable, too, +An' so I traded chimney tops for trees, + An' shingled roof for open skies of blue. + +I dropped my tools an' took my rod an' line + An' tackle box an' left the busy town; +I found a favorite restin' spot of mine + Where no one seeks for fortune or renown. +I whistled to the birds that flew about, + An' built a lot of castles in my dreams; +I washed away the stains of care an' doubt + An' thanked the Lord for woods an' running streams. + +I've cooked my meals before an open fire, + I've had the joy of green smoke in my face, +I've followed for a time my heart's desire + An' now the path of duty I retrace. +I've had my little fishin' trip, an' go + Once more contented to the haunts of men; +I'm ready now to hear the whistles blow + An' see the roofs an' chimney tops again. + + + + +To an Old Friend + + +When we have lived our little lives and wandered all their byways through, +When we've seen all that we shall see and finished all that we must do, +When we shall take one backward look off yonder where our journey ends, +I pray that you shall be as glad as I shall be that we were friends. + +Time was we started out to find the treasures and the joys of life; +We sought them in the land of gold through many days of bitter strife. +When we were young we yearned for fame; in search of joy we went afar, +Only to learn how very cold and distant all the strangers are. + +When we have met all we shall meet and know what destiny has planned, +I shall rejoice in that last hour that I have known your friendly hand; +I shall go singing down the way off yonder as my sun descends +As one who's had a happy life, made glorious by the best of friends. + + + + +Satisfied With Life + + +I have known the green trees and the skies overhead +And the blossoms of spring and the fragrance they shed; +I have known the blue sea, and the mountains afar +And the song of the pines and the light of a star; +And should I pass now, I could say with a smile +That my pilgrimage here has been well worth my while. + +I have known the warm handclasp of friends who were true; +I have shared in their pleasures and wept with them, too; +I have heard the gay laughter which sweeps away care +And none of the comrades I've made could I spare; +And should this be all, I could say ere I go, +That life is worth while just such friendships to know. + +I have builded a home where we've loved and been glad; +I have known the rich joy of a girl and a lad; +I have had their caresses through storm and through shine, +And watched them grow lovely, those youngsters of mine; +And I think as I hold them at night on my knee, +That life has been generous surely to me. + + + + +Autumn Evenings + + +Apples on the table an' the grate-fire blazin' high, +Oh, I'm sure the whole world hasn't any happier man than I; +The Mother sittin' mendin' little stockin's, toe an' knee, +An' tellin' all that's happened through the busy day to me: +Oh, I don't know how to say it, but these cosy autumn nights +Seem to glow with true contentment an' a thousand real delights. + +The dog sprawled out before me knows that huntin' days are here, +'Cause he dreams and seems to whimper that a flock o' quail are near; +An' the children playin' checkers till it's time to go to bed, +Callin' me to settle questions whether black is beatin' red; +Oh, these nights are filled with gladness, an' I puff my pipe an' smile, +An' tell myself the struggle an' the work are both worth while. + +The flames are full o' pictures that keep dancin' to an' fro, +Bringin' back the scenes o' gladness o' the happy long ago, +An' the whole wide world is silent an' I tell myself just this-- +That within these walls I cherish, there is all my world there is! +Can I keep the love abiding in these hearts so close to me, +An' the laughter of these evenings, I shall gain life's victory. + + + + +Memorial Day + + +These did not pass in selfishness; they died for all mankind; +They died to build a better world for all who stay behind; +And we who hold their memory dear, and bring them flowers to-day, +Should consecrate ourselves once more to live and die as they. + +These were defenders of the faith and guardians of the truth; +That you and I might live and love, they gladly gave their youth; +And we who set this day apart to honor them who sleep +Should pledge ourselves to hold the faith they gave their lives to keep. + +If tears are all we shed for them, then they have died in vain; +If flowers are all we bring them now, forgotten they remain; +If by their courage we ourselves to courage are not led, +Then needlessly these graves have closed above our heroes dead. + +To symbolize our love with flowers is not enough to do; +We must be brave as they were brave, and true as they were true. +They died to build a better world, and we who mourn to-day +Should consecrate ourselves