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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Path to Home, 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: The Path to Home
+
+Author: Edgar A. Guest
+
+Release Date: June 21, 2007 [EBook #21890]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PATH TO HOME ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Alicia Williams, Andrew Sly and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note: A few minor irregularities of punctuation
+have been corrected in this text.
+
+
+
+
+The Path to Home
+
+By
+
+Edgar A. Guest
+
+  Author of
+  "Just Folks"--"Over Here"
+  "A Heap o' Livin'"
+
+The Reilly & Lee Co.
+
+Chicago
+
+Copyright, 1919
+
+by
+
+The Reilly & Lee Co.
+
+_All Rights Reserved._
+
+  Printed in
+  The United States
+  of America.
+
+
+
+
+To
+
+F. K. R.
+
+A friend who had faith
+
+
+
+
+INDEX
+
+
+  Alone                                         145
+  Along the Paths o' Glory                       61
+  Apple Tree in France, An                       60
+  Approach of Christmas, The                     56
+  At Dawn                                       165
+  At the Peace Table                             40
+  Aunty                                          88
+
+  Back Home                                      82
+  Becoming a Dad                                124
+  Being Dad on Christmas Eve                    102
+  Best Way to Read a Book                       122
+  Boy at Christmas, A                           120
+  Bread and Jam                                  90
+  Bride, The                                     58
+  Bud Discusses Cleanliness                      72
+  Burden Bearer, The                            112
+
+  Change-Worker, The                            174
+  Children, The                                 108
+  Choice, A                                      79
+  Cliffs of Scotland                             63
+  Comedian, The                                 109
+  Common Joys, The                              171
+  Compensation                                   36
+  Convalescin' Woman, A                         176
+  Cookie-Lady, The                               67
+  Cut-Down Trousers, The                        147
+
+  Daddies                                        52
+  Dead Return, The                               84
+  Different                                     117
+  Dinner-Time                                   149
+  Doctor, The                                    26
+  Dr. Johnson's Picture Cow                      34
+  Doubtful To-morrow, The                       178
+
+  Evening-Prayer, The                           152
+
+  Faces                                          22
+  Faith                                         111
+  Father's Chore                                186
+  Father of the Man, The                         94
+  Fatherhood                                     77
+  Fine                                           13
+  Finest Fellowship, The                        116
+  First Name Friends                             44
+  Fun of Forgiving, The                         162
+  Furnace Door, The                              46
+
+  Gift of Play, The                              98
+  Good Name, A                                  143
+
+  His Dog                                       157
+  His Example                                   172
+
+  It Couldn't Be Done                            37
+  "It's a Boy"                                  114
+
+  Kindness                                       31
+
+  Lesson from Golf, A                           184
+  Lines for a Flag Raising Ceremony              28
+  Little Fishermen                               66
+  Little Girls                                  103
+  Little Woman, The                              92
+  Living Flowers                                170
+  Lonely Garden, The                            134
+  Lost Opportunities                            130
+  Lost Purse, The                                24
+  Lullaby                                       158
+
+  March o' Man, The                             188
+  Mother's Job                                   55
+  Mother's Party Dress                           64
+  Mother Watch, The                              20
+  Mrs. Malone and the Censor                     41
+  My Job                                        142
+  My Soul and I                                  86
+
+  Names and Faces                               166
+
+  Old-Fashioned Parents, The                    160
+  Old-Fashioned Welcome, An                      15
+  Old Wooden Tub, The                           128
+  Our Country                                    76
+  Our House                                      16
+  Out Fishin'                                    48
+
+  Path to Home, The                              11
+  Patriotism                                    131
+  Pay Envelope, The                             150
+  Picture Books                                  53
+  Plea, A                                        17
+  Pleasing Dad                                  168
+  Pleasure's Signs                               69
+
+  Right Family, The                             182
+
+  Selling the Old Home                           50
+  Service                                        38
+  Shut-Ins                                      146
+  Silver Stripes, The                           136
+  Snooping 'Round                                70
+  Song of Loved Ones, The                       123
+  Spoiling Them                                  14
+  St. Valentine's Day                            33
+  Story-Time                                     18
+
+  Test, The                                     126
+  There Will Always Be Something to Do          119
+  Thoughts of a Father                          153
+  Tied Down                                      74
+  Tinkerin' at Home                             138
+  To the Boy                                    156
+  Tommy Atkins' Way                             180
+  Tonsils                                       163
+  Toys and Life                                 100
+  Toy-Strewn Home, The                           30
+  Tramp, The                                    133
+
+  Under the Roof Where the Laughter Rings        32
+  United States                                 105
+  Unknown Friends, The                           43
+
+  What Father Knows                              80
+  When a Little Baby Dies                       155
+  When an Old Man Gets to Thinking              140
+  When Mother Made an Angel Cake                 96
+  When My Ship Comes In                         106
+
+
+
+
+The Path to Home
+
+
+There's the mother at the doorway, and the children at the gate,
+And the little parlor windows with the curtains white and straight.
+There are shaggy asters blooming in the bed that lines the fence,
+And the simplest of the blossoms seems of mighty consequence.
+Oh, there isn't any mansion underneath God's starry dome
+That can rest a weary pilgrim like the little place called home.
+
+Men have sought for gold and silver; men have dreamed at night of fame;
+In the heat of youth they've struggled for achievement's honored name;
+But the selfish crowns are tinsel, and their shining jewels paste,
+And the wine of pomp and glory soon grows bitter to the taste.
+For there's never any laughter, howsoever far you roam,
+Like the laughter of the loved ones in the happiness of home.
+
+There is nothing so important as the mother's lullabies,
+Filled with peace and sweet contentment, when the moon begins to rise--
+Nothing real except the beauty and the calm upon her face
+And the shouting of the children as they scamper round the place.
+For the greatest of man's duties is to keep his loved ones glad
+And to have his children glory in the father they have had.
+
+So where'er a man may wander, and whatever be his care,
+You'll find his soul still stretching to the home he left somewhere.
+You'll find his dreams all tangled up with hollyhocks in bloom,
+And the feet of little children that go racing through a room,
+With the happy mother smiling as she watches them at play--
+These are all in life that matter, when you've stripped the sham away.
+
+
+
+
+Fine
+
+
+Isn't it fine when the day is done,
+And the petty battles are lost or won,
+When the gold is made and the ink is dried,
+To quit the struggle and turn aside
+To spend an hour with your boy in play,
+And let him race all of your cares away?
+
+Isn't it fine when the day's gone well,
+When you have glorious tales to tell,
+And your heart is light and your head is high.
+For nothing has happened to make you sigh,
+To hurry homewards to share the joy
+That your work has won with a little boy?
+
+Isn't it fine, whether good or bad
+Has come to the hopes and the plans you had,
+And the day is over, to find him there,
+Thinking you splendid and just and fair,
+Ready to chase all your griefs away,
+And soothe your soul with an hour of play?
+
+Oh, whether the day's been long or brief,
+Whether it's brought to me joy or grief,
+Whether I've failed, or whether I've won,
+It shall matter not when the work is done;
+I shall count it fine if I end each day
+With a little boy in an hour of play.
+
+
+
+
+Spoiling Them
+
+
+"You're spoiling them!" the mother cries
+When I give way to weepy eyes
+And let them do the things they wish,
+Like cleaning up the jelly dish,
+Or finishing the chocolate cake,
+Or maybe let the rascal take
+My piece of huckleberry pie,
+Because he wants it more than I.
+
+"You're spoiling them!" the mother tells,
+When I am heedless to their yells,
+And let them race and romp about
+And do not put their joy to rout.
+I know I should be firm, and yet
+I tried it once to my regret;
+I will remember till I'm old
+The day I started in to scold.
+
+I stamped my foot and shouted: "Stop!"
+And Bud just let his drum sticks drop,
+And looked at me, and turned away;
+That night there was no further play.
+The girls were solemn-like and still,
+Just as girls are when they are ill,
+And when unto his cot I crept,
+I found him sobbing as he slept.
+
+That was my first attempt and last
+To play the scold. I'm glad it passed
+So quickly and has left no trace
+Of memory on each little face;
+But now when mother whispers low:
+"You're spoiling them," I answer, "No!
+But it is plain, as plain can be,
+Those little tykes are spoiling me."
+
+
+
+
+An Old-Fashioned Welcome
+
+
+There's nothing cheers a fellow up just like a hearty greeting,
+A handclasp and an honest smile that flash the joy of meeting;
+And when at friendly doors you ring, somehow it seems to free you
+From all life's doubts to hear them say: "Come in! We're glad to
+  see you!"
+
+At first the portal slips ajar in answer to your ringing,
+And then your eyes meet friendly eyes, and wide the door goes flinging;
+And something seems to stir the soul, however troubled be you,
+If but the cheery host exclaims: "Come in! We're glad to see you!"
+
+
+
+
+Our House
+
+
+We play at our house and have all sorts of fun,
+An' there's always a game when the supper is done;
+An' at our house there's marks on the walls an' the stairs,
+An' some terrible scratches on some of the chairs;
+An' ma says that our house is really a fright,
+But pa and I say that our house is all right.
+
+At our house we laugh an' we sing an' we shout,
+An' whirl all the chairs an' the tables about,
+An' I rassle my pa an' I get him down too,
+An' he's all out of breath when the fightin' is through;
+An' ma says that our house is surely a sight,
+But pa an' I say that our house is all right.
+
+I've been to houses with pa where I had
+To sit in a chair like a good little lad,
+An' there wasn't a mark on the walls an' the chairs,
+An' the stuff that we have couldn't come up to theirs;
+An' pa said to ma that for all of their joy
+He wouldn't change places an' give up his boy.
+
+They never have races nor rassles nor fights,
+Coz they have no children to play with at nights;
+An' their walls are all clean an' their curtains hang straight,
+An' everything's shiny an' right up to date;
+But pa says with all of its racket an' fuss,
+He'd rather by far live at our house with us.
+
+
+
+
+A Plea
+
+
+God grant me these: the strength to do
+  Some needed service here;
+The wisdom to be brave and true;
+  The gift of vision clear,
+That in each task that comes to me
+Some purpose I may plainly see.
+
+God teach me to believe that I
+  Am stationed at a post,
+Although the humblest 'neath the sky,
+  Where I am needed most.
+And that, at last, if I do well
+My humble services will tell.
+
+God grant me faith to stand on guard,
+  Uncheered, unspoke, alone,
+And see behind such duty hard
+  My service to the throne.
+Whate'er my task, be this my creed:
+I am on earth to fill a need.
+
+
+
+
+Story-Time
+
+
+"Tell us a story," comes the cry
+  From little lips when nights are cold,
+And in the grate the flames leap high.
+  "Tell us a tale of pirates bold,
+Or fairies hiding in the glen,
+  Or of a ship that's wrecked at sea."
+I fill my pipe, and there and then
+  Gather the children round my knee.
+
+I give them all a role to play--
+  No longer are they youngsters small,
+And I, their daddy, turning gray;
+  We are adventurers, one and all.
+We journey forth as Robin Hood
+  In search of treasure, or to do
+Some deed of daring or of good;
+  Our hearts are ever brave and true.
+
+We take a solemn oath to be
+  Defenders of the starry flag;
+We brave the winter's stormy sea,
+  Or climb the rugged mountain crag,
+To battle to the death with those
+  Who would defame our native land;
+We pitch our camp among the snows
+  Or on the tropics' burning sand.
+
+We rescue maidens, young and fair,
+  Held captive long in prison towers;
+We slay the villain in his lair,
+  For we're possessed of magic powers.
+And though we desperately fight,
+  When by our foes are we beset,
+We always triumph for the right;
+  We have not lost a battle yet.
+
+It matters not how far we stray,
+  Nor where our battle lines may be,
+We never get so far away
+  That we must spend a night at sea.
+It matters not how high we climb,
+  How many foes our pathway block,
+We always conquer just in time
+  To go to bed at 9 o'clock.
+
+
+
+
+The Mother Watch
+
+
+She never closed her eyes in sleep till we were all in bed;
+On party nights till we came home she often sat and read.
+We little thought about it then, when we were young and gay,
+How much the mother worried when we children were away.
+We only knew she never slept when we were out at night,
+And that she waited just to know that we'd come home all right.
+
+Why, sometimes when we'd stayed away till one or two or three,
+It seemed to us that mother heard the turning of the key;
+For always when we stepped inside she'd call and we'd reply,
+But we were all too young back then to understand just why.
+Until the last one had returned she always kept a light,
+For mother couldn't sleep until she'd kissed us all good night.
+
+She had to know that we were safe before she went to rest;
+She seemed to fear the world might harm the ones she loved the best.
+And once she said: "When you are grown to women and to men,
+Perhaps I'll sleep the whole night through; I may be different then."
+And so it seemed that night and day we knew a mother's care--
+That always when we got back home we'd find her waiting there.
+
+Then came the night that we were called to gather round her bed:
+"The children all are with you now," the kindly doctor said.
+And in her eyes there gleamed again the old-time tender light
+That told she had been waiting just to know we were all right.
+She smiled the old-familiar smile, and prayed to God to keep
+Us safe from harm throughout the years, and then she went to sleep.
+
+
+
+
+Faces
+
+
+I look into the faces of the people passing by,
+  The glad ones and the sad ones, and the lined with misery,
+And I wonder why the sorrow or the twinkle in the eye;
+  But the pale and weary faces are the ones that trouble me.
+
+I saw a face this morning, and time was when it was fair;
+  Youth had brushed it bright with color in the distant long ago,
+And the goddess of the lovely once had kept a temple there,
+  But the cheeks were pale with grieving and the eyes were dull with woe.
+
+Who has done this thing I wondered; what has wrought the ruin here?
+  Why these sunken cheeks and pallid where the roses once were pink?
+Why has beauty fled her palace; did some vandal hand appear?
+  Did her lover prove unfaithful or her husband take to drink?
+
+Once the golden voice of promise whispered sweetly in her ears;
+  She was born to be a garden where the smiles of love might lurk;
+Now the eyes that shone like jewels are but gateways for her tears,
+  And she takes her place among us, toilers early bound for work.
+
+Is it fate that writes so sadly, or the cruelty of man?
+  What foul deed has marred the parchment of a life so fair as this?
+Who has wrecked this lovely temple and destroyed the Maker's plan,
+  Raining blows on cheeks of beauty God had fashioned just to kiss?
+
+Oh, the pale and weary faces of the people that I see
+  Are the ones that seem to haunt me, and I pray to God above
+That such cruel desolation shall not ever come to be
+  Stamped forever in the future on the faces that I love.
+
+
+
+
+The Lost Purse
+
+
+I remember the excitement and the terrible alarm
+That worried everybody when William broke his arm;
+An' how frantic Pa and Ma got only jes' the other day
+When they couldn't find the baby coz he'd up an' walked away;
+But I'm sure there's no excitement that our house has ever shook
+Like the times Ma can't remember where she's put her pocketbook.
+
+When the laundry man is standin' at the door an' wants his pay
+Ma hurries in to get it, an' the fun starts right away.
+She hustles to the sideboard, coz she knows exactly where
+She can put her hand right on it, but alas! it isn't there.
+She tries the parlor table an' she goes upstairs to look,
+An' once more she can't remember where she put her pocketbook.
+
+She tells us that she had it just a half an hour ago,
+An' now she cannot find it though she's hunted high and low;
+She's searched the kitchen cupboard an' the bureau drawers upstairs,
+An' it's not behind the sofa nor beneath the parlor chairs.
+She makes us kids get busy searching every little nook,
+An' this time says she's certain that she's lost her pocketbook.
+
+She calls Pa at the office an' he laughs I guess, for then
+She always mumbles something 'bout the heartlessness of men.
+She calls to mind a peddler who came to the kitchen door,
+An' she's certain from his whiskers an' the shabby clothes he wore
+An' his dirty shirt an' collar that he must have been a crook,
+An' she's positive that feller came and got her pocketbook.