once more to live and die as they. + + + + +The Happy Man + + +If you would know a happy man, + Go find the fellow who +Has had a bout with trouble grim + And just come smiling through. + +The load is off his shoulders now, + Where yesterday he frowned +And saw no joy in life, to-day + He laughs his way around. + +He's done the very thing he thought + That he could never do; +His sun is shining high to-day + And all his skies are blue. + +He's stronger than he was before; + Should trouble come anew +He'll know how much his strength can bear + And how much he can do. + +To-day he has the right to smile, + And he may gaily sing, +For he has conquered where he feared + The pain of failure's sting. + +Comparison has taught him, too, + The sweetest hours are those +Which follow on the heels of care, + With laughter and repose. + +If you would meet a happy man, + Go find the fellow who +Has had a bout with trouble grim + And just come smiling through. + + + + +The Song of the Builder + + +I sink my piers to the solid rock, + And I send my steel to the sky, +And I pile up the granite, block by block + Full twenty stories high; +Nor wind nor weather shall wash away +The thing that I've builded, day by day. + +Here's something of mine that shall ever stand + Till another shall tear it down; +Here is the work of my brain and hand, + Towering above the town. +And the idlers gay in their smug content, +Have nothing to leave for a monument. + +Here from my girders I look below + At the throngs which travel by, +For little that's real will they leave to show + When it comes their time to die. +But I, when my time of life is through, +Will leave this building for men to view. + +Oh, the work is hard and the days are long, + But hammers are tools for men, +And granite endures and steel is strong, + Outliving both brush and pen. +And ages after my voice is stilled, +Men shall know I lived by the things I build. + + + + +Old Years and New + + +Old years and new years, all blended into one, +The best of what there is to be, the best of what is gone-- +Let's bury all the failures in the dim and dusty past +And keep the smiles of friendship and laughter to the last. + +Old years and new years, life's in the making still; +We haven't come to glory yet, but there's the hope we will; +The dead old year was twelve months long, but now from it we're free, +And what's one year of good or bad to all the years to be? + +Old years and new years, we need them one and all +To reach the dome of character and build its sheltering wall; +Past failures tried the souls of us, but if their tests we stood. +The sum of what we are to be may yet be counted good. + +Old years and new years, with all their pain and strife, +Are but the bricks and steel and stone with which we fashion life; +So put the sin and shame away, and keep the fine and true, +And on the glory of the past let's build the better new. + + + + +When We're All Alike + + +I've trudged life's highway up and down; + I've watched the lines of men march by; +I've seen them in the busy town, + And seen them under country sky; +I've talked with toilers in the ranks, + And walked with men whose hands were white, +And learned, when closed were stores and banks, + We're nearly all alike at night. + +Just find the wise professor when + He isn't lost in ancient lore, +And he, like many other men, + Romps with his children on the floor. +He puts his gravity aside + To share in innocent delight. +Stripped of position's pomp and pride, + We're nearly all the same at night. + +Serving a common cause, we go + Unto our separate tasks by day, +And rich or poor or great or low, + Regardless of their place or pay, +Cherish the common dreams of men-- + A home where love and peace unite. +We serve the self-same end and plan, + We're all alike when it is night. + +Each for his loved ones wants to do + His utmost. Brothers are we all, +When we have run the work-day through, + In romping with our children small; +Rich men and poor delight in play + When care and caste have taken flight. +At home, in all we think and say, + We're very much the same at night. + + + + +The Things You Can't Forget + + +They ain't much, seen from day to day-- +The big elm tree across the way, +The church spire, an' the meetin' place +Lit up by many a friendly face. +You pass 'em by a dozen times +An' never think o' them in rhymes, +Or fit for poet's singin'. Yet +They're all the things you can't forget; +An' they're the things you'll miss some day +If ever you should go away. + +The people here ain't much to see-- +Jes' common folks like you an' me, +Doin' the ordinary tasks +Which life of everybody asks: +Old Dr. Green, still farin' 'round +To where his patients can be found, +An' Parson Hill, serene o' face, +Carryin' God's message every place, +An' Jim, who keeps the grocery store-- +Yet