+
+But at last she allus finds it in some queer an' funny spot,
+Where she'd put it in a hurry, an' had somehow clean forgot;
+An' she heaves a sigh of gladness, an' she says, "Well, I declare,
+I would take an oath this minute that I never put it there."
+An' we're peaceable an' quiet till next time Ma goes to look
+An' finds she can't remember where she put her pocketbook.
+
+
+
+
+The Doctor
+
+
+I don't see why Pa likes him so,
+  And seems so glad to have him come;
+He jabs my ribs and wants to know
+  If here and there it's hurting some.
+He holds my wrist, coz there are things
+  In there, which always jump and jerk,
+Then, with a telephone he brings,
+  He listens to my breather work.
+
+He taps my back and pinches me,
+  Then hangs a mirror on his head
+And looks into my throat to see
+  What makes it hurt and if it's red.
+Then on his knee he starts to write
+  And says to mother, with a smile:
+"This ought to fix him up all right,
+  We'll cure him in a little while."
+
+I don't see why Pa likes him so.
+  Whenever I don't want to play
+He says: "The boy is sick, I know!
+  Let's get the doctor right away."
+And when he comes, he shakes his hand,
+  And hustles him upstairs to me,
+And seems contented just to stand
+  Inside the room where he can see.
+
+Then Pa says every time he goes:
+  "That's money I am glad to pay;
+It's worth it, when a fellow knows
+  His pal will soon be up to play."
+But maybe if my Pa were me,
+  And had to take his pills and all,
+He wouldn't be so glad to see
+  The doctor come to make a call.
+
+
+
+
+Lines For a Flag Raising Ceremony
+
+
+Full many a flag the breeze has kissed;
+  Through ages long the morning sun
+Has risen o'er the early mist
+  The flags of men to look upon.
+And some were red against the sky,
+  And some with colors true were gay,
+And some in shame were born to die,
+  For Flags of hate must pass away.
+Such symbols fall as men depart,
+  Brief is the reign of arrant might;
+The vicious and the vile at heart
+  Give way in time before the right.
+
+A flag is nothing in itself;
+  It but reflects the lives of men;
+And they who lived and toiled for pelf
+  Went out as vipers in a den.
+God cleans the sky from time to time
+  Of every tyrant flag that flies,
+And every brazen badge of crime
+  Falls to the ground and swiftly dies.
+Proud kings are mouldering in the dust;
+  Proud flags of ages past are gone;
+Only the symbols of the just
+  Have lived and shall keep living on.
+
+So long as we shall serve the truth,
+  So long as honor stamps us fair,
+Each age shall pass unto its youth
+  Old Glory proudly flying there!
+But if we fail our splendid past,
+  If we prove faithless, weak and base,
+That age shall be our banner's last;
+  A fairer flag shall take its place.
+This flag we fling unto the skies
+  Is but an emblem of our hearts,
+And when our love of freedom dies,
+  Our banner with our race departs.
+
+Full many a flag the breezes kiss,
+  Full many a flag the sun has known,
+But none so bright and fair as this;
+  None quite so splendid as our own!
+This tells the world that we are men
+  Who cling to manhood's ways and truth;
+It is our soul's great voice and pen,
+  The strength of age, the guide of youth,
+And it shall ever hold the sky
+  So long as we shall keep our trust;
+But if our love of right shall die
+  Our Flag shall sink into the dust.
+
+
+
+
+The Toy-Strewn Home
+
+
+Give me the house where the toys are strewn,
+  Where the dolls are asleep in the chairs,
+Where the building blocks and the toy balloon
+  And the soldiers guard the stairs.
+Let me step in a house where the tiny cart
+  With the horses rules the floor,
+And rest comes into my weary heart,
+  For I am at home once more.
+
+Give me the house with the toys about,
+  With the battered old train of cars,
+The box of paints and the books left out,
+  And the ship with her broken spars.
+Let me step in a house at the close of day
+  That is littered with children's toys,
+And dwell once more in the haunts of play,
+  With the echoes of by-gone noise.
+
+Give me the house where the toys are seen,
+  The house where the children romp,
+And I'll happier be than man has been
+  'Neath the gilded dome of pomp.
+Let me see the litter of bright-eyed play
+  Strewn over the parlor floor,
+And the joys I knew in a far-off day
+  Will gladden my heart once more.
+
+Whoever has lived in a toy-strewn home,
+  Though feeble he be and gray,
+Will yearn, no matter how far he roam,
+  For the glorious disarray
+Of the little home with its littered floor
+  That was his in the by-gone days;
+And his heart will throb as it throbbed before,
+  When he rests where a baby plays.
+
+
+
+
+Kindness
+
+
+One never knows
+How far a word of kindness goes;
+One never sees
+How far a smile of friendship flees.
+Down, through the years,
+The deed forgotten reappears.
+
+One kindly word
+The souls of many here has stirred.
+Man goes his way
+And tells with every passing day,
+Until life's end:
+"Once unto me he played the friend."
+
+We cannot say
+What lips are praising us to-day.
+We cannot tell
+Whose prayers ask God to guard us well.
+But kindness lives
+Beyond the memory of him who gives.
+
+
+
+
+Under the Roof Where the Laughter Rings
+
+
+Under the roof where the laughter rings,
+  That's where I long to be;
+There are all of the glorious things,
+  Meaning so much to me.
+There is where striving and toiling ends;
+There is where always the rainbow bends.
+
+Under the roof where the children shout,
+  There is the perfect rest;
+There is the clamor of greed shut out,
+  Ended the ceaseless quest.
+Battles I fight through the heat of to-day
+Are only to add to their hours of play.
+
+Under the roof where the eyes are bright,
+  There I would build my fame;
+There my record of life I'd write;
+  There I would sign my name.
+There in laughter and true content
+Let me fashion my monument.
+
+Under the roof where the hearts are true,
+  There is my earthly goal;
+There I am pledged till my work is through,
+  Body and heart and soul.
+Think you that God will my choice condemn
+If I have never played false to them?
+
+
+
+
+St. Valentine's Day
+
+
+Let loose the sails of love and let them fill
+  With breezes sweet with tenderness to-day;
+  Scorn not the praises youthful lovers say;
+Romance is old, but it is lovely still.
+  Not he who shows his love deserves the jeer,
+  But he who speaks not what she longs to hear.
+
+There is no shame in love's devoted speech;
+  Man need not blush his tenderness to show;
+  'Tis shame to love and never let her know,
+To keep his heart forever out of reach.
+  Not he the fool who lets his love go on,
+  But he who spurns it when his love is won.
+
+Men proudly vaunt their love of gold and fame,
+  High station and accomplishments of skill,
+  Yet of life's greatest conquest they are still,
+And deem it weakness, or an act of shame,
+  To seem to place high value on the love
+  Which first of all they should be proudest of.
+
+Let loose the sails of love and let them take
+  The tender breezes till the day be spent;
+  Only the fool chokes out life's sentiment.
+She is a prize too lovely to forsake.
+  Be not ashamed to send your valentine;
+  She has your love, but needs its outward sign.
+
+
+
+
+Dr. Johnson's Picture Cow
+
+
+Got a sliver in my hand
+An' it hurt t' beat the band,
+An' got white around it, too;
+Then the first thing that I knew
+It was all swelled up, an' Pa
+Said: "There's no use fussin', Ma,
+Jes' put on his coat an' hat;
+Doctor Johnson must see that."
+
+I was scared an' yelled, because
+One time when the doctor was
+At our house he made me smell
+Something funny, an' I fell
+Fast asleep, an' when I woke
+Seemed like I was goin' t' choke;
+An' the folks who stood about
+Said I'd had my tonsils out.
+
+An' my throat felt awful sore
+An' I couldn't eat no more,
+An' it hurt me when I'd talk,
+An' they wouldn't let me walk.
+So when Pa said I must go
+To the doctor's, I said: "No,
+I don't want to go to-night,
+'Cause my hand will be all right."
+
+Pa said: "Take him, Ma," an' so
+I jes' knew I had t' go.
+An' the doctor looked an' said:
+"It is very sore an' red--
+Much too sore to touch at all.
+See that picture on the wall,
+That one over yonder, Bud,
+With the old cow in the mud?
+
+"Once I owned a cow like that,
+Jes' as brown an' big an' fat,
+An' one day I pulled her tail
+An' she kicked an' knocked the pail
+Full o' milk clean over me."
+Then I looked up there t' see
+His old cow above the couch,
+An' right then I hollered "ouch."
+
+"Bud," says he, "what's wrong with you;
+Did the old cow kick you, too?"
+An' he laughed, an' Ma said: "Son,
+Never mind, now, it's all done."
+Pretty soon we came away
+An' my hand's all well to-day.
+But that's first time that I knew
+Picture cows could kick at you.
+
+
+
+
+Compensation
+
+
+I'd like to think when life is done
+  That I had filled a needed post,
+That here and there I'd paid my fare
+  With more than idle talk and boast;
+That I had taken gifts divine,
+The breath of life and manhood fine,
+And tried to use them now and then
+In service for my fellow men.
+
+I'd hate to think when life is through
+  That I had lived my round of years
+A useless kind, that leaves behind
+  No record in this vale of tears;
+That I had wasted all my days
+By treading only selfish ways,
+And that this world would be the same
+If it had never known my name.
+
+I'd like to think that here and there,
+  When I am gone, there shall remain
+A happier spot that might have not
+  Existed had I toiled for gain;
+That some one's cheery voice and smile
+Shall prove that I had been worth while;
+That I had paid with something fine
+My debt to God for life divine.
+
+
+
+
+It Couldn't Be Done
+
+
+Somebody said that it couldn't be done,
+  But he with a chuckle replied
+That "maybe it couldn't," but he would be one
+  Who wouldn't say so till he'd tried.
+So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin
+  On his face. If he worried he hid it.
+He started to sing as he tackled the thing
+  That couldn't be done, and he did it.
+
+Somebody scoffed: "Oh, you'll never do that;
+  At least no one ever has done it";
+But he took off his coat and he took off his hat,
+  And the first thing we knew he'd begun it.
+With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,
+  Without any doubting or quiddit,
+He started to sing as he tackled the thing
+  That couldn't be done, and he did it.
+
+There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,
+  There are thousands to prophesy failure;
+There are thousands to point out to you one by one,
+  The dangers that wait to assail you.
+But just buckle in with a bit of a grin,
+  Just take off your coat and go to it;
+Just start in to sing as you tackle the thing
+  That "cannot be done," and you'll do it.
+
+
+
+
+Service
+
+
+You never hear the robins brag about the sweetness of their song,
+Nor do they stop their music gay whene'er a poor man comes along.
+God taught them how to sing an' when they'd learned the art He sent
+  them here
+To use their talents day by day the dreary lives o' men to cheer.
+An' rich or poor an' sad or gay, the ugly an' the fair to see,
+Can stop most any time in June an' hear the robins' melody.
+
+I stand an' watch them in the sun, usin' their gifts from day to day,
+Swellin' their little throats with song, regardless of man's praise
+  or pay;
+Jes' bein' robins, nothing else, nor claiming greatness for their deeds,
+But jes' content to gratify one of the big world's many needs,
+Singin' a lesson to us all to be ourselves and scatter cheer
+By usin' every day the gifts God gave us when He sent us here.
+
+Why should we keep our talents hid, or think we favor men because
+We use the gifts that God has given? The robins never ask applause,
+Nor count themselves remarkable, nor strut in a superior way,
+Because their music sweeter is than that God gave unto the jay.
+Only a man conceited grows as he makes use of talents fine,
+Forgetting that he merely does the working of the Will Divine.
+
+Lord, as the robins, let me serve! Teach me to do the best I can
+To make this world a better place, an' happier for my fellow man.
+If gift o' mine can cheer his soul an' hearten him along his way
+Let me not keep that talent hid; I would make use of it to-day.
+An' since the robins ask no praise, or pay for all their songs o' cheer,
+Let me in humbleness rejoice to do my bit o' service here.
+
+
+
+
+At the Peace Table
+
+
+Who shall sit at the table, then, when the terms
+    of peace are made--
+The wisest men of the troubled lands in their
+    silver and gold brocade?
+Yes, they shall gather in solemn state to speak
+    for each living race,
+But who shall speak for the unseen dead that shall
+    come to the council place?
+
+Though you see them not and you hear them not,
+    they shall sit at the table, too;
+They shall throng the room where the peace is
+    made and know what it is you do;
+The innocent dead from the sea shall rise to stand
+    at the wise man's side,
+And over his shoulder a boy shall look--a boy
+    that was crucified.
+
+You may guard the doors of that council hall with
+    barriers strong and stout,
+But the dead unbidden shall enter there, and never
+    you'll shut them out.
+And the man that died in the open boat, and the
+    babes that suffered worse,
+Shall sit at the table when peace is made by the
+    side of a martyred nurse.
+
+You may see them not, but they'll all be there;
+    when they speak you may fail to hear;
+You may think that you're making your pacts
+    alone, but their spirits will hover near;
+And whatever the terms of the peace you make
+    with the tyrant whose hands are red,
+You must please not only the living here, but must
+    satisfy your dead.
+
+
+
+
+Mrs. Malone and the Censor
+
+
+When Mrs. Malone got a letter from Pat
+She started to read it aloud in her flat.
+"Dear Mary," it started, "I can't tell you much,
+I'm somewhere in France, and I'm fightin' the Dutch;
+I'm chokin' wid news thot I'd like to relate,
+But it's little a soldier's permitted t' state.
+Do ye mind Red McPhee--well, he fell in a ditch
+An' busted an arrm, but I can't tell ye which.
+
+"An' Paddy O'Hara was caught in a flame
+An' rescued by--Faith, I can't tell ye his name.
+Last night I woke up wid a terrible pain;
+I thought for awhile it would drive me insane.
+Oh, the suff'rin, I had was most dreadful t' bear!
+I'm sorry, my dear, but I can't tell ye where.
+The doctor he gave me a pill, but I find
+It's conthrary to rules t' disclose here the kind.
+
+"I've been t' the dintist an' had a tooth out.
+I'm sorry t' leave you so shrouded in doubt
+But the best I can say is that one tooth is gone,
+The censor won't let me inform ye which one.
+I met a young fellow who knows ye right well,
+An' ye know him, too, but his name I can't tell.
+He's Irish, red-headed, an' there with th' blarney,
+His folks once knew your folks back home in Killarney."
+
+"By gorry," said Mrs. Malone in her flat,
+"It's hard t' make sinse out av writin' like that,
+But I'll give him as good as he sends, that I will."
+So she went right to work with her ink well an' quill,
+An' she wrote, "I suppose ye're dead eager fer news--
+You know when ye left we were buyin' the shoes;
+Well, the baby has come, an' we're both doin' well;
+It's a ----. Oh, but that's somethin' they won't let me tell."
+
+
+
+
+The Unknown Friends
+
+
+We cannot count our friends, nor say
+How many praise us day by day.
+  Each one of us has friends that he
+  Has yet to meet and really know,
+  Who guard him, wheresoe'er they be,
+  From harm and slander's cruel blow.
+They help to light our path with cheer,
+Although they pass as strangers here.
+
+These friends, unseen, unheard, unknown,
+Our lasting gratitude should own.
+  They serve us in a thousand ways
+  Where we perhaps should friendless be;
+  They tell our worth and speak our praise
+  And for their service ask no fee;
+They choose to be our friends, although
+We have not learned to call them so.
+
+We cannot guess how large the debt
+We owe to friends we have not met.
+  We only know, from day to day,
+  That we discover here and there
+  How one has tried to smooth our way,
+  And ease our heavy load of care,
+Then passed along and left behind
+His friendly gift for us to find.
+
+
+
+
+First Name Friends
+
+
+Though some may yearn for titles great, and seek the frills of fame,
+I do not care to have an extra handle to my name.
+I am not hungry for the pomp of life's high dignities,
+I do not sigh to sit among the honored LL. D.'s.
+I shall be satisfied if I can be unto the end,
+To those I know and live with here, a simple, first-name friend.
+
+There's nothing like the comradeship which warms the lives of those
+Who make the glorious circle of the Jacks and Bills and Joes.
+With all his majesty and power, Old Caesar never knew
+The joy of first-name fellowship, as all the Eddies do.
+Let them who will be "mistered" here and raised above the rest;
+I hold a first-name greeting is by far the very best.
+
+Acquaintance calls for dignity. You never really know
+The man on whom the terms of pomp you feel you must bestow.
+Professor William Joseph Wise may be your friend, but still
+You are not certain of the fact till you can call him Bill.
+But hearts grow warm and lips grow kind, and all the shamming ends,
+When you are in the company of good old first-name friends.
+
+The happiest men on earth are not the men of highest rank;
+That joy belongs to George, and Jim, to Henry and to Frank;
+With them the prejudice of race and creed and wealth depart,
+And men are one in fellowship and always light of heart.
+So I would live and laugh and love until my sun descends,
+And share the joyous comradeship of honest first-name friends.
+
+
+
+
+The Furnace Door
+
+
+My father is a peaceful man;
+He tries in every way he can
+To live a life of gentleness
+And patience all the while.
+He says that needless fretting's vain,
+That it's absurd to be profane,
+That nearly every wrong can be
+Adjusted with a smile.
+Yet try no matter how he will,
+There's one thing that annoys him still,
+One thing that robs him of his calm
+And leaves him very sore;
+He cannot keep his self-control
+When with a shovel full of coal
+He misses where it's headed for,
+And hits the furnace door.
+
+He measures with a careful eye
+The space for which he's soon to try,
+Then grabs his trusty shovel up
+And loads it in the bin,
+Then turns and with a healthy lunge,
+That's two parts swing and two parts plunge,
+He lets go at the furnace fire,
+Convinced it will go in!
+And then we hear a sudden smack,
+The cellar air turns blue and black;
+Above the rattle of the coal
+We hear his awful roar.
+From dreadful language upward hissed
+We know that father's aim has missed,
+And that his shovel full of coal
+Went up against the door.
+
+The minister was here one day
+For supper, and Pa went away
+To fix the furnace fire, and soon
+We heard that awful roar.
+And through the furnace pipes there came
+Hot words that made Ma blush for shame.
+"It strikes me," said the minister,
+"He hit the furnace door."
+Ma turned away and hung her head;
+"I'm so ashamed," was all she said.
+And then the minister replied:
+"Don't worry. I admit
+That when I hit the furnace door,
+And spill the coal upon the floor,
+I quite forget the cloth I wear
+And--er--swear a little bit."
+
+
+
+
+Out Fishin'
+
+
+A feller isn't thinkin' mean,
+  Out fishin';
+His thoughts are mostly good an' clean,
+  Out fishin'.
+He doesn't knock his fellow men,
+Or harbor any grudges then;
+A feller's at his finest when
+  Out fishin'.
+
+The rich are comrades to the poor,
+  Out fishin';
+All brothers of a common lure,
+  Out fishin'.
+The urchin with the pin an' string
+Can chum with millionaire an' king;
+Vain pride is a forgotten thing,
+  Out fishin'.
+
+A feller gits a chance to dream,
+  Out fishin';
+He learns the beauties of a stream,
+  Out fishin';
+An' he can wash his soul in air
+That isn't foul with selfish care,
+An' relish plain and simple fare,
+  Out fishin'.
+
+A feller has no time fer hate,
+  Out fishin';
+He isn't eager to be great,
+  Out fishin'.
+He isn't thinkin' thoughts of pelf,
+Or goods stacked high upon a shelf,
+But he is always just himself,
+  Out fishin'.
+
+A feller's glad to be a friend,
+  Out fishin';
+A helpin' hand he'll always lend,
+  Out fishin'.
+The brotherhood of rod an' line
+An' sky and stream is always fine;
+Men come real close to God's design,
+  Out fishin'.
+
+A feller isn't plotting schemes,
+  Out fishin';
+He's only busy with his dreams,
+  Out fishin'.
+His livery is a coat of tan,
+His creed--to do the best he can;
+A feller's always mostly man,
+  Out fishin'.
+
+
+
+
+Selling the Old Home
+
+
+The little house has grown too small, or rather we have grown
+Too big to dwell within the walls where all our joys were known.
+And so, obedient to the wish of her we love so well,
+I have agreed for sordid gold the little home to sell.
+Now strangers come to see the place, and secretly I sigh,
+And deep within my breast I hope that they'll refuse to buy.
+
+"This bedroom's small," one woman said; up went her nose in scorn!
+To me that is the splendid room where little Bud was born.
+"The walls are sadly finger-marked," another stranger said.
+A lump came rising in my throat; I felt my cheeks grow red.
+"Yes, yes," I answered, "so they are. The fingermarks are free
+But I'd not leave them here if I could take them all with me."
+
+"The stairway shows the signs of wear." I answered her in heat,
+"That's but the glorious sign to me of happy little feet.
+Most anyone can have a flight of shiny stairs and new
+But those are steps where joy has raced, and love and laughter, too."
+"This paper's ruined! Here are scrawled some pencil marks, I note."
+I'd treasured them for years. They were the first he ever wrote.
+
+Oh I suppose we'll sell the place; it's right that we should go;
+The children must have larger rooms in which to live and grow.
+But all my joys were cradled here; 'tis here I've lived my best,
+'Tis here, whatever else shall come, we've been our happiest;
+And though into a stranger's hands this home I shall resign,
+And take his gold in pay for it, I still shall call it mine.
+
+
+
+
+Daddies
+
+
+I would rather be the daddy
+  Of a romping, roguish crew,
+Of a bright-eyed chubby laddie
+  And a little girl or two,
+Than the monarch of a nation,
+  In his high and lofty seat,
+Taking empty adoration
+  From the subjects at his feet.
+
+I would rather own their kisses,
+  As at night to me they run,
+Than to be the king who misses
+  All the simpler forms of fun.
+When his dreary day is ending
+  He is dismally alone,
+But when my sun is descending
+  There are joys for me to own.
+
+He may ride to horns and drumming;
+  I must walk a quiet street,
+But when once they see me coming,
+  Then on joyous, flying feet
+They come racing to me madly
+  And I catch them with a swing,
+And I say it proudly, gladly,
+  That I'm happier than a king.
+
+You may talk of lofty places;
+  You may boast of pomp and power;
+Men may turn their eager faces
+  To the glory of an hour,
+But give me the humble station
+  With its joys that long survive,
+For the daddies of the nation
+  Are the happiest men alive.
+
+
+
+
+Picture Books
+
+
+I hold the finest picture books
+Are woods an' fields an' runnin' brooks;
+An' when the month o' May has done
+Her paintin', an' the mornin' sun
+Is lightin' just exactly right
+Each gorgeous scene for mortal sight,
+I steal a day from toil an' go
+To see the springtime's picture show.
+
+It's everywhere I choose to tread--
+Perhaps I'll find a violet bed
+Half hidden by the larger scenes,
+Or group of ferns, or living greens,
+So graceful an' so fine, I'll swear
+That angels must have placed them there
+To beautify the lonely spot
+That mortal man would have forgot.
+
+What hand can paint a picture book
+So marvelous as a runnin' brook?
+It matters not what time o' day
+You visit it, the sunbeams play
+Upon it just exactly right,
+The mysteries of God to light.
+No human brush could ever trace
+A droopin' willow with such grace!
+
+Page after page, new beauties rise
+To thrill with gladness an' surprise
+The soul of him who drops his care
+And seeks the woods to wander there.
+Birds, with the angel gift o' song,
+Make music for him all day long;
+An' nothin' that is base or mean
+Disturbs the grandeur of the scene.
+
+There is no hint of hate or strife;
+The woods display the joy of life,
+An' answer with a silence fine
+The scoffer's jeer at power divine.
+When doubt is high an' faith is low,
+Back to the woods an' fields I go,
+An' say to violet and tree:
+"No mortal hand has fashioned thee."
+
+
+
+
+Mother's Job
+
+
+I'm just the man to make things right,
+To mend a sleigh or make a kite,
+Or wrestle on the floor and play
+Those rough and tumble games, but say!
+Just let him get an ache or pain,
+And start to whimper and complain,
+And from my side he'll quickly flee
+To clamber on his mother's knee.
+
+I'm good enough to be his horse
+And race with him along the course.
+I'm just the friend he wants each time
+There is a tree he'd like to climb,
+And I'm the pal he's eager for
+When we approach a candy store;
+But for his mother straight he makes
+Whene'er his little stomach aches.
+
+He likes, when he is feeling well,
+The kind of stories that I tell,
+And I'm his comrade and his chum
+And I must march behind his drum.
+To me through thick and thin he'll stick,
+Unless he happens to be sick.
+In which event, with me he's through--
+Only his mother then will do.
+
+
+
+
+The Approach of Christmas
+
+
+There's a little chap at our house that is being mighty good--
+Keeps the front lawn looking tidy in the way we've said he should;
+Doesn't leave his little wagon, when he's finished with his play,
+On the sidewalk as he used to; now he puts it right away.
+When we call him in to supper, we don't have to stand and shout;
+It is getting on to Christmas and it's plain he's found it out.
+
+He eats the food we give him without murmur or complaint;
+He sits up at the table like a cherub or a saint;
+He doesn't pinch his sister just to hear how loud she'll squeal;
+Doesn't ask us to excuse him in the middle of the meal,
+And at eight o'clock he's willing to be tucked away in bed.
+It is getting close to Christmas; nothing further need be said.
+
+I chuckle every evening as I see that little elf,
+With the crooked part proclaiming that he brushed his hair himself.
+And I chuckle as I notice that his hands and face are clean,
+For in him a perfect copy of another boy is seen--
+A little boy at Christmas, who was also being good,
+Never guessing that his father and his mother understood.
+
+There's a little boy at our house that is being mighty good;
+Doing everything that's proper, doing everything he should.
+But besides him there's a grown-up who has learned life's bitter truth,
+Who is gladly living over all the joys of vanished youth.
+And although he little knows it (for it's what I never knew),
+There's a mighty happy father sitting at the table, too.
+
+
+
+
+The Bride
+
+
+Little lady at the altar,
+Vowing by God's book and psalter
+To be faithful, fond and true
+Unto him who stands by you,
+Think not that romance is ended,
+That youth's curtain has descended,
+And love's pretty play is done;
+For it's only just begun.
+
+Marriage, blushing little lady,
+Is love's sunny path and shady,
+Over which two hearts should wander,
+Of each other growing fonder.
+As you stroll to each to-morrow,
+You will come to joy and sorrow,
+And as faithful man and wife
+Read the troubled book of life.
+
+Bitter cares will some day find you;
+Closer, closer they will bind you;
+If together you will bear them,
+Cares grow sweet when lovers share them.
+Love unites two happy mortals,
+Brings them here to wedlock's portals
+And then blithely bids them go,
+Arm in arm, through weal and woe.
+
+Little lady, just remember
+Every year has its December,
+Every rising sun its setting,
+Every life its time of fretting;
+And the honeymoon's sweet beauty
+Finds too soon the clouds of duty;
+But keep faith, when trouble-tried,
+And in joy you shall abide.
+
+Little lady at the altar,
+Never let your courage falter,
+Never stoop to unbelieving,
+Even when your heart is grieving.
+To what comes of wintry weather
+Or disaster, stand together;
+Through life's fearful hours of night
+Love shall bring you to the light.
+
+
+
+
+An Apple Tree in France
+
+
+An apple tree beside the way,
+Drinking the sunshine day by day
+According to the Master's plan,
+Had been a faithful friend to man.
+It had been kind to all who came,
+Nor asked the traveler's race or name,
+But with the peasant boy or king
+Had shared its blossoms in the spring,
+And from the summer's dreary heat
+To all had offered sweet retreat.
+
+When autumn brought the harvest time,
+Its branches all who wished might climb,
+And take from many a tender shoot
+Its rosy-cheeked, delicious fruit.
+Good men, by careless speech or deed,
+Have caused a neighbor's heart to bleed;
+Wrong has been done by high intent;
+Hate has been born where love was meant,
+Yet apple trees of field or farm
+Have never done one mortal harm.
+
+Then came the Germans into France
+And found this apple tree by chance.
+They shared its blossoms in the spring;
+They heard the songs the thrushes sing;
+They rested in the cooling shade
+Its old and friendly branches made,
+And in the fall its fruit they ate.
+And then they turn on it in hate,
+Like beasts, on blood and passion drunk,
+They hewed great gashes in its trunk.
+
+Beneath its roots, with hell's delight,
+They placed destruction's dynamite
+And blew to death, with impish glee,
+An old and friendly apple tree.
+Men may rebuild their homes in time;
+Swiftly cathedral towers may climb,
+And hearts forget their weight of woe,
+As over them life's currents flow,
+But this their lasting shame shall be:
+They put to death an apple tree!
+
+
+
+
+Along the Paths o' Glory
+
+
+Along the paths o' glory there are faces new to-day,
+There are youthful hearts and sturdy that have found the westward way.
+From the rugged roads o' duty they have turned without a sigh,
+To mingle with their brothers who were not afraid to die.
+And they're looking back and smiling at the loved ones left behind,
+With the Old Flag flying o'er them, and they're calling "Never mind.
+
+"Never mind, oh, gentle mothers, that we shall not come again;
+Never mind the years of absence, never mind the days of pain,
+For we've found the paths o' glory where the flags o' freedom fly,
+And we've learned the things we died for are the truths that never die.
+Now there's never hurt can harm us, and the years will never fade
+The memory of the soldiers of the legions unafraid."
+
+Along the paths o' glory there are faces new to-day,
+And the heavenly flags are flying as they march along the way;
+For the world is safe from hatred; men shall know it at its best
+By the sacrifice and courage of the boys who go to rest.
+Now they've claimed eternal splendor and they've won eternal youth,
+And they've joined the gallant legions of the men who served the truth.
+
+
+
+
+Cliffs of Scotland
+
+
+Sixteen Americans who died on the Tuscania are
+buried at the water's edge at the base of the rocky
+cliffs at a Scottish port.--(News Dispatch.)
+
+Cliffs of Scotland, guard them well,
+  Shield them from the blizzard's rage;
+Let your granite towers tell
+That those sleeping heroes fell
+  In the service of their age.
+
+Cliffs of Scotland, they were ours!
+  Now forever they are thine!
+Guard them with your mighty powers!
+Barren are your rocks of flowers,
+  But their splendor makes them fine.
+
+Cliffs of Scotland, at your base
+  Freedom's finest children lie;
+Keep them in your strong embrace!
+Tell the young of every race
+  Such as they shall never die.
+
+Cliffs of Scotland, never more
+  Men shall think you stern and cold;
+Splendor now has found your shore;
+Unto you the ocean bore
+  Freedom's precious sons to hold.
+
+
+
+
+Mother's Party Dress
+
+
+"Some day," says Ma, "I'm goin' to get
+A party dress all trimmed with jet,
+An' hire a seamstress in, an' she
+Is goin' to fit it right on me;
+An' then, when I'm invited out
+To teas an' socials hereabout,
+I'll put it on an' look as fine
+As all th' women friends of mine."
+An' Pa looked up: "I sold a cow,"
+Says he, "go down an' get it now."
+An' Ma replied: "I guess I'll wait,
+We've other needs that's just as great.
+The children need some clothes to wear,
+An' there are shoes we must repair;
+It ain't important now to get
+A dress fer me, at least not yet;
+  I really can't afford it."
+
+Ma's talked about that dress fer years;
+How she'd have appliqued revers;
+The kind o' trimmin' she would pick;
+How 't would be made to fit her slick;
+The kind o' black silk she would choose,
+The pattern she would like to use.
+An' I can mind the time when Pa
+Give twenty dollars right to Ma,
+An' said: "Now that's enough, I guess,
+Go buy yourself that party dress."
+An' Ma would take th' bills an' smile,
+An' say: "I guess I'll wait awhile;
+Aunt Kitty's poorly now with chills,
+She needs a doctor and some pills;
+I'll buy some things fer her, I guess;
+An' anyhow, about that dress,
+  I really can't afford it."