they are folks you'd hunger for. + +They seem so plain when close to view-- +Bill Barker, an' his brother too, +The Jacksons, men of higher rank +Because they chance to run the bank, +Yet friends to every one round here, +Quiet an' kindly an' sincere, +Not much to sing about or praise, +Livin' their lives in modest ways-- +Yet in your memory they'd stay +If ever you should go away. + +These are things an' these the men +Some day you'll long to see again. +Now it's so near you scarcely see +The beauty o' that big elm tree, +But some day later on you will +An' wonder if it's standin' still, +An' if the birds return to sing +An' make their nests there every spring. +Mebbe you scorn them now, but they +Will bring you back again some day. + + + + +The Making of Friends + + +If nobody smiled and nobody cheered and nobody helped us along, +If each every minute looked after himself and good things all went to the + strong, +If nobody cared just a little for you, and nobody thought about me, +And we stood all alone to the battle of life, what a dreary old world it + would be! + +If there were no such a thing as a flag in the sky as a symbol of + comradeship here, +If we lived as the animals live in the woods, with nothing held sacred or + dear, +And selfishness ruled us from birth to the end, and never a neighbor had + we, +And never we gave to another in need, what a dreary old world it would be! + +Oh, if we were rich as the richest on earth and strong as the strongest + that lives, +Yet never we knew the delight and the charm of the smile which the other + man gives, +If kindness were never a part of ourselves, though we owned all the land we + could see, +And friendship meant nothing at all to us here, what a dreary old world it + would be! + +Life is sweet just because of the friends we have made and the things which + in common we share; +We want to live on not because of ourselves, but because of the people who + care; +It's giving and doing for somebody else--on that all life's splendor + depends, +And the joy of this world, when you've summed it all up, is found in the + making of friends. + + + + +The Deeds of Anger + + +I used to lose my temper an' git mad an' tear around +An' raise my voice so wimmin folks would tremble at the sound; +I'd do things I was ashamed of when the fit of rage had passed, +An' wish I hadn't done 'em, an' regret 'em to the last; +But I've learned from sad experience how useless is regret, +For the mean things done in anger are the things you can't forget. + +'Tain't no use to kiss the youngster once your hand has made him cry; +You'll recall the time you struck him till the very day you die; +He'll forget it an' forgive you an' to-morrow seem the same, +But you'll keep the hateful picture of your sorrow an' your shame, +An' it's bound to rise to taunt you, though you long have squared the debt, +For the things you've done in meanness are the things you can't forget. + +Lord, I sometimes sit an' shudder when some scene comes back to me, +Which shows me big an' brutal in some act o' tyranny, +When some triflin' thing upset me an' I let my temper fly, +An' was sorry for it after--but it's vain to sit an' sigh. +So I'd be a whole sight happier now my sun begins to set, +If it wasn't for the meanness which I've done an' can't forget. + +Now I think I've learned my lesson an' I'm treadin' gentler ways, +An' I try to build my mornings into happy yesterdays; +I don't let my temper spoil 'em in the way I used to do +An' let some splash of anger smear the record when it's through; +I want my memories pleasant, free from shame or vain regret, +Without any deeds of anger which I never can forget. + + + + +I'd Rather Be a Failure + + +I'd rather be a failure than the man who's never tried; +I'd rather seek the mountain-top than always stand aside. +Oh, let me hold some lofty dream and make my desperate fight, +And though I fail I still shall know I tried to serve the right. + +The idlers line the ways of life and they are quick to sneer; +They note the failing strength of man and greet it with a jeer; +But there is something deep inside which scoffers fail to view-- +They never see the glorious deed the failure tried to do. + +Some men there are who never leave the city's well-worn streets; +They never know the dangers grim the bold adventurer meets; +They never seek a better way nor serve a nobler plan; +They never risk with failure to advance the cause of man. + +Oh, better 'tis to fail and fall in sorrow and despair, +Than stand where all is safe and sure and never face a care; +Yes, stamp me with the failure's brand and let men sneer at me, +For though I've failed the Lord shall know the man I tried to be. + + + + +Couldn't Live Without You + + +You're just a little fellow with a lot of funny ways, +Just three-foot-six of mischief set with eyes that fairly