+
+An' so it's been a-goin' on,
+Her dress fer other things has gone;
+Some one in need or some one sick
+Has always touched her to th' quick;
+Or else, about th' time 'at she
+Could get th' dress, she'd always see
+The children needin' somethin' new;
+An' she would go an' get it, too.
+An' when we frowned at her, she'd smile
+An' say: "The dress can wait awhile."
+Although her mind is set on laces,
+Her heart goes out to other places;
+An' somehow, too, her money goes
+In ways that only mother knows.
+While there are things her children lack
+She won't put money on her back;
+An' that is why she hasn't got
+A party dress of silk, an' not
+  Because she can't afford it.
+
+
+
+
+Little Fishermen
+
+
+A little ship goes out to sea
+As soon as we have finished tea;
+Off yonder where the big moon glows
+This tiny little vessel goes,
+But never grown-up eyes have seen
+The ports to which this ship has been;
+Upon the shore the old folks stand
+Till morning brings it back to land.
+
+In search of smiles this little ship
+Each evening starts upon a trip;
+Just smiles enough to last the day
+Is it allowed to bring away;
+So nightly to some golden shore
+It must set out alone for more,
+And sail the rippling sea for miles
+Until the hold is full of smiles.
+
+By gentle hands the sails are spread;
+The stars are glistening overhead
+And in that hour when tiny ships
+Prepare to make their evening trips
+The sea becomes a wondrous place,
+As beautiful as mother's face;
+And all the day's disturbing cries
+Give way to soothing lullabies.
+
+No clang of bell or warning shout
+Is heard on shore when they put out;
+The little vessels slip away
+As silently as does the day.
+And all night long on sands of gold
+They cast their nets, and fill the hold
+With smiles and joys beyond compare,
+To cheer a world that's sad with care.
+
+
+
+
+The Cookie-Lady
+
+
+She is gentle, kind and fair,
+And there's silver in her hair;
+She has known the touch of sorrow,
+But the smile of her is sweet;
+And sometimes it seems to me
+That her mission is to be
+The gracious cookie-lady
+To the youngsters of the street.
+
+All the children in the block
+Daily stand beside the crock,
+Where she keeps the sugar cookies
+That the little folks enjoy;
+And no morning passes o'er
+That a tapping at her door
+Doesn't warn her of the visit
+Of a certain little boy.
+
+She has made him feel that he
+Has a natural right to be
+In her kitchen when she's baking
+Pies and cakes and ginger bread;
+And each night to me he brings
+All the pretty, tender things
+About little by-gone children
+That the cookie-lady said.
+
+Oh, dear cookie-lady sweet,
+May you beautify our street
+With your kind and gentle presence
+Many more glad years, I pray;
+May the skies be bright above you,
+As you've taught our babes to love you;
+You will scar their hearts with sorrow
+If you ever go away.
+
+Life is strange, and when I scan it,
+I believe God tries to plan it,
+So that where He sends his babies
+In that neighborhood to dwell,
+One of rare and gracious beauty
+Shall abide, whose sweetest duty
+Is to be the cookie-lady
+That the children love so well.
+
+
+
+
+Pleasure's Signs
+
+
+There's a bump on his brow and a smear on his cheek
+  That is plainly the stain of his tears;
+At his neck there's a glorious sun-painted streak,
+  The bronze of his happiest years.
+Oh, he's battered and bruised at the end of the day,
+  But smiling before me he stands,
+And somehow I like to behold him that way.
+  Yes, I like him with dirt on his hands.
+
+Last evening he painfully limped up to me
+  His tale of adventure to tell;
+He showed me a grime-covered cut on his knee,
+  And told me the place where he fell.
+His clothing was stained to the color of clay,
+  And he looked to be nobody's lad,
+But somehow I liked to behold him that way,
+  For it spoke of the fun that he'd had.
+
+Let women-folk prate as they will of a boy
+  Who is heedless of knickers and shirt;
+I hold that the badge of a young fellow's joy
+  Are cheeks that are covered with dirt.
+So I look for him nightly to greet me that way,
+  His joys and misfortunes to tell,
+For I know by the signs that he wears of his play
+  That the lad I'm so fond of is well.
+
+
+
+
+Snooping 'Round
+
+
+Last night I caught him on his knees and looking underneath the bed,
+And oh, the guilty look he wore, and oh, the stammered words he said,
+When I, pretending to be cross, said: "Hey, young fellow, what's your
+  game?"
+As if, back in the long ago, I hadn't also played the same;
+As if, upon my hands and knees, I hadn't many a time been found
+When, thinking of the Christmas Day, I'd gone upstairs to snoop around.
+
+But there he stood and hung his head; the rascal knew it wasn't fair.
+"I jes' was wonderin'," he said, "jes' what it was that's under there.
+It's somepin' all wrapped up an' I thought mebbe it might be a sled,
+Becoz I saw a piece of wood 'at's stickin' out all painted red."
+"If mother knew," I said to him, "you'd get a licking, I'll be bound,
+But just clear out of here at once, and don't you ever snoop around."
+
+And as he scampered down the stairs I stood and chuckled to myself,
+As I remembered how I'd oft explored the topmost closet shelf.
+It all came back again to me--with what a shrewd and cunning way
+I, too, had often sought to solve the mysteries of Christmas Day.
+How many times my daddy, too, had come upstairs without a sound
+And caught me, just as I'd begun my clever scheme to snoop around.
+
+And oh, I envied him his plight; I envied him the joy he feels
+Who knows that every drawer that's locked some treasure dear to him
+  conceals;
+I envied him his Christmas fun and wished that it again were mine
+To seek to solve the mysteries by paper wrapped and bound by twine.
+Some day he'll come to understand that all the time I stood and frowned,
+I saw a boy of years ago who also used to snoop around.
+
+
+
+
+Bud Discusses Cleanliness
+
+
+First thing in the morning, last I hear at night,
+Get it when I come from school: "My, you look a sight!
+Go upstairs this minute, an' roll your sleeves up high
+An' give your hands a scrubbing and wipe 'em till they're dry!
+Now don't stand there and argue, and never mind your tears!
+And this time please remember to wash your neck and ears."
+
+Can't see why ears grow on us, all crinkled like a shell,
+With lots of fancy carvings that make a feller yell
+Each time his Ma digs in them to get a speck of dirt,
+When plain ones would be easy to wash and wouldn't hurt.
+And I can't see the reason why every time Ma nears,
+She thinks she's got to send me to wash my neck and ears.
+
+I never wash to suit her; don't think I ever will.
+If I was white as sister, she'd call me dirty still.
+At night I get a scrubbing and go to bed, and then
+The first thing in the morning, she makes me wash again.
+That strikes me as ridiklus; I've thought of it a heap.
+A feller can't get dirty when he is fast asleep.
+
+When I grow up to be a man like Pa, and have a wife
+And kids to boss around, you bet they'll have an easy life.
+We won't be at them all the time, the way they keep at me,
+And kick about a little dirt that no one else can see.
+And every night at supper time as soon as he appears,
+We will not chase our boy away to wash his neck and ears.
+
+
+
+
+Tied Down
+
+
+"They tie you down," a woman said,
+Whose cheeks should have been flaming red
+With shame to speak of children so.
+"When babies come you cannot go
+In search of pleasure with your friends,
+And all your happy wandering ends.
+The things you like you cannot do,
+For babies make a slave of you."
+
+I looked at her and said: "'Tis true
+That children make a slave of you,
+And tie you down with many a knot,
+But have you never thought to what
+It is of happiness and pride
+That little babies have you tied?
+Do you not miss the greater joys
+That come with little girls and boys?
+
+"They tie you down to laughter rare,
+To hours of smiles and hours of care,
+To nights of watching and to fears;
+Sometimes they tie you down to tears
+And then repay you with a smile,
+And make your trouble all worth while.
+They tie you fast to chubby feet,
+And cheeks of pink and kisses sweet.
+
+"They fasten you with cords of love
+To God divine, who reigns above.
+They tie you, whereso'er you roam,
+Unto the little place called home;
+And over sea or railroad track
+They tug at you to bring you back.
+The happiest people in the town
+Are those the babies have tied down.
+
+"Oh, go your selfish way and free,
+But hampered I would rather be,
+Yes rather than a kingly crown
+I would be, what you term, tied down;
+Tied down to dancing eyes and charms,
+Held fast by chubby, dimpled arms,
+The fettered slave of girl and boy,
+And win from them earth's finest joy."
+
+
+
+
+Our Country
+
+
+God grant that we shall never see
+  Our country slave to lust and greed;
+God grant that here all men shall be
+  United by a common creed.
+Here Freedom's Flag has held the sky
+  Unstained, untarnished from its birth;
+Long may it wave to typify
+  The happiest people on the earth.
+
+Beneath its folds have mothers smiled
+  To see their little ones at play;
+No tyrant hand, by shame defiled,
+  To them has barred life's rosy way.
+No cruel wall of caste or class
+  Has bid men pause or turn aside;
+Here looms no gate they may not pass--
+  Here every door is opened wide.
+
+Here at the wells of Freedom all
+  Who are athirst may drink their fill.
+Here fame and fortune wait to call
+  The toiler who has proved his skill.
+Here wisdom sheds afar its light
+  As every morn the school bells ring,
+And little children read and write
+  And share the knowledge of a king.
+
+God grant that we shall never see
+  Our country slave to lust and greed;
+God grant that men shall always be
+  United for our nation's need.
+Here selfishness has never reigned,
+  Here freedom all who come may know;
+By tyranny our Flag's unstained!
+  God grant that we may keep it so.
+
+
+
+
+Fatherhood
+
+
+Before you came, my little lad,
+  I used to think that I was good;
+Some vicious habits, too, I had,
+  But wouldn't change them if I could.
+I held my head up high and said:
+  "I'm all that I have need to be,
+It matters not what path I tread--"
+  But that was ere you came to me.
+
+I treated lightly sacred things,
+  And went my way in search of fun;
+Upon myself I kept no strings,
+  And gave no heed to folly done.
+I gave myself up to the fight
+  For worldly wealth and earthly fame,
+And sought advantage, wrong or right--
+  But that was long before you came.
+
+But now you sit across from me,
+  Your big brown eyes are opened wide,
+And every deed I do you see,
+  And, O, I dare not step aside.
+I've shaken loose from habits bad,
+  And what is wrong I've come to dread,
+Because I know, my little lad,
+  That you will follow where I tread.
+
+I want those eyes to glow with pride;
+  In me I want those eyes to see,
+The while we wander side by side,
+  The sort of man I'd have you be.
+And so I'm striving to be good
+  With all my might, that you may know,
+When this great world is understood,
+  What pleasures are worth while below.
+
+I see life in a different light
+  From what I did before you came;
+Then anything that pleased seemed right--
+  But you are here to bear my name,
+And you are looking up to me
+  With those big eyes from day to day,
+And I'm determined not to be
+  The means of leading you astray.
+
+
+
+
+A Choice
+
+
+Sure, they get stubborn at times; they worry and
+    fret us a lot,
+But I'd rather be crossed by a glad little boy
+    and frequently worried than not.
+There are hours when they get on my nerves
+    and set my poor brain all awhirl,
+But I'd rather be troubled that way than to be
+    the man who has no little girl.
+
+There are times they're a nuisance, that's true,
+    with all of their racket and noise,
+But I'd rather my personal pleasures be lost than
+    to give up my girls and my boys.
+Not always they're perfectly good; there are
+    times when they're wilfully bad,
+But I'd rather be worried by youngsters of mine
+    than lonely and childless and sad.
+
+So I try to be patient and calm whenever they're
+    having their fling;
+For the sum of their laughter and love is more
+    than the worry they bring.
+And each night when sweet peace settles down
+    and I see them asleep in their cot,
+I chuckle and say: "They upset me to-day, but
+    I'd rather be that way than not."
+
+
+
+
+What Father Knows
+
+
+My father knows the proper way
+  The nation should be run;
+He tells us children every day
+  Just what should now be done.
+He knows the way to fix the trusts,
+  He has a simple plan;
+But if the furnace needs repairs
+  We have to hire a man.
+
+My father, in a day or two,
+  Could land big thieves in jail;
+There's nothing that he cannot do,
+  He knows no word like "fail."
+"Our confidence" he would restore,
+  Of that there is no doubt;
+But if there is a chair to mend
+  We have to send it out.
+
+All public questions that arise
+  He settles on the spot;
+He waits not till the tumult dies,
+  But grabs it while it's hot.
+In matters of finance he can
+  Tell Congress what to do;
+But, O, he finds it hard to meet
+  His bills as they fall due.
+
+It almost makes him sick to read
+  The things law-makers say;
+Why, father's just the man they need;
+  He never goes astray.
+All wars he'd very quickly end,
+  As fast as I can write it;
+But when a neighbor starts a fuss
+  'Tis mother has to fight it.
+
+In conversation father can
+  Do many wondrous things;
+He's built upon a wiser plan
+  Than presidents or kings.
+He knows the ins and outs of each
+  And every deep transaction;
+We look to him for theories,
+  But look to ma for action.
+
+
+
+
+Back Home
+
+
+Glad to get back home again,
+Where abide the friendly men;
+Glad to see the same old scenes
+And the little house that means
+All the joys the soul has treasured--
+Glad to be where smiles aren't measured,
+Where I've blended with the gladness
+All the heart has known of sadness,
+Where some long-familiar steeple
+Marks my town of friendly people.
+
+Though it's fun to go a-straying
+Where the bands are nightly playing
+And the throngs of men and women
+Drain the cup of pleasure brimmin',
+I am glad when it is over
+That I've ceased to play the Rover.
+And when once the train starts chugging
+Towards the children I'd be hugging,
+All my thoughts and dreams are set there;
+Fast enough I cannot get there.
+
+Guess I wasn't meant for bright lights,
+For the blaze of red and white lights,
+For the throngs that seems to smother
+In their selfishness, each other;
+For whenever I've been down there,
+Tramped the noisy, blatant town there,
+Always in a week I've started
+Yearning, hungering, heavy-hearted,
+For the home town and its spaces
+Lit by fine and friendly faces.
+
+Like to be where men about me
+Do not look on me to doubt me;
+Where I know the men and women,
+Know why tears some eyes are dimmin',
+Know the good folks an' the bad folks
+An' the glad folks an' the sad folks;
+Where we live with one another,
+Meanin' something to each other.
+An' I'm glad to see the steeple,
+Where the crowds aren't merely people.
+
+
+
+
+The Dead Return
+
+
+The dead return. I know they do;
+The glad smile may have passed from view,
+The ringing voice that cheered us so
+In that remembered long ago
+Be stilled, and yet in sweeter ways
+It speaks to us throughout our days.
+The kindly father comes again
+To guide us through the haunts of men,
+And always near, their sons to greet
+Are lingering the mothers sweet.
+
+About us wheresoe'er we tread
+Hover the spirits of our dead;
+We cannot see them as we could
+In bygone days, when near they stood
+And shared the joys and griefs that came,
+But they are with us just the same.
+They see us as we plod along,
+And proudly smile when we are strong,
+And sigh and grieve the self-same way
+When thoughtlessly we go astray.
+
+I sometimes think it hurts the dead
+When into sin and shame we're led,
+And that they feel a thrill divine
+When we've accomplished something fine.
+And sometimes thoughts that come at night
+Seem more like messages that might
+Have whispered been by one we love,
+Whose spirit has been called above.
+So wise the counsel, it must be
+That all we are the dead can see.
+
+The dead return. They come to share
+Our laughter and our bit of care;
+They glory, as they used to do,
+When we are splendid men and true,
+In all the joy that we have won,
+And they are proud of what we've done.
+They suffer when we suffer woe;
+All things about us here they know.
+And though we never see them here
+Their spirits hover very near.
+
+
+
+
+My Soul and I
+
+
+When winter shuts a fellow in and turns the lock upon his door,
+There's nothing else for him to do but sit and dream his bygones o'er.