blaze; +You're always up to something with those busy hands o' yours, +And you leave a trail o' ruin on the walls an' on the doors, +An' I wonder, as I watch you, an' your curious tricks I see, +Whatever is the reason that you mean so much to me. + +You're just a chubby rascal with a grin upon your face, +Just seven years o' gladness, an' a hard and trying case; +You think the world's your playground, an' in all you say an' do +You fancy everybody ought to bow an' scrape to you; +Dull care's a thing you laugh at just as though 'twill never be, +So I wonder, little fellow, why you mean so much to me. + +Now your face is smeared with candy or perhaps it's only dirt, +An' it's really most alarming how you tear your little shirt; +But I have to smile upon you, an' with all your wilful ways, +I'm certain that I need you 'round about me all my days; +Yes, I've got to have you with me, for somehow it's come to be +That I couldn't live without you, for you're all the world to me. + + + + +Just a Boy + + +Get to understand the lad-- +He's not eager to be bad; +If the right he always knew, +He would be as old as you. +Were he now exceeding wise, +He'd be just about your size; +When he does things that annoy, +Don't forget, he's just a boy. + +Could he know and understand, +He would need no guiding hand; +But he's young and hasn't learned +How life's corners must be turned; +Doesn't know from day to day +There is more in life than play, +More to face than selfish joy-- +Don't forget he's just a boy. + +Being just a boy, he'll do +Much you will not want him to; +He'll be careless of his ways, +Have his disobedient days, +Wilful, wild and headstrong, too, +Just as, when a boy, were you; +Things of value he'll destroy, +But, reflect, he's just a boy. + +Just a boy who needs a friend, +Patient, kindly to the end, +Needs a father who will show +Him the things he wants to know; +Take him with you when you walk, +Listen when he wants to talk, +His companionship enjoy, +Don't forget, he's just a boy! + + + + +What Home's Intended For + + +When the young folks gather 'round in the good old-fashioned way, +Singin' all the latest songs gathered from the newest play, +Or they start the phonograph an' shove the chairs back to the wall +An' hold a little party dance, I'm happiest of all. +Then I sorter settle back, plumb contented to the core, +An' I tell myself most proudly, that's what home's intended for. + +When the laughter's gaily ringin' an' the room is filled with song, +I like, to sit an' watch 'em, all that glad an' merry throng, +For the ragtime they are playin' on the old piano there +Beats any high-toned music where the bright lights shine an' glare, +An' the racket they are makin' stirs my pulses more and more, +So I whisper in my gladness: that's what home's intended for. + +Then I smile an' say to Mother, let 'em move the chairs about, +Let 'em frolic in the parlor, let 'em shove the tables out, +Jus' so long as they are near us, jus' so long as they will stay +By the fireplace we are keepin', harm will never come their way, +An' you'll never hear me grumble at the bills that keep me poor, +It's the finest part o' livin'--that's what home's intended for. + + + + +Safe at Home + + +Let the old fire blaze + An' the youngsters shout +An' the dog on the rug + Sprawl full length out, +An' Mother an' I + Sort o' settle down-- +An' it's little we care + For the noisy town. + +Oh, it's little we care + That the wind may blow, +An' the streets grow white + With the drifted snow; +We'll face the storm + With the break o' day, +But to-night we'll dream + An' we'll sing an' play. + +We'll sit by the fire + Where it's snug an' warm, +An' pay no heed + To the winter storm; +With a sheltering roof + Let the blizzard roar; +We are safe at home-- + Can a king say more? + +That's all that counts + When the day is done: +The smiles of love + And the youngsters' fun, +The cares put down + With the evening gloam-- +Here's the joy of all: + To be safe at home. + + + + +When Friends Drop In + + +It may be I'm old-fashioned, but the times I like the best +Are not the splendid parties with the women gaily dressed, +And the music tuned for dancing and the laughter of the throng, +With a paid comedian's antics or a hired musician's song, +But the quiet times of friendship, with the chuckles and the grin, +And the circle at the fireside when a few good friends drop in. + +There's something 'round the fireplace that no club can imitate, +And no throng can ever equal just a few folks near the grate; +Though I sometimes like an opera, there's no music quite so sweet +As the singing of the neighbors that you're always glad to meet; +Oh, I know when they come calling that the fun will soon begin, +And I'm happiest those evenings when a few good friends drop in. + +There's no pomp of preparation, there's no style