+And then before an open fire he smokes his pipe, while in the blaze
+He seems to see a picture show of all his happy yesterdays.
+No ordinary film is that which memory throws upon the screen,
+But one in which his hidden soul comes out and can be plainly seen.
+
+Now, I've been dreaming by the grate. I've seen myself the way I am,
+Stripped bare of affectation's garb and wisdom's pose and folly's sham.
+I've seen my soul and talked with it, and learned some things I never
+  knew.
+I walk about the world as one, but I express the wish of two.
+I've come to see the soul of me is wiser than my selfish mind,
+For it has safely led me through the tangled paths I've left behind.
+
+I should have sold myself for gold when I was young long years ago,
+But for my soul which whispered then: "You love your home and garden so,
+You never could be quite content in palace walls. Once rise to fame
+And you will lose the gentler joys which now so eagerly you claim.
+I want to walk these lanes with you and keep the comradeship of trees,
+Let you and I be happy here, nor seek life's gaudy luxuries."
+
+Mine is a curious soul, I guess; it seemed so, smiling in my dreams;
+It keeps me close to little folks and birds and flowers and running
+  streams,
+To Mother and her friends and mine; and though no fortune we possess,
+The years that we have lived and loved have all been rich with happiness.
+I'm glad the snowdrifts shut me in, for I have had a chance to see
+How fortunate I've been to have that sort of soul to counsel me.
+
+
+
+
+Aunty
+
+
+I'm sorry for a feller if he hasn't any aunt,
+To let him eat and do the things his mother says he can't.
+An aunt to come a visitin' or one to go and see
+Is just about the finest kind of lady there could be.
+Of course she's not your mother, an' she hasn't got her ways,
+But a part that's most important in a feller's life she plays.
+
+She is kind an' she is gentle, an' sometimes she's full of fun,
+An' she's very sympathetic when some dreadful thing you've done.
+An' she likes to buy you candy, an' she's always gettin' toys
+That you wish your Pa would get you, for she hasn't any boys.
+But sometimes she's over-loving, an' your cheeks turn red with shame
+When she smothers you with kisses, but you like her just the same.
+
+One time my father took me to my aunty's, an' he said:
+"You will stay here till I get you, an' be sure you go to bed
+When your aunty says it's time to, an' be good an' mind her, too,
+An' when you come home we'll try to have a big surprise for you."
+I did as I was told to, an' when Pa came back for me
+He said there was a baby at the house for me to see.
+
+I've been visitin' at aunty's for a week or two, an' Pa
+Has written that he's comin' soon to take me home to Ma.
+He says they're gettin' lonely, an' I'm kind o' lonely, too,
+Coz an aunt is not exactly what your mother is to you.
+I am hungry now to see her, but I'm wondering to-day
+If Pa's bought another baby in the time I've been away.
+
+
+
+
+Bread and Jam
+
+
+I wish I was a poet like the men that write in books
+The poems that we have to learn on valleys, hills an' brooks;
+I'd write of things that children like an' know an' understand,
+An' when the kids recited them the folks would call them grand.
+If I'd been born a Whittier, instead of what I am,
+I'd write a poem now about a piece of bread an' jam.
+
+I'd tell how hungry children get all afternoon in school,
+An' sittin' at attention just because it is the rule,
+An' lookin' every now an' then up to the clock to see
+If that big hand an' little hand would ever get to three.
+I'd tell how children hurry home an' give the door a slam
+An' ask their mothers can they have a piece of bread an' jam.
+
+Some poets write of things to eat an' sing of dinners fine,
+An' praise the dishes they enjoy, an' some folks sing of wine,
+But they've forgotten, I suppose, the days when they were small
+An' hurried home from school to get the finest food of all;
+They don't remember any more how good it was to cram
+Inside their hungry little selves a piece of bread an' jam.
+
+I wish I was a Whittier, a Stevenson or Burns,
+I wouldn't write of hills an' brooks, or mossy banks or ferns,
+I wouldn't write of rolling seas or mountains towering high,
+But I would sing of chocolate cake an' good old apple pie,
+An' best of all the food there is, beyond the slightest doubt,
+Is bread an' jam we always get as soon as school is out.
+
+
+
+
+The Little Woman
+
+
+The little woman, to her I bow
+  And doff my hat as I pass her by;
+I reverence the furrows that mark her brow,
+  And the sparkling love light in her eye.
+The little woman who stays at home,
+  And makes no bid for the world's applause;
+Who never sighs for a chance to roam,
+  But toils all day in a grander cause.
+
+The little woman, who seems so weak,
+  Yet bears her burdens day by day;
+And no one has ever heard her speak
+  In a bitter or loud complaining way.
+She sings a snatch of a merry song,
+  As she toils in her home from morn to night.
+Her work is hard and the hours are long
+  But the little woman's heart is light.
+
+A slave to love is that woman small,
+  And yearly her burdens heavier grow,
+But somehow she seems to bear them all,
+  As the deep'ning lines in her white cheeks show.
+Her children all have a mother's care,
+  Her home the touch of a good wife knows;
+No burden's too heavy for her to bear,
+  But, patiently doing her best, she goes.
+
+The little woman, may God be kind
+  To her wherever she dwells to-day;
+The little woman who seems to find
+  Her joy in toiling along life's way.
+May God bring peace to her work-worn breast
+  And joy to her mother-heart at last;
+May love be hers when it's time to rest,
+  And the roughest part of the road is passed.
+
+The little woman--how oft it seems
+  God chooses her for the mother's part;
+And many a grown-up sits and dreams
+  To-day of her with an aching heart.
+For he knows well how she toiled for him
+  And he sees it now that it is too late;
+And often his eyes with tears grow dim
+  For the little woman whose strength was great.
+
+
+
+
+The Father of the Man
+
+
+I can't help thinkin' o' the lad!
+  Here's summer bringin' trees to fruit,
+An' every bush with roses clad,
+  An' nature in her finest suit,
+An' all things as they used to be
+  In days before the war came on.
+Yet time has changed both him an' me,
+  An' I am here, but he is gone.
+
+The orchard's as it was back then
+  When he was just a little tyke;
+The lake's as calm an' fair as when
+  We used to go to fish for pike.
+There's nothing different I can see
+  That God has made about the place,
+Except the change in him an' me,
+  An' that is difficult to trace.
+
+I only know one day he came
+  An' found me in the barn alone.
+To some he might have looked the same,
+  But he was not the lad I'd known.
+His soul, it seemed, had heard the call
+  As plainly as a mortal can.
+Before he spoke to me at all,
+  I saw my boy become a man.
+
+I can't explain just what occurred;
+  I sat an' talked about it there;
+The dinner-bell I never heard,
+  Or if I did, I didn't care.
+But suddenly it seemed to me
+  Out of the dark there came a light,
+An' in a new way I could see
+  That I was wrong an' he was right.
+
+I can't help thinkin' o' the lad!
+  He's fightin' hate an' greed an' lust,
+An' here am I, his doting dad,
+  Believin' in a purpose just.
+Time was I talked the joy o' play,
+  But now life's goal is all I see;
+The petty thoughts I've put away--
+  My boy has made a man o' me.
+
+
+
+
+When Mother Made An Angel Cake
+
+
+When mother baked an angel cake we kids would gather round
+An' watch her gentle hands at work, an' never make a sound;
+We'd watch her stir the eggs an' flour an' powdered sugar, too,
+An' pour it in the crinkled tin, an' then when it was through
+She'd spread the icing over it, an' we knew very soon
+That one would get the plate to lick, an' one would get the spoon.
+
+It seemed no matter where we were those mornings at our play,
+Upstairs or out of doors somewhere, we all knew right away
+When Ma was in the kitchen, an' was gettin' out the tin
+An' things to make an angel cake, an' so we scampered in.
+An' Ma would smile at us an' say: "Now you keep still an' wait
+An' when I'm through I'll let you lick the spoon an' icing plate."
+
+We watched her kneel beside the stove, an' put her arm so white
+Inside the oven just to find if it was heatin' right.
+An' mouths an' eyes were open then, becoz we always knew
+The time for us to get our taste was quickly comin' due.
+Then while she mixed the icing up, she'd hum a simple tune,
+An' one of us would bar the plate, an' one would bar the spoon.
+
+Could we catch a glimpse of Heaven, and some snow-white kitchen there,
+I'm sure that we'd see mother, smiling now, and still as fair;
+And I know that gathered round her we should see an angel brood
+That is watching every movement as she makes an angel food;
+For I know that little angels, as we used to do, await
+The moment when she lets them lick the icing spoon and plate.
+
+
+
+
+The Gift of Play
+
+
+Some have the gift of song and some possess the gift of silver speech,
+Some have the gift of leadership and some the ways of life can teach.
+And fame and wealth reward their friends; in jewels are their splendors
+  told,
+But in good time their favorites grow very faint and gray and old.
+But there are men who laugh at time and hold the cruel years at bay;
+They romp through life forever young because they have the gift of play.
+
+They walk with children, hand in hand, through daisy fields and orchards
+  fair,
+Nor all the dignity of age and power and pomp can follow there;
+They've kept the magic charm of youth beneath the wrinkled robe of Time,
+And there's no friendly apple tree that they have grown too old to climb.
+They have not let their boyhood die; they can be children for the day;
+They have not bartered for success and all its praise, the gift of play.
+
+They think and talk in terms of youth; with love of life their eyes are
+  bright;
+No rheumatism of the soul has robbed them of the world's delight;
+They laugh and sing their way along and join in pleasures when they can,
+And in their glad philosophy they hold that mirth becomes a man.
+They spend no strength in growing old. What if their brows be crowned
+  with gray?
+The spirits in their breasts are young. They still possess the gift of
+  play.
+
+The richest men of life are not the ones who rise to wealth and fame--
+Not the great sages, old and wise, and grave of face and bent of frame,
+But the glad spirits, tall and straight, who 'spite of time and all its
+  care,
+Have kept the power to laugh and sing and in youth's fellowship to share.
+They that can walk with boys and be a boy among them, blithe and gay,
+Defy the withering blasts of Age because they have the gift of play.
+
+
+
+
+Toys and Life
+
+
+You can learn a lot from boys
+By the way they use their toys;
+Some are selfish in their care,
+Never very glad to share
+Playthings with another boy;
+Seem to want to hoard their joy.
+And they hide away the drum
+For the days that never come;
+Hide the train of cars and skates,
+Keeping them from all their mates,
+And run all their boyhood through
+With their toys as good as new.
+
+Others gladly give and lend,
+Heedless that the tin may bend,
+Caring not that drum-heads break,
+Minding not that playmates take
+To themselves the joy that lies
+In the little birthday prize.
+And in homes that house such boys
+Always there are broken toys,
+Symbolizing moments glad
+That the youthful lives have had.
+There you'll never find a shelf
+Dedicated unto self.
+
+Toys are made for children's fun,
+Very frail and quickly done,
+And who keeps them long to view,
+Bright of paint and good as new,
+Robs himself and other boys
+Of their swiftly passing joys.
+So he looked upon a toy
+When our soldier was a boy;
+And somehow to-day we're glad
+That the tokens of our lad
+And the trinkets that we keep
+Are a broken, battered heap.
+
+Life itself is but a toy
+Filled with duty and with joy;
+Not too closely should we guard
+Our brief time from being scarred;
+Never high on musty shelves
+Should we hoard it for ourselves.
+It is something we should share
+In another's hour of care--
+Something we should gladly give
+That another here may live;
+We should never live it through
+Keeping it as good as new.
+
+
+
+
+Being Dad on Christmas Eve
+
+
+They've hung their stockings up with care,
+And I am in my old arm chair,
+And mother's busy dragging out
+The parcels hidden all about.
+Within a corner, gaunt to see,
+There stands a barren Christmas tree,
+But soon upon its branches green
+A burst of splendor will be seen.
+And when the busy tongues grow still,
+That now are wagging with a will
+Above me as I sit and rest,
+I shall be at my happiest.
+The greatest joy man can receive
+Is being Dad on Christmas eve.
+
+Soon I shall toil with tinsel bright;
+Place here and there a colored light,
+And wheresoe'er my fingers lie
+To-morrow shall a youngster spy
+Some wonder gift or magic toy,
+To fill his little soul with joy.
+The stockings on the mantle piece
+I'll bulge with sweets, till every crease
+That marks them now is stretched away.
+There will be horns and drums to play
+And dolls to love. For it's my task
+To get for them the joys they ask.
+What greater charm can fortune weave
+Than being Dad on Christmas eve?
+
+With all their pomp, great monarchs miss
+The happiness of scenes like this.
+Rich halls to-night are still and sad,
+Because no little girl or lad
+Shall wake upon the morn to find
+The joys that love has left behind.
+Oh, I have had my share of woe--
+Known what it is to bear a blow--
+Shed sorrow's tears and stood to care
+When life seemed desolate and bare,
+Yet here to-night I smile and say
+Worth while was all that came my way.
+For this one joy, all else I'd leave:
+To be their Dad on Christmas eve.
+
+
+
+
+Little Girls
+
+
+God made the little boys for fun, for rough and tumble times of play;
+He made their little legs to run and race and scamper through the day.
+He made them strong for climbing trees, he suited them for horns and
+  drums,
+And filled them full of revelries so they could be their father's chums.
+But then He saw that gentle ways must also travel from above.
+And so, through all our troubled days He sent us little girls to love.
+
+He knew that earth would never do, unless a bit of Heaven it had.
+Men needed eyes divinely blue to toil by day and still be glad.
+A world where only men and boys made merry would in time grow stale,
+And so He shared His Heavenly joys that faith in Him should never fail.
+He sent us down a thousand charms, He decked our ways with golden curls
+And laughing eyes and dimpled arms. He let us have His little girls.
+
+They are the tenderest of His flowers, the little angels of His flock,
+And we may keep and call them ours, until God's messenger shall knock.
+They bring to us the gentleness and beauty that we sorely need;
+They soothe us with each fond caress and strengthen us for every deed.
+And happy should that mortal be whom God has trusted, through the years,
+To guard a little girl and see that she is kept from pain and tears.
+
+
+
+
+United States
+
+
+He shall be great who serves his country well.
+  He shall be loved who ever guards her fame.
+His worth the starry banner long shall tell,
+  Who loves his land too much to stoop to shame.
+
+Who shares the splendor of these sunny skies
+  Has freedom as his birthright, and may know
+Rich fellowship with comrades brave and wise;
+  Into the realms of manhood he may go.
+
+Who writes, "United States" beside his name
+  Offers a pledge that he himself is true;
+Gives guarantee that selfishness or shame
+  Shall never mar the work he finds to do.
+
+He is received world-wide as one who lives
+  Above the sordid dreams of petty gain,
+And is reputed as a man who gives
+  His best to others in their hours of pain.
+
+This is the heritage of Freedom's soil:
+  High purposes and lofty goals to claim.
+And he shall be rewarded for his toil
+  Who loves his land too much to stoop to shame.
+
+
+
+
+When My Ship Comes In
+
+
+You shall have satin and silk to wear,
+  When my ship comes in;
+And jewels to shine in your raven hair,
+  When my ship comes in.
+Oh, the path is dreary to-day and long,
+And little I've brought to your life of song,
+But the dream still lives and the faith is strong,
+  When my ship comes in.
+
+Gold and silver are pledged to you,
+  When my ship comes in;
+I pay with this promise for all you do,
+  When my ship comes in.
+Oh, fairest partner man ever had,
+It's little I've brought you to make you glad
+Save the whispered suggestion in moments sad,
+When my ship comes in.
+
+Though crowded with treasures should be her hold,
+  When my ship comes in,
+I never can pay for the charms of old,
+  When my ship comes in.
+The strength I have taken from you has fled,
+The time for the joys that you craved has sped,
+I must pay for your gold with the dullest lead,
+  When my ship comes in.
+
+Too late, too late will the treasures be,
+  When my ship comes in.
+For Age shall stand with us on the quay,
+  When my ship comes in.