or sham or fuss; +We are glad to welcome callers who are glad to be with us, +And we sit around and visit or we start a merry game, +And we show them by our manner that we're mighty pleased they came, +For there's something real about it, and the yarns we love to spin, +And the time flies, Oh, so swiftly when a few good friends drop in. + +Let me live my life among them, cheerful, kindly folks and true, +And I'll ask no greater glory till my time of life is through; +Let me share the love and favor of the few who know me best, +And I'll spend my time contented till my sun sinks in the west; +I will take what fortune sends me and the little I may win, +And be happy on those evenings when a few good friends drop in. + + + + +The Book of Memory + + +Turn me loose and let me be +Young once more and fancy free; +Let me wander where I will, +Down the lane and up the hill, +Trudging barefoot in the dust +In an age that knows no "must," +And no voice insistently +Speaks of duty unto me; +Let me tread the happy ways +Of those by-gone yesterdays. + +Fame had never whispered then, +Making slaves of eager men; +Greed had never called me down +To the gray walls of the town, +Offering frankincense and myrrh +If I'd be its prisoner; +I was free to come and go +Where the cherry blossoms blow, +Free to wander where I would, +Finding life supremely good. + +But I turned, as all must do, +From the happiness I knew +To the land of care and strife, +Seeking for a fuller life; +Heard the lure of fame and sought +That renown so dearly bought; +Listened to the voice of greed +Saying: "These the things you need," +Now the gray town holds me fast, +Prisoner to the very last. + +Age has stamped me as its own; +Youth to younger hearts has flown; +Still the cherry blossoms blow +In the land loused to know; +Still the fragrant clover spills +Perfume over dales and hills, +But I'm not allowed to stray +Where the young are free to play; +All the years will grant to me +Is the book of memory. + + + + +Pretending Not to See + + +Sometimes at the table, when +He gets misbehavin', then +Mother calls across to me: +"Look at him, now! Don't you see +What he's doin', sprawlin.' there! +Make him sit up in his chair. +Don't you see the messy way +That he's eating?" An' I say: +"No. He seems all right just now. +What's he doing anyhow?" + +Mother placed him there by me, +An' she thinks I ought to see +Every time he breaks the laws +An' correct him, just because +There will come a time some day +When he mustn't act that way. +But I can't be all along +Scoldin' him for doin' wrong. +So if something goes astray, +I jus' look the other way. + +Mother tells me now an' then +I'm the easiest o' men, +An' in dealin' with the lad +I will never see the bad +That he does, an' I suppose +Mother's right for Mother knows; +But I'd hate to feel that I'm +Here to scold him all the time. +Little faults might spoil the day, +So I look the other way. + +Look the other way an' try +Not to let him catch my eye, +Knowin' all the time that he +Doesn't mean so bad to be; +Knowin', too, that now an' then +I am not the best o' men; +Hopin', too, the times I fall +That the Father of us all, +Lovin', watchin' over me, +Will pretend He doesn't see. + + + + +The Joys of Home + + +Curling smoke from a chimney low, +And only a few more steps to go, +Faces pressed at a window pane +Watching for someone to come again, +And I am the someone they wait to see-- +These are the joys life gives to me. + +What has my neighbor excelling this: +A good wife's love and a baby's kiss? +What if his chimneys tower higher? +Peace is found at our humble fire. +What if his silver and gold are more? +Rest is ours when the day is o'er. + +Strive for fortune and slave for fame, +You find that joy always stays the same: +Rich man and poor man dream and pray +For a home where laughter shall ever stay, +And the wheels go round and men spend their might +For the few glad hours they may claim at night. + +Home, where the kettle shall gaily sing, +Is all that matters with serf or king; +Gold and silver and laurelled fame +Are only sweet when the hearth's aflame +With a cheerful fire, and the loved ones there +Are unafraid of the wolves of care. + +So let me come home at night to rest +With those who know I have done my best; +Let the wife rejoice and my children smile, +And I'll know by their love that I am worthwhile, +For this is conquest and world success-- +A home where abideth happiness. + + + + +We're Dreamers All + + +Oh, man must dream of gladness wherever his pathways lead, +And a hint of something better is written in every creed; +And nobody wakes at morning but hopes ere the day is o'er +To have come to a richer pleasure than ever he's known before. + +For man is a dreamer ever. He glimpses the hills afar +And plans for the joys off yonder where all his