+For the love you've given and the faith you've shown,
+But a glimpse of the joys that you might have known
+Will it then be yours on that day to own,
+  When my ship comes in.
+
+
+
+
+The Children
+
+
+The children bring us laughter, and the children bring us tears;
+They string our joys, like jewels bright, upon the thread of years;
+They bring the bitterest cares we know, their mothers' sharpest pain,
+Then smile our world to loveliness, like sunshine after rain.
+
+The children make us what we are; the childless king is spurned;
+The children send us to the hills where glories may be earned;
+For them we pledge our lives to strife, for them do mothers fade,
+And count in new-born loveliness their sacrifice repaid.
+
+The children bring us back to God; in eyes that dance and shine
+Men read from day to day the proof of love and power divine;
+For them are fathers brave and good and mothers fair and true,
+For them is every cherished dream and every deed we do.
+
+For children are the furnace fires of life kept blazing high;
+For children on the battle fields are soldiers pleased to die;
+In every place where humans toil, in every dream and plan,
+The laughter of the children shapes the destiny of man.
+
+
+
+
+The Comedian
+
+
+Whatever the task and whatever the risk, wherever
+    the flag's in air,
+The funny man with his sunny ways is sure to
+    be laughing there.
+There are men who fret, there are men who
+    dream, men making the best of it,
+  But whether it's hunger or death they face,
+  Or burning thirst in a desert place,
+  There is always one, by the good Lord's grace,
+Who is making a jest of it.
+
+He travels wherever his brothers go and he leaves
+    his home behind him,
+The need for smiles he seems to know; in the
+    ranks of death you'll find him.
+When some are weary and sick and faint, and
+    all with the dust are choking,
+  He dances there with a spirit gay,
+  And tints with gold what is drab and gray,
+  And into the gloom of the night and day
+He scatters his mirthful joking.
+
+He wins to courage the soul-tried men; he lightens
+    their hours of sorrow;
+He turns their thoughts from the grief that is to
+    the joy that may come to-morrow.
+He mocks at death and he jests at toil, as one
+    that is never weary;
+  He japes at danger and discipline,
+  Or the muddy trench that he's standing in;
+  There's nothing can banish his merry grin,
+Or dampen his spirits cheery.
+
+The honors of war to its heroes go; for them are
+    the pomp and glory,
+But seldom it is that the types relate a victory's
+    inside story.
+And few shall know when the strife is done and
+    the history's made hereafter,
+  How much depended on him who stirred
+  The souls of men with a cheerful word,
+  And kept them brave by a jest absurd,
+And brightened their days with laughter.
+
+
+
+
+Faith
+
+
+It is faith that bridges the land of breath
+  To the realms of the souls departed,
+That comforts the living in days of death,
+  And strengthens the heavy-hearted.
+It is faith in his dreams that keeps a man
+  Face front to the odds about him,
+And he shall conquer who thinks he can,
+  In spite of the throngs who doubt him.
+
+Each must stand in the court of life
+  And pass through the hours of trial;
+He shall tested be by the rules of strife,
+  And tried for his self-denial.
+Time shall bruise his soul with the loss of friends,
+  And frighten him with disaster,
+But he shall find when the anguish ends
+  That of all things faith is master.
+
+So keep your faith in the God above,
+  And faith in the righteous truth,
+It shall bring you back to the absent love,
+  And the joys of a vanished youth.
+You shall smile once more when your tears are dried,
+  Meet trouble and swiftly rout it,
+For faith is the strength of the soul inside,
+  And lost is the man without it.
+
+
+
+
+The Burden Bearer
+
+
+Oh, my shoulders grow aweary of the burdens I am bearin',
+An' I grumble when I'm footsore at the rough road I am farin',
+But I strap my knapsack tighter till I feel the leather bind me,
+An' I'm glad to bear the burdens for the ones who come behind me.
+It's for them that I am ploddin', for the children comin' after;
+I would strew their path with roses and would fill their days with
+  laughter.
+
+Oh, there's selfishness within me, there are times it gets to talkin',
+Times I hear it whisper to me, "It's a dusty road you're walkin';
+Why not rest your feet a little; why not pause an' take your leisure?
+Don't you hunger in your strivin' for the merry whirl of pleasure?"
+Then I turn an' see them smilin' an' I grip my burdens tighter,
+For the joy that I am seekin' is to see their eyes grow brighter.
+
+Oh, I've sipped the cup of sorrow an' I've felt the gad of trouble,
+An' I know the hurt of trudgin' through a field o'errun with stubble;
+But a rougher road to travel had my father good before me,
+An' I'm owin' all my gladness to the tasks he shouldered for me.
+Oh, I didn't understand it, when a lad I played about him,
+But he labored for my safety in the days I'd be without him.
+
+Oh, my kindly father never gave himself a year of leisure--
+Never lived one selfish moment, never turned aside for pleasure--
+Though he must have grown aweary of the burdens he was bearin';
+He was tryin' hard to better every road I'd soon be farin'.
+Now I turn an' see them smilin' an' I hear their merry laughter,
+An' I'm glad to bear the burdens for the ones that follow after.
+
+
+
+
+"It's a Boy"
+
+
+The doctor leads a busy life, he wages war with death;
+Long hours he spends to help the one who's fighting hard for breath;
+He cannot call his time his own, nor share in others' fun,
+His duties claim him through the night when others' work is done.
+And yet the doctor seems to be God's messenger of joy,
+Appointed to announce this news of gladness: "It's a boy!"
+
+In many ways unpleasant is the doctor's round of cares,
+I should not like to have to bear the burdens that he bears;
+His eyes must look on horrors grim, unmoved he must remain,
+Emotion he must master if he hopes to conquer pain;
+Yet to his lot this duty falls, his voice he must employ
+To speak to man the happiest phrase that's sounded: "It's a boy!"
+
+I wish 'twere given me to speak a message half so glad
+As that the doctor brings unto the fear-distracted dad.
+I wish that simple words of mine could change the skies to blue,
+And lift the care from troubled hearts, as those he utters do.
+I wish that I could banish all the thoughts that man annoy,
+And cheer him as the doctor does, who whispers: "It's a boy."
+
+Whoever through the hours of night has stood outside her door,
+And wondered if she'd smile again; whoe'er has paced the floor,
+And lived those years of fearful thoughts, and then been swept from woe
+Up to the topmost height of bliss that's given man to know,
+Will tell you there's no phrase so sweet, so charged with human joy
+As that the doctor brings from God--that message: "It's a boy!"
+
+
+
+
+The Finest Fellowship
+
+
+There may be finer pleasures than just tramping with your boy,
+And better ways to spend a day; there may be sweeter joy;
+There may be richer fellowship than that of son and dad,
+But if there is, I know it not; it's one I've never had.
+
+Oh, some may choose to walk with kings and men of pomp and pride,
+But as for me, I choose to have my youngster at my side.
+And some may like the rosy ways of grown-up pleasures glad,
+But I would go a-wandering with just a little lad.
+
+Yes, I would seek the woods with him and talk to him of trees,
+And learn to know the birds a-wing and hear their melodies;
+And I would drop all worldly care and be a boy awhile;
+Then hand-in-hand come home at dusk to see the mother smile.
+
+Grown men are wearisome at times, and selfish pleasures jar,
+But sons and dads throughout the world the truest comrades are.
+So when I want a perfect day with every joy that's fine,
+I spend it in the open with that little lad o' mine.
+
+
+
+
+Different
+
+
+The kids at our house number three,
+As different as they can be;
+And if perchance they numbered six
+Each one would have particular tricks,
+And certain little whims and fads
+Unlike the other girls and lads.
+No two glad rascals can you name
+Whom God has fashioned just the same.
+
+Bud's tough and full of life and fun
+And likes to race about and run,
+And tease the girls; the rascal knows
+The slyest ways to pinch a nose,
+And yank a curl until it hurts,
+And disarrange their Sunday skirts.
+Sometimes he trips them, heads o'er heels,
+To glory in their frenzied squeals.
+
+And Marjorie: She'd have more joy,
+She thinks, if she'd been born a boy;
+She wants no ribbons on her hair,
+No fancy, fussy things to wear.
+The things in which Sylvia delights
+To Marjorie are dreadful frights.
+They're sisters, yet I'd swear the name
+Is all they own that is the same.
+
+Proud Sylvia, beautiful to see,
+A high-toned lady wants to be;
+She'll primp and fuss and deck her hair
+And gorgeous raiment wants to wear;
+She'll sit sedately by the light
+And read a fairy tale at night;
+And she will sigh and sometimes wince
+At all the trials of the prince.
+
+If God should send us children nine
+To follow our ancestral line,
+I'd vow that in the lot we'd strike
+No two among them just alike.
+And that's the way it ought to be;
+The larger grows the family,
+The more we own of joy and bliss,
+For each brings charms the others miss.
+
+
+
+
+There Will Always Be Something to Do
+
+
+There will always be something to do, my boy;
+  There will always be wrongs to right;
+There will always be need for a manly breed
+  And men unafraid to fight.
+There will always be honor to guard, my boy;
+  There will always be hills to climb,
+And tasks to do, and battles new
+  From now to the end of time.
+
+There will always be dangers to face, my boy;
+  There will always be goals to take;
+Men shall be tried, when the roads divide,
+  And proved by the choice they make.
+There will always be burdens to bear, my boy;
+  There will always be need to pray;
+There will always be tears through the future years,
+  As loved ones are borne away.
+
+There will always be God to serve, my boy,
+  And always the Flag above;
+They shall call to you until life is through
+  For courage and strength and love.
+So these are things that I dream, my boy,
+  And have dreamed since your life began:
+That whatever befalls, when the old world calls,
+  It shall find you a sturdy man.
+
+
+
+
+A Boy at Christmas
+
+
+If I could have my wish to-night it would not be for wealth or fame,
+It would not be for some delight that men who live in luxury claim,
+But it would be that I might rise at three or four a. m. to see,
+With eager, happy, boyish eyes, my presents on the Christmas tree.
+Throughout this world there is no joy, I know now I am growing gray,
+So rich as being just a boy, a little boy on Christmas Day.
+
+I'd like once more to stand and gaze enraptured on a tinseled tree,
+With eyes that know just how to blaze, a heart still tuned to ecstasy;
+I'd like to feel the old delight, the surging thrills within me come;
+To love a thing with all my might, to grasp the pleasure of a drum;
+To know the meaning of a toy--a meaning lost to minds blase;
+To be just once again a boy, a little boy on Christmas Day.
+
+I'd like to see a pair of skates the way they looked to me back then,
+Before I'd turned from boyhood's gates and marched into the world of men;
+I'd like to see a jackknife, too, with those same eager, dancing eyes
+That couldn't fault or blemish view; I'd like to feel the same surprise,
+The pleasure, free from all alloy, that has forever passed away,
+When I was just a little boy and had my faith in Christmas Day.
+
+Oh, little, laughing, roguish lad, the king that rules across the sea
+Would give his scepter if he had such joy as now belongs to thee!
+And beards of gray would give their gold, and all the honors they
+  possess,
+Once more within their grasp to hold thy present fee of happiness.
+Earth sends no greater, surer joy, as, too soon, thou, as I, shall say,
+Than that of him who is a boy, a little boy on Christmas Day.
+
+
+
+
+Best Way to Read a Book
+
+
+Best way to read a book I know
+Is get a lad of six or so,
+And curl him up upon my knee
+Deep in a big arm chair, where we
+Can catch the warmth of blazing coals,
+And then let two contented souls
+Melt into one, old age and youth,
+Sharing adventure's marvelous truth.
+
+I read a page, and then we sit
+And talk it over, bit by bit;
+Just how the pirates looked, and why
+They flung a black flag to the sky.
+We pass no paragraph without
+First knowing what it's all about,
+And when the author starts a fight
+We join the forces that are right.
+
+We're deep in Treasure Island, and
+From Spy Glass Hill we've viewed the land;
+Through thickets dense we've followed Jim
+And shared the doubts that came to him.
+We've heard Cap. Smollett arguing there
+With Long John Silver, gaunt and spare,
+And mastering our many fears
+We've battled with those buccaneers.
+
+Best way to read a book I've found
+Is have a little boy around
+And take him up upon your knee;
+Then talk about the tale, till he
+Lives it and feels it, just as you,
+And shares the great adventure, too.
+Books have a deep and lasting joy
+For him who reads them to his boy.
+
+
+
+
+The Song of Loved Ones
+
+
+The father toils at his work all day,
+And he hums this song as he plods away:
+  "Heigho! for the mother and babe of three
+  Who watch at the window each night for me.
+  Their smiles are ever before my eyes,
+  And never the sound of their voices dies,
+  But ever and ever they seem to say,
+  'Love waits for you at the close of day.'"
+
+At home, a mother is heard to croon
+To a little babe, this simple tune:
+  "Heigho! for the father who toils to-day,
+  He thinks of us, though he's far away;
+  He soon will come with a happy tread,
+  And stooping over your trundle bed,
+  Your little worries he'll kiss away;
+  Love comes to us at the close of day."
+
+
+
+
+Becoming a Dad
+
+
+Old women say that men don't know
+The pain through which all mothers go,
+And maybe that is true, and yet
+I vow I never shall forget
+The night he came. I suffered, too,
+Those bleak and dreary long hours through;
+I paced the floor and mopped my brow
+And waited for his glad wee-ow!
+I went upstairs and then came down,
+Because I saw the doctor frown
+And knew beyond the slightest doubt
+He wished to goodness I'd clear out.
+
+I walked into the yard for air
+And back again to hear her there,
+And met the nurse, as calm as though
+My world was not in deepest woe,
+And when I questioned, seeking speech
+Of consolation that would reach
+Into my soul and strengthen me
+For dreary hours that were to be:
+"Progressing nicely!" that was all
+She said and tip-toed down the hall;
+"Progressing nicely!" nothing more,
+And left me there to pace the floor.
+
+And once the nurse came out in haste
+For something that had been misplaced,
+And I that had been growing bold
+Then felt my blood grow icy cold;
+And fear's stern chill swept over me.
+I stood and watched and tried to see
+Just what it was she came to get.
+I haven't learned that secret yet.
+I half-believe that nurse in white
+Was adding fuel to my fright
+And taking an unholy glee,
+From time to time, in torturing me.
+
+Then silence! To her room I crept
+And was informed the doctor slept!
+The doctor slept! Oh, vicious thought,
+While she at death's door bravely fought
+And suffered untold anguish deep,
+The doctor lulled himself to sleep.
+I looked and saw him stretched out flat
+And could have killed the man for that.
+Then morning broke, and oh, the joy;
+With dawn there came to us our boy,
+And in a glorious little while
+I went in there and saw her smile!
+
+I must have looked a human wreck,
+My collar wilted at the neck,
+My hair awry, my features drawn
+With all the suffering I had borne.
+She looked at me and softly said,
+"If I were you, I'd go to bed."
+Hers was the bitterer part, I know;
+She traveled through the vale of woe,
+But now when women folks recall
+The pain and anguish of it all
+I answer them in manner sad:
+"It's no cinch to become a dad."
+
+
+
+
+The Test
+
+
+You can brag about the famous men you know;
+  You may boast about the great men you have met,
+Parsons, eloquent and wise; stars in histrionic skies;
+  Millionaires and navy admirals, and yet
+Fame and power and wealth and glory vanish fast;
+  They are lusters that were never made to stick,
+And the friends worth-while and true, are the happy smiling few
+  Who come to call upon you when you're sick.
+
+You may think it very fine to know the great;
+  You may glory in some leader's words of praise;
+You may tell with eyes aglow of the public men you know,
+  But the true friends seldom travel glory's ways,
+And the day you're lying ill, lonely, pale and keeping still,
+  With a fevered pulse, that's beating double quick,
+Then it is you must depend on the old-familiar friend
+  To come to call upon you when you're sick.
+
+It is pleasing to receive a great man's nod,
+  And it's good to know the big men of the land,
+But the test of friendship true, isn't merely: "Howdy-do?"