to-morrows are; +When trials and cares beset him, in the distance he still can see +A hint of a future splendid and the glory that is to be. + +There's never a man among us but cherishes dreams of rest; +We toil for that something better than that which is now our best. +Oh, what if the cup be bitter and what if we're racked with pain? +There are wonderful days to follow when never we'll grieve again. + +Back of the sound of the hammer, and back of the hissing steam, +And back of the hand at the throttle is ever a lofty dream; +All of us, great or humble, look over the present need +To the dawn of the glad to-morrow which is promised in every creed. + + + + +What Is Success? + + +Success is being friendly when another needs a friend; +It's in the cheery words you speak, and in the coins you lend; +Success is not alone in skill and deeds of daring great; +It's in the roses that you plant beside your garden gate. + +Success is in the way you walk the paths of life each day; +It's in the little things you do and in the things you say; +Success is in the glad hello you give your fellow man; +It's in the laughter of your home and all the joys you plan. + +Success is not in getting rich or rising high to fame; +It's not alone in winning goals which all men hope to claim; +It's in the man you are each day, through happiness or care; +It's in the cheery words you speak and in the smile you wear. + +Success is being big of heart and clean and broad of mind; +It's being faithful to your friends, and to the stranger, kind; +It's in the children whom you love, and all they learn from you-- +Success depends on character and everything you do. + + + + +The Three Me's + + +I'd like to steal a day and be +All alone with little me, +Little me that used to run +Everywhere in search of fun; +Little me of long ago +Who was glad and didn't know +Life is freighted down with care +For the backs of men to bear; +Little me who thought a smile +Ought to linger all the while-- +On his Mother's pretty face +And a tear should never trace +Lines of sorrow, hurt or care +On those cheeks so wondrous fair. + +I should like once more to be +All alone with youthful me; +Youthful me who saw the hills +Where the sun its splendor spills +And was certain that in time +To the topmost height he'd climb; +Youthful me, serene of soul, +Who beheld a shining goal. +And imagined he could gain +Glory without grief or pain, +Confident and quick with life, +Madly eager for the strife, +Knowing not that bitter care +Waited for his coming there. + +I should like to sit alone +With the me now older grown, +Like to lead the little me +And the youth that used to be +Once again along the ways +Of our glorious yesterdays. +We could chuckle soft and low +At the things we didn't know, +And could laugh to think how bold +We had been in days of old, +And how blind we were to care +With its heartache and despair, +We could smile away the tears +And the pain of later years. + + + + +Brothers All + + +Under the toiler's grimy shirt, +Under the sweat and the grease and dirt, +Under the rough outside you view, +Is a man who thinks and feels as you. + +Go talk with him, +Go walk with him, +Sit down with him by a running stream, +Away from the things that are hissing steam, +Away from his bench, +His hammer and wrench, +And the grind of need +And the sordid deed, +And this you'll find +As he bares his mind: +In the things which count when this life is through +He's as tender and big and as good as you. + +Be fair with him, +And share with him +An hour of time in a restful place, +Brother to brother and face to face, +And he'll whisper low +Of the long ago, +Of a loved one dead +And the tears he shed; +And you'll come to see +That in suffering he, +With you, is hurt by the self-same rod +And turns for help to the self-same God. + +You hope as he, +You dream of splendors, and so does he; +His children must be as you'd have yours be; +He shares your love +For the Flag above, +He laughs and sings +For the self-same things; +When he's understood +He is mostly good, +Thoughtful of others and kind and true, +Brave, devoted--and much like you. + +Under the toiler's grimy shirt, +Under the sweat and the grease and dirt, +Under the rough outside you view, +Is a man who thinks and feels as you. + + + + +When We Understand the Plan + + +I reckon when the world we leave +And cease to smile and cease to grieve, +When each of us shall quit the strife +And drop the working tools of life, +Somewhere, somehow, we'll come to find +Just what our Maker had in mind. + +Perhaps through clearer eyes than these +We'll read life's hidden mysteries, +And learn the reason for our tears-- +Why sometimes came unhappy years, +And why our dearest joys were brief +And bound so closely unto grief. + +There is so much beyond our scope, +As blindly on through life we grope, +So