+  And a willingness to shake you by the hand.
+If you want to know the friends who love you best,
+  And the faithful from the doubtful you would pick,
+It is not a mighty task; of yourself you've but to ask:
+  "Does he come to call upon me when I'm sick?"
+
+
+
+
+The Old Wooden Tub
+
+
+I like to get to thinking of the old days that are gone,
+When there were joys that never more the world will look upon,
+The days before inventors smoothed the little cares away
+And made, what seemed but luxuries then, the joys of every day;
+When bathrooms were exceptions, and we got our weekly scrub
+By standing in the middle of a little wooden tub.
+
+We had no rapid heaters, and no blazing gas to burn,
+We boiled the water on the stove, and each one took his turn.
+Sometimes to save expenses we would use one tub for two;
+The water brother Billy used for me would also do,
+Although an extra kettle I was granted, I admit,
+On winter nights to freshen and to warm it up a bit.
+
+We carried water up the stairs in buckets and in pails,
+And sometimes splashed it on our legs, and rent the air with wails,
+But if the nights were very cold, by closing every door
+We were allowed to take our bath upon the kitchen floor.
+Beside the cheery stove we stood and gave ourselves a rub,
+In comfort most luxurious in that old wooden tub.
+
+But modern homes no more go through that joyous weekly fun,
+And through the sitting rooms at night no half-dried children run;
+No little flying forms go past, too swift to see their charms,
+With shirts and underwear and things tucked underneath their arms;
+The home's so full of luxury now, it's almost like a club,
+I sometimes wish we could go back to that old wooden tub.
+
+
+
+
+Lost Opportunities
+
+
+"When I am rich," he used to say,
+"A thousand joys I'll give away;
+I'll walk among the poor I find
+And unto one and all be kind.
+I'll place a wreath of roses red
+Upon the bier of all my dead;
+I'll help the struggling youth to climb;
+In doing good I'll spend my time;
+To all in need I'll friendly be
+The day that fortune smiles on me."
+
+He never guessed that being kind
+Depends upon the heart and mind
+And not upon the purse at all;
+That poor men's gifts, however small,
+Make light some weary traveler's load
+And smooth for him his troubled road.
+He never knew or understood
+The fellowship of doing good.
+Because he had not much to spare
+He thought it vain to give his share.
+
+Yet many passed him, day by day,
+He might have helped along the way.
+He fancied kindness something which
+Belongs entirely to the rich.
+And so he lived and toiled for gold,
+Unsympathetic, harsh and cold,
+Intending all the time to share
+The burdens that his brothers bear
+When he possessed great wealth, and he
+Could well afford a friend to be.
+
+His fortune came, but, oh, too late;
+The poor about him could not wait.
+They never guessed and never knew
+The things that he had meant to do.
+Few knew how much he'd planned to give
+If God had only let him live.
+And when at last his form was cold,
+All that he'd left on earth was gold.
+A kindly name is something which
+A man must earn before he's rich.
+
+
+
+
+Patriotism
+
+
+I think my country needs my vote,
+I know it doesn't need my throat,
+  My lungs and larynx, too;
+And so I sit at home at night
+And teach my children what is right
+  And wise for them to do;
+And when I'm on the job by day
+I do my best to earn my pay.
+
+Though arguments may rage and roar;
+I grease the hinges on my door
+  And paint the porches blue;
+I love this splendid land of ours,
+And so I plant the seeds and flowers
+  And watch them bursting through.
+I never stand upon a box
+To say we're headed for the rocks.
+
+My notion of a patriot
+Is one who guards his little cot,
+  And keeps it up to date;
+Who pays his taxes when they're due,
+And pays his bills for groc'ries, too,
+  And dresses well his mate;
+He keeps his children warmly clad
+And lets them know they have a dad.
+
+The nation's safe as long as men
+Get to their work and back again
+  Each day with cheerful smile;
+So long as there are fathers who
+Rejoice in what they have to do
+  And find their homes worth while,
+The Stars and Stripes will wave on high
+And liberty will never die.
+
+
+
+
+The Tramp
+
+
+Eagerly he took my dime,
+  Then shuffled on his way,
+Thick with sin and filth and grime,
+  But I wondered all that day
+  How the man had gone astray.
+
+Not to him the dime I gave;
+  Not unto the man of woe,
+Not to him who should be brave,
+  Not to him who'd sunk so low,
+  But the boy of long ago.
+
+Passed his years of sin and shame
+  Through the filth that all could see,
+Out of what he is there came
+  One more pitiful to me:
+  Came the boy that used to be.
+
+Smiling, full of promise glad,
+  Stood a baby, like my own;
+I beheld a glorious lad,
+  Someone once had loved and known
+  Out of which this wreck had grown!
+
+Where, thought I, must lie the blame?
+  Who has failed in such a way?
+As all children come he came,
+  There's a soul within his clay;
+  Who has led his feet astray?
+
+As he shuffled down the hall
+  With the coin I'd never miss,
+What, thought I, were fame and all
+  Man may gain of earthly bliss,
+  If my child should come to this!
+
+
+
+
+The Lonely Garden
+
+
+I wonder what the trees will say,
+The trees that used to share his play,
+An' knew him as the little lad
+Who used to wander with his dad.
+They've watched him grow from year to year
+Since first the good Lord sent him here.
+This shag-bark hick'ry, many a time,
+The little fellow tried t' climb,
+An' never a spring has come but he
+Has called upon his favorite tree.
+I wonder what they all will say
+When they are told he's marched away.
+
+I wonder what the birds will say,
+The swallow an' the chatterin' jay,
+The robin, an' the kill-deer, too.
+For every one o' them, he knew,
+An' every one o' them knew him,
+An' hoppin' there from limb t' limb,
+Waited each spring t' tell him all
+They'd done an' seen since 'way last fall.
+He was the first to greet 'em here
+As they returned from year t' year;
+An' now I wonder what they'll say
+When they are told he's marched away.
+
+I wonder how the roses there
+Will get along without his care,
+An' how the lilac bush will face
+The loneliness about th' place;
+For ev'ry spring an' summer, he
+Has been the chum o' plant an' tree,
+An' every livin' thing has known
+A comradeship that's finer grown,
+By havin' him from year t' year.
+Now very soon they'll all be here,
+An' I am wonderin' what they'll say
+When they find out he's marched away.
+
+
+
+
+The Silver Stripes
+
+
+When we've honored the heroes returning from France
+  And we've mourned for the heroes who fell,
+When we've done all we can for the homecoming man
+  Who stood to the shot and the shell,
+Let us all keep in mind those who lingered behind--
+  The thousands who waited to go--
+The brave and the true, who did all they could do,
+  Yet have only the silver to show.
+
+They went from their homes at the summons for men,
+  They drilled in the heat of the sun,
+They fell into line with a pluck that was fine;
+  Each cheerfully shouldered a gun.
+They were ready to die for Old Glory on high,
+  They were eager to meet with the foe;
+They were just like the rest of our bravest and best,
+  Though they've only the silver to show.
+
+Their bodies stayed here, but their spirits were there;
+  And the boys who looked death in the face,
+For the cause had no fear--for they knew, waiting here,
+  There were many to fill up each place.
+Oh, the ships came and went, till the battle was spent
+  And the tyrant went down with the blow!
+But he still might have reigned but for those who remained
+  And have only the silver to show.
+
+So here's to the soldiers who never saw France,
+  And here's to the boys unafraid!
+Let us give them their due; they were glorious, too,
+  And it isn't their fault that they stayed.
+They were eager to share in the sacrifice there;
+  Let them share in the peace that we know.
+For we know they were brave, by the service they gave,
+  Though they've only the silver to show.
+
+
+
+
+Tinkerin' at Home
+
+
+Some folks there be who seem to need excitement fast and furious,
+An' reckon all the joys that have no thrill in 'em are spurious.
+Some think that pleasure's only found down where the lights are shining,
+An' where an orchestra's at work the while the folks are dining.
+Still others seek it at their play, while some there are who roam,
+But I am happiest when I am tinkerin' 'round the home.
+
+I like to wear my oldest clothes, an' fuss around the yard,
+An' dig a flower bed now an' then, and pensively regard
+The mornin' glories climbin' all along the wooden fence,
+An' do the little odds an' ends that aren't of consequence.
+I like to trim the hedges, an' touch up the paint a bit,
+An' sort of take a homely pride in keepin' all things fit.
+An' I don't envy rich folks who are sailin' o'er the foam
+When I can spend a day or two in tinkerin' 'round the home.
+
+If I were fixed with money, as some other people are,
+I'd take things mighty easy; I'd not travel very far.
+I'd jes' wear my oldest trousers an' my flannel shirt, an' stay
+An' guard my vine an' fig tree in an old man's tender way.
+I'd bathe my soul in sunshine every mornin', and I'd bend
+My back to pick the roses; Oh, I'd be a watchful friend
+To everything around the place, an' in the twilight gloam
+I'd thank the Lord for lettin' me jes' tinker 'round the home.
+
+But since I've got to hustle in the turmoil of the town,
+An' don't expect I'll ever be allowed to settle down
+An' live among the roses an' the tulips an' the phlox,
+Or spend my time in carin' for the noddin' hollyhocks,
+I've come to the conclusion that perhaps in Heaven I may
+Get a chance to know the pleasures that I'm yearnin' for to-day;
+An' I'm goin' to ask the good Lord, when I've climbed the golden stair,
+If he'll kindly let me tinker 'round the home we've got up there.
+
+
+
+
+When An Old Man Gets to Thinking
+
+
+When an old man gets to thinking of the years he's traveled through,
+He hears again the laughter of the little ones he knew.
+He isn't counting money, and he isn't planning schemes;
+He's at home with friendly people in the shadow of his dreams.
+
+When he's lived through all life's trials and his sun is in the west,
+When he's tasted all life's pleasures and he knows which ones were best,
+Then his mind is stored with riches, not of silver and of gold,
+But of happy smiling faces and the joys he couldn't hold.
+
+Could we see what he is seeing as he's dreaming in his chair,
+We should find no scene of struggle in the distance over there.
+As he counts his memory treasures, we should see some shady lane
+Where's he walking with his sweetheart, young, and arm in arm again.
+
+We should meet with friendly people, simple, tender folk and kind,
+That had once been glad to love him. In his dreaming we should find
+All the many little beauties that enrich the lives of men
+That the eyes of youth scarce notice and the poets seldom pen.
+
+Age will tell you that the memory is the treasure-house of man.
+Gold and fleeting fame may vanish, but life's riches never can;
+For the little home of laughter and the voice of every friend
+And the joys of real contentment linger with us to the end.
+
+
+
+
+My Job
+
+
+I wonder where's a better job than buying cake and meat,
+And chocolate drops and sugar buns for little folks to eat?
+And who has every day to face a finer round of care
+Than buying frills and furbelows for little folks to wear?
+
+Oh, you may brag how much you know and boast of what you do,
+And think an all-important post has been assigned to you,
+But I've the greatest job on earth, a task I'll never lose;
+I've several pairs of little feet to keep equipped with shoes.
+
+I rather like the job I have, though humble it may be,
+And little gold or little fame may come from it to me;
+It seems to me that life can give to man no finer joy
+Than buying little breeches for a sturdy little boy.
+
+My job is not to run the world or pile up bonds and stocks;
+It's just to keep two little girls in plain and fancy frocks;
+To dress and feed a growing boy whose legs are brown and stout,
+And furnish stockings just as fast as he can wear them out.
+
+I would not for his crown and throne change places with a king,
+I've got the finest job on earth and unto it I'll cling;
+I know no better task than mine, no greater chance for joys,
+Than serving day by day the needs of little girls and boys.
+
+
+
+
+A Good Name
+
+
+Men talk too much of gold and fame,
+And not enough about a name;
+And yet a good name's better far
+Than all earth's glistening jewels are.
+Who holds his name above all price
+And chooses every sacrifice
+To keep his earthly record clear,
+Can face the world without a fear.
+
+Who never cheats nor lies for gain,
+A poor man may, perhaps, remain,
+Yet, when at night he goes to rest,
+No little voice within his breast
+Disturbs his slumber. Conscience clear,
+He falls asleep with naught to fear
+And when he wakes the world to face
+He is not tainted by disgrace.
+
+Who keeps his name without a stain
+Wears no man's brand and no man's chain;
+He need not fear to speak his mind
+In dread of what the world may find.
+He then is master of his will;
+None may command him to be still,
+Nor force him, when he would stand fast,
+To flinch before his hidden past.
+
+Not all the gold that men may claim
+Can cover up a deed of shame;
+Not all the fame of victory sweet
+Can free the man who played the cheat;
+He lives a slave unto the last
+Unto the shame that mars his past.
+He only freedom here may own
+Whose name a stain has never known.
+
+
+
+
+Alone
+
+
+Strange thoughts come to the man alone;
+  'Tis then, if ever, he talks with God,
+  And views himself as a single clod
+In the soil of life where the souls are grown.
+'Tis then he questions the why and where,
+  The start and end of his years and days,
+  And what is blame and what is praise,
+And what is ugly and what is fair.
+
+When a man has drawn from the busy throng
+  To the sweet retreat of the silent hours,
+  Low voices whisper of higher powers.
+He catches the strain of some far-off song,
+And the sham fades out and his eyes can see,
+  Not the man he is in the day's hot strife
+  And the greed and grind of a selfish life,
+But the soul of the man he is to be.
+
+He feels the throbbing of life divine,
+  And catches a glimpse of the greater plan;
+  He questions the purpose and work of man.
+In the hours of silence his mind grows fine;
+He seeks to learn what is kept unknown;
+  He turns from self and its garb of clay
+  And dwells on the soul and the higher way.
+Strange thoughts come when a man's alone.
+
+
+
+
+Shut-Ins
+
+
+We're gittin' so we need again
+To see the sproutin' seed again.
+We've been shut up all winter long
+Within our narrow rooms;
+We're sort o' shriveled up an' dry--
+Ma's cranky-like an' quick to cry;
+We need the blue skies overhead,
+The garden with its blooms.
+
+I'm findin' fault with this an' that!
+I threw my bootjack at the cat
+Because he rubbed against my leg--
+I guess I'm all on edge;
+I'm fidgety an' fussy too,
+An' Ma finds fault with all I do;
+It seems we need to see again
+The green upon the hedge.
+
+We've been shut up so long, it seems
+We've lost the glamour of our dreams.
+We've narrowed down as people will
+Till fault is all we see.
+We need to stretch our souls in air
+Where there is room enough to spare;
+We need the sight o' something green
+On every shrub an' tree.
+
+But soon our petulance will pass--
+Our feet will tread the dew-kissed grass;
+Our souls will break their narrow cells,
+An' swell with love once more.
+And with the blue skies overhead,
+The harsh an' hasty words we've said
+Will vanish with the snow an' ice,
+When spring unlocks the door.
+
+The sun will make us sweet again
+With blossoms at our feet again;
+We'll wander, arm in arm, the ways
+Where beauty reigns supreme.
+An' Ma an' I shall smile again,
+An' be ourselves awhile again,
+An' claim, like prisoners set free,
+The charm of every dream.
+
+
+
+
+The Cut-Down Trousers
+
+
+When father couldn't wear them mother cut them down for me;
+She took the slack in fore and aft, and hemmed them at the knee;
+They fitted rather loosely, but the things that made me glad
+Were the horizontal pockets that those good old trousers had.
+
+They shone like patent leather just where well-worn breeches do,
+But the cloth in certain portions was considered good as new,
+And I know that I was envied by full many a richer lad
+For the horizontal pockets that those good old knickers had.
+
+They were cut along the waist line, with the opening straight and wide,
+And there wasn't any limit to what you could get inside;
+They would hold a peck of marbles, and a knife and top and string,
+And snakes and frogs and turtles; there was room for everything.
+
+Then our fortune changed a little, and my mother said that she
+Wouldn't bother any longer fitting father's duds on me,
+But the store clothes didn't please me; there were times they made me
+  sad,
+For I missed those good old pockets that my father's trousers had.