much we cannot understand, +However wisely we have planned, +That all who walk this earth about +Are constantly beset by doubt. + +No one of us can truly say +Why loved ones must be called away, +Why hearts are hurt, or e'en explain +Why some must suffer years of pain; +Yet some day all of us shall know +The reason why these things are so. + +I reckon in the years to come, +When these poor lips of clay are dumb, +And these poor hands have ceased to toil, +Somewhere upon a fairer soil +God shall to all of us make clear +The purpose of our trials here. + + + + +The Spoiler + +With a twinkle in his eye +He'd come gayly walkin' by +An' he'd whistle to the children + An' he'd beckon 'em to come, +Then he'd chuckle low an' say, +"Come along, I'm on my way, +An' it's I that need your company + To buy a little gum." + +When his merry call they'd hear, +All the children, far an' near, +Would come flyin' from the gardens + Like the chickens after wheat; +When we'd shake our heads an' say: +"No, you mustn't go to-day!" +He'd beg to let him have 'em + In a pack about his feet. + +Oh, he spoiled 'em, one an' all; +There was not a youngster small +But was over-fed on candy + An' was stuffed with lollypops, +An' I think his greatest joy +Was to get some girl or boy +An' bring 'em to their parents + All besmeared by chocolate drops. + +Now the children's hearts are sore +For he comes to them no more, +And no more to them he whistles + And no more for them he stops; +But in Paradise, I think, +With his chuckle and his wink, +He is leading little angels + To the heavenly candy shops. + + + + +A Vanished Joy + + +When I was but a little lad of six and seven and eight, +One joy I knew that has been lost in customs up-to-date, +Then Saturday was baking day and Mother used to make, +The while I stood about and watched, the Sunday pies and cake; +And I was there to have fulfilled a small boy's fondest wish, +The glorious privilege of youth--to scrape the frosting dish! + +On Saturdays I never left to wander far away-- +I hovered near the kitchen door on Mother's baking day; +The fragrant smell of cooking seemed to hold me in its grip, +And naught cared I for other sports while there were sweets to sip; +I little cared that all my chums had sought the brook to fish; +I chose to wait that moment glad when I could scrape the dish. + +Full many a slice of apple I have lifted from a pie +Before the upper crust went on, escaping Mother's eye; +Full many a time my fingers small in artfulness have strayed +Into some sweet temptation rare which Mother's hands had made; +But eager-eyed and watery-mouthed, I craved the greater boon, +When Mother let me clean the dish and lick the frosting spoon. + +The baking days of old are gone, our children cannot know +The glorious joys that childhood owned and loved so long ago. +New customs change the lives of all and in their heartless way +They've robbed us of the glad event once known as baking day. +The stores provide our every need, yet many a time I wish +Our kids could know that bygone thrill and scrape the frosting dish. + + + + +"Carry On" + + +They spoke it bravely, grimly, in their darkest hours of doubt; +They spoke it when their hope was low and when their strength gave out; +We heard it from the dying in those troubled days now gone, +And they breathed it as their slogan for the living: "Carry on!" + +Now the days of strife are over, and the skies are fair again, +But those two brave words of courage on our lips should still remain; +In the trials which beset us and the cares we look upon, +To our dead we should be faithful--we have still to "carry on!" + +"Carry on!" through storm and danger, "carry on" through dark despair, +"Carry on" through hurt and failure, "carry on" through grief and care; +'Twas the slogan they bequeathed us as they fell beside the way, +And for them and for our children, let us "carry on!" to-day. + + + + +Life's Single Standard + +There are a thousand ways to cheat and a thousand ways to sin; +There are ways uncounted to lose the game, but there's only one way to win; +And whether you live by the sweat of your brow or in luxury's garb you're + dressed, +You shall stand at last, when your race is run, to be judged by the single + test. + +Some men lie by the things they make; some lie in the deeds they do; +And some play false for a woman's love, and some for a cheer or two; +Some rise to fame by the force of skill, grow great by the might of power, +Then wreck the temple they toiled to build, in a single, shameful hour. + +The follies outnumber the virtues good; sin lures in a thousand ways; +But slow is the growth of man's character and patience must mark his days; +For only those victories shall count, when the work of life is done, +Which bear the stamp of an honest man, and by courage and faith were won. + +There are a thousand ways to fail, but only one way to win! +Sham cannot cover the wrong you do nor wash out a single sin, +And never shall victory come to you, whatever of skill you do, +Save you've done your best in the work of life and unto your best were + true. + + + + +Learn to Smile + + +The good Lord understood us when He taught us how to smile; +He knew we couldn't stand it to be solemn all the while; +He knew He'd have to shape us so that when our hearts were gay, +We could let our neighbors know it in a quick and easy way. + +So He touched the lips of Adam and He touched the lips of Eve, +And He said: "Let these be solemn when your sorrows make you grieve, +But when all is well in Eden and your life seems worth the while, +Let your faces wear the glory and the sunshine of a smile. + +"Teach the symbol to your children, pass it down through all the years. +Though they know their share of sadness and shall weep their share of + tears, +Through the ages men and women shall prove their faith in Me +By the smile upon their faces when their hearts are trouble-free." + +The good Lord understood us when He sent us down to earth, +He knew our need for laughter and for happy signs of mirth; +He knew we couldn't stand it to be solemn all the while, +But must share our joy with others--so He taught us how to smile. + + + + +The True Man + + +This is the sort of a man was he: +True when it hurt him a lot to be; +Tight in a corner an' knowin' a lie +Would have helped him out, but he wouldn't buy +His freedom there in so cheap a way-- +He told the truth though he had to pay. + +Honest! Not in the easy sense, +When he needn't worry about expense-- +We'll all play square when it doesn't count +And the sum at stake's not a large amount-- +But he was square when the times were bad, +An' keepin' his word took all he had. + +Honor is something we all profess, +But most of us cheat--some more, some less-- +An' the real test isn't the way we do +When there isn't a pinch in either shoe; +It's whether we're true to our best or not +When the right thing's certain to hurt a lot. + +That is the sort of a man was he: +Straight when it hurt him a lot to be; +Times when a lie would have paid him well, +No matter the cost, the truth he'd tell; +An' he'd rather go down to a drab defeat +Than save himself if he had to cheat. + + + + +Cleaning the Furnace + + +Last night Pa said to Ma: "My dear, it's gettin' on to fall, +It's time I did a little job I do not like at all. +I wisht 'at I was rich enough to hire a man to do +The dirty work around this house an' clean up when he's through, +But since I'm not, I'm truly glad that I am strong an' stout, +An' ain't ashamed to go myself an' clean the furnace out." + +Then after supper Pa put on his overalls an' said +He'd work down in the cellar till 'twas time to go to bed. +He started in to rattle an' to bang an' poke an' stir, +An' the dust began a-climbin' up through every register +Till Ma said: "Goodness gracious; go an' shut those things up tight +Or we'll all be suffocated an' the house will be a sight." + +Then he carted out the ashes in a basket an' a pail, +An' from cellar door to alley he just left an ashy trail. +Then he pulled apart the chimney, an' 'twas full of something black, +An' he skinned most all his knuckles when he tried to put it back. +We could hear him talkin' awful, an' Ma looked at us an' said: +"I think it would be better if you children went to bed." + +When he came up from the cellar there were ashes in his hair, +There were ashes in his eyebrows--but he didn't seem to care-- +There were ashes in his mustache, there were ashes in his eyes, +An' we never would have known him if he'd took us by surprise. +"Well, I got it clean," he sputtered, and Ma said: "I guess that's true; +Once the dirt was in the furnace, but now most of it's on you." + + + + +Trouble Brings Friends + + +It's seldom trouble comes alone. I've noticed this: When things go wrong +An' trouble comes a-visitin', it always brings a friend along; +Sometimes it's one you've known before, and then perhaps it's someone new +Who stretches out a helping hand an' stops to see what he can do. + +If never trials came to us, if grief an' sorrow passed us by, +If every day the sun came out an' clouds were never in the sky, +We'd still have neighbors, I suppose, each one pursuin' selfish ends, +But only neighbors they would be--we'd never know them as our friends. + +Out of the troubles I have had have come my richest friendships here, +Kind hands have helped to bear my care, kind words have fallen on my ear; +An' so I say when trouble comes I know before the storm shall end +That I shall find my bit of care has also brought to me a friend. + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of When Day is Done, by Edgar A. 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