+
+
+
+
+Dinner-Time
+
+
+Tuggin' at your bottle,
+  An' it's O, you're mighty sweet!
+Just a bunch of dimples
+  From your top-knot to your feet,
+Lying there an' gooin'
+  In the happiest sort o' way,
+Like a rosebud peekin' at me
+  In the early hours o' day;
+Gloating over goodness
+  That you know an' sense an' clutch,
+An' smilin' at your daddy,
+  Who loves you, O, so much!
+
+Tuggin' at your bottle,
+  As you nestle in your crib,
+With your daddy grinnin' at you
+  'Cause you've dribbled on your bib,
+An' you gurgle an' you chortle
+  Like a brook in early Spring;
+An' you kick your pink feet gayly,
+  An' I think you'd like to sing.
+All you wanted was your dinner,
+  Daddy knew it too, you bet!
+An' the moment that you got it
+  Then you ceased to fuss an' fret.
+
+Tuggin' at your bottle,
+  Not a care, excepting when
+You lose the rubber nipple,
+  But you find it soon again;
+An' the gurglin' an' the gooin'
+  An' the chortlin' start anew,
+An' the kickin' an' the squirmin'
+  Show the wondrous joy o' you.
+But I'll bet you're not as happy
+  At your dinner, little tot,
+As the weather-beaten daddy
+  Who is bendin' o'er your cot!
+
+
+
+
+The Pay Envelope
+
+
+Is it all in the envelope holding your pay?
+Is that all you're working for day after day?
+Are you getting no more from your toil than the gold
+That little enclosure of paper will hold?
+Is that all you're after; is that all you seek?
+Does that close the deal at the end of the week?
+
+Is it all in the envelope holding his pay?
+Is that all you offer him day after day?
+Is that all he wins by his labor from you?
+Is that the reward for the best he can do?
+Would you say of your men, when the week has been turned,
+That all they've received is the money they've earned?
+
+Is it all in the envelope, workman and chief?
+Then loyalty's days must be fleeting and brief;
+If you measure your work by its value in gold
+The sum of your worth by your pay shall be told;
+And if something of friendship your men do not find
+Outside of their envelopes, you're the wrong kind.
+
+If all that you offer is silver and gold,
+You haven't a man in your plant you can hold.
+If all that you're after each week is your pay,
+You are doing your work in a short-sighted way;
+For the bigger rewards it is useless to hope
+If you never can see past the pay envelope.
+
+
+
+
+The Evening Prayer
+
+
+Little girlie, kneeling there,
+Speaking low your evening prayer,
+In your cunning little nightie
+With your pink toes peeping through,
+With your eyes closed and your hands
+Tightly clasped, while daddy stands
+In the doorway, just to hear the
+"God bless papa," lisped by you,
+You don't know just what I feel,
+As I watch you nightly kneel
+By your trundle bed and whisper
+Soft and low your little prayer!
+But in all I do or plan,
+I'm a bigger, better man
+Every time I hear you asking
+God to make my journey fair.
+
+Little girlie, kneeling there,
+Lisping low your evening prayer,
+Asking God above to bless me
+At the closing of each day,
+Oft the tears come to my eyes,
+And I feel a big lump rise
+In my throat, that I can't swallow,
+And I sometimes turn away.
+In the morning, when I wake,
+And my post of duty take,
+I go forth with new-born courage
+To accomplish what is fair;
+And, throughout the live-long day,
+I am striving every way
+To come back to you each evening
+And be worthy of your prayer.
+
+
+
+
+Thoughts of a Father
+
+
+We've never seen the Father here, but we have known the Son,
+The finest type of manhood since the world was first begun.
+And, summing up the works of God, I write with reverent pen,
+The greatest is the Son He sent to cheer the lives of men.
+
+Through Him we learned the ways of God and found the Father's love;
+The Son it was who won us back to Him who reigns above.
+The Lord did not come down himself to prove to men His worth,
+He sought our worship through the Child He placed upon the earth.
+
+How can I best express my life? Wherein does greatness lie?
+How can I long remembrance win, since I am born to die?
+Both fame and gold are selfish things; their charms may quickly flee,
+But I'm the father of a boy who came to speak for me.
+
+In him lies all I hope to be; his splendor shall be mine;
+I shall have done man's greatest work if only he is fine.
+If some day he shall help the world long after I am dead,
+In all that men shall say of him my praises shall be said.
+
+It matters not what I may win of fleeting gold or fame,
+My hope of joy depends alone on what my boy shall claim.
+My story must be told through him, for him I work and plan,
+Man's greatest duty is to be the father of a man.
+
+
+
+
+When a Little Baby Dies
+
+
+When a little baby dies
+And its wee form silent lies,
+And its little cheeks seem waxen
+And its little hands are still,
+Then your soul gives way to treason,
+And you cry: "O, God, what reason,
+O, what justice and what mercy
+Have You shown us by Your will?
+
+"There are, O, so many here
+Of the yellow leaf and sere,
+Who are anxious, aye, and ready
+To respond unto Your call;
+Yet You pass them by unheeding,
+And You set our hearts to bleeding!
+"O," you mutter, "God, how cruel
+Do Your vaunted mercies fall!"
+
+Yet some day, in after years,
+When Death's angel once more nears,
+And the unknown, silent river
+Looms as darkly as a pall,
+You will hear your baby saying,
+"Mamma, come to me, I'm staying
+With my arms outstretched to greet you,"
+And you'll understand it all.
+
+
+
+
+To the Boy
+
+
+I have no wish, my little lad,
+  To climb the towering heights of fame.
+I am content to be your dad
+  And share with you each pleasant game.
+I am content to hold your hand
+  And walk along life's path with you,
+And talk of things we understand--
+  The birds and trees and skies of blue.
+
+Though some may seek the smiles of kings,
+  For me your laughter's joy enough;
+I have no wish to claim the things
+  Which lure men into pathways rough.
+I'm happiest when you and I,
+  Unmindful of life's bitter cares,
+Together watch the clouds drift by,
+  Or follow boyhood's thoroughfares.
+
+I crave no more of life than this:
+  Continuance of such a trust;
+Your smile, whate'er the morning is,
+  Until my clay returns to dust.
+If but this comradeship may last
+  Until I end my earthly task--
+Your hand and mine by love held fast--
+  Fame has no charm for which I'd ask.
+
+I would not trade one day with you
+  To wear the purple robes of power,
+Nor drop your hand from mine to do
+  Some great deed in a selfish hour.
+For you have brought me joy serene
+  And made my soul supremely glad.
+In life rewarded I have been;
+  'Twas all worth while to be your dad.
+
+
+
+
+His Dog
+
+
+Pete bristles when the doorbell rings.
+  Last night he didn't act the same.
+Dogs have a way of knowin' things,
+  An' when the dreaded cable came,
+He looked at mother an' he whined
+  His soft, low sign of somethin' wrong,
+As though he knew that we should find
+  The news that we had feared so long.
+
+He's followed me about the place
+  An' hasn't left my heels to-day;
+He's rubbed his nose against my face
+  As if to kiss my grief away.
+There on his plate beside the door
+  You'll see untouched his mornin' meal.
+I never understood before
+  That dogs share every hurt you feel.
+
+We've got the pride o' service fine
+  As consolation for the blow;
+We know by many a written line
+  He went the way he wished to go.
+We know that God an' Country found
+  Our boy a servant brave an' true--
+But Pete must sadly walk around
+  An' miss the master that he knew.
+
+The mother's bearing up as well
+  As such a noble mother would;
+The hurt I feel I needn't tell--
+  I guess by all it's understood.
+But Pete--his dog--that used to wait
+  Each night to hear his cheery call,
+An' romped about him at the gate,
+  Has felt the blow the worst of all.
+
+
+
+
+Lullaby
+
+
+The golden dreamboat's ready, all her silken sails are spread,
+And the breeze is gently blowing to the fairy port of Bed,
+And the fairy's captain's waiting while the busy sandman flies
+With the silver dust of slumber, closing every baby's eyes.
+
+Oh, the night is rich with moonlight and the sea is calm with peace,
+And the angels fly to guard you and their watch shall never cease,
+And the fairies there await you; they have splendid dreams to spin;
+You shall hear them gayly singing as the dreamboat's putting in.
+
+Like the ripple of the water does the dreamboat's whistle blow,
+Only baby ears can catch it when it comes the time to go,
+Only little ones may journey on so wonderful a ship,
+And go drifting off to slumber with no care to mar the trip.
+
+Oh, the little eyes are heavy but the little soul is light;
+It shall never know a sorrow or a terror through the night.
+And at last when dawn is breaking and the dreamboat's trip is o'er,
+You shall wake to find the mother smiling over you once more.
+
+
+
+
+The Old-Fashioned Parents
+
+
+The good old-fashioned mothers and the good old-fashioned dads,
+With their good old-fashioned lassies and their good old-fashioned lads,
+Still walk the lanes of loving in their simple, tender ways,
+As they used to do back yonder in the good old-fashioned days.
+
+They dwell in every city and they live in every town,
+Contentedly and happy and not hungry for renown;
+On every street you'll find 'em in their simple garments clad,
+The good old-fashioned mother and the good old-fashioned dad.
+
+There are some who sigh for riches, there are some who yearn for fame,
+And a few misguided people who no longer blush at shame;
+But the world is full of mothers, and the world is full of dads;
+Who are making sacrifices for their little girls and lads.
+
+They are growing old together, arm in arm they walk along,
+And their hearts with love are beating and their voices sweet with song;
+They still share their disappointments and they share their pleasures,
+  too,
+And whatever be their fortune, to each other they are true.
+
+They are watching at the bedside of a baby pale and white,
+And they kneel and pray together for the care of God at night;
+They are romping with their children in the fields of clover sweet,
+And devotedly they guard them from the perils of the street.
+
+They are here in countless numbers, just as they have always been,
+And their glory is untainted by the selfish and the mean.
+And I'd hate to still be living, it would dismal be and sad,
+If we'd no old-fashioned mother and we'd no old-fashioned dad.
+
+
+
+
+The Fun of Forgiving
+
+
+Sometimes I'm almost glad to hear when I get home that they've been bad;
+And though I try to look severe, within my heart I'm really glad
+When mother sadly tells to me the list of awful things they've done,
+Because when they come tearfully, forgiving them is so much fun.
+
+I like to have them all alone, with no one near to hear or see,
+Then as their little faults they own, I like to take them on my knee
+And talk it over and pretend the whipping soon must be begun;
+And then to kiss them at the end--forgiving them is so much fun.
+
+Within the world there's no such charm as children penitent and sad,
+Who put two soft and chubby arms around your neck, when they've been bad.
+And as you view their trembling lips, away your temper starts to run,
+And from your mind all anger slips--forgiving them is so much fun.
+
+If there were nothing to forgive I wonder if we'd love them so;
+If they were wise enough to live as grown-ups do, and always go
+Along the pleasant path of right, with ne'er a fault from sun to sun,
+A lot of joys we'd miss at night--forgiving them is so much fun.
+
+
+
+
+Tonsils
+
+
+One day the doctor came because my throat was feeling awful sore,
+And when he looked inside to see he said: "It's like it was before;
+It's tonserlitis, sure enough. You'd better tell her Pa to-day
+To make his mind up now to have that little party right away."
+
+I'd heard him talk that way before when Bud was sick, and so I knew
+That what they did to him that time, to me they planned to come and do.
+An' when my Pa came home that night Ma said: "She can't grow strong
+  and stout
+Until the doctor comes an' takes her addynoids an' tonsils out."
+
+An' then Pa took me on his knee and kissed me solemn-like an' grave,
+An' said he guessed it was the best, an' then he asked me to be brave.
+Ma said: "Don't look at her like that, it's nothing to be scared about";
+An' Pa said: "True, but still I wish she needn't have her tonsils out."
+
+Next morning when I woke, Ma said I couldn't have my breakfast then,
+Because the doctors and the nurse had said they would be here by ten.
+When they got here the doctor smiled an' gave me some perfume to smell,
+An' told me not to cry at all, coz pretty soon I would be well.
+
+When I woke up Ma smiled an' said: "It's all right now"; but in my head
+It seemed like wheels were buzzing round and everywhere I looked was red.
+An' I can't eat hard cookies yet, nor use my voice at all to shout,
+But Pa an' Ma seem awful glad that I have had my tonsils out.
+
+
+
+
+At Dawn
+
+
+They come to my room at the break of the day,
+With their faces all smiles and their minds full of play;
+They come on their tip-toes and silently creep
+To the edge of the bed where I'm lying asleep,
+And then at a signal, on which they agree,
+With a shout of delight they jump right onto me.
+
+They lift up my eyelids and tickle my nose,
+And scratch at my cheeks with their little pink toes;
+And sometimes to give them a laugh and a scare
+I snap and I growl like a cinnamon bear;
+Then over I roll, and with three kids astride
+I gallop away on their feather-bed ride.
+
+I've thought it all over. Man's biggest mistake
+Is in wanting to sleep when his babes are awake;
+When they come to his room for that first bit of fun
+He should make up his mind that his sleeping is done;
+He should share in the laughter they bring to his side
+And start off the day with that feather-bed ride.
+
+Oh they're fun at their breakfast and fun at their lunch;
+Any hour of the day they're a glorious bunch!
+When they're togged up for Sundays they're certainly fine,
+And I'm glad in my heart I can call them all mine,
+But I think that the time that I like them the best
+Is that hour in the morning before they are dressed.
+
+
+
+
+Names and Faces
+
+
+I do not ask a store of wealth,
+  Nor special gift of power;
+I hope always for strength and health
+  To brave each troubled hour.
+But life would be distinctly good,
+  However low my place is,
+Had I a memory that could
+  Remember names and faces.
+
+I am not troubled by the fact
+  That common skill is mine;
+I care not that my life has lacked
+  The glory of the fine.
+But, oh, when someone speaks to me,
+  My cheeks grow red with shame
+Because I'm sure that he must see
+  That I have lost his name.
+
+Embarrassment, where'er I go,
+  Pursues me night and day;
+I hear some good friend's glad "Hello,"
+  And stop a word to say.
+His voice melodiously may ring,
+  But that's all lost on me,
+For all the time I'm wondering
+  Whoever can he be.
+
+I envy no man's talent rare
+  Save his who can repeat
+The names of men, no matter where
+  It is they chance to meet.
+For he escapes the bitter blow,
+  The sorrow and regret,
+Of greeting friends he ought to know
+  As though they'd never met.
+
+I do not ask a store of gold,
+  High station here, or fame;
+I have no burning wish to hold
+  The popular acclaim;
+Life's lanes I'd gladly journey through,
+  Nor mind the stony places,
+Could I but do as others do
+  And know men's names and faces!
+
+
+
+
+Pleasing Dad
+
+
+When I was but a little lad, not more than two or three,
+I noticed in a general way my dad was proud of me.
+He liked the little ways I had, the simple things I said;
+Sometimes he gave me words of praise, sometimes he stroked my head;
+And when I'd done a thing worth while, the thought that made me glad
+Was always that I'd done my best, and that would please my dad.
+
+I can look back to-day and see how proud he used to be
+When I'd come home from school and say they'd recommended me.
+I didn't understand it then, for school boys never do,
+But in a vague and general way it seems to me I knew
+That father took great pride in me, and wanted me to shine,
+And that it meant a lot to him when I'd done something fine.
+
+Then one day out of school I went, amid the great world's hum,
+An office boy, and father watched each night to see me come.
+And I recall how proud he was of me that wondrous day
+When I could tell him that, unasked, the firm had raised my pay.
+I still can feel that hug he gave, I understand the joy
+It meant to him to learn that men were trusting in his boy.
+
+I wonder will it please my dad? How oft the thought occurs
+When I am stumbling on the paths, beset with briars and burrs!
+He isn't here to see me now, alone my race I run,
+And yet some day I'll go to him and tell him all I've done.
+And oh I pray that when we meet beyond life's stormy sea
+That he may claim the old-time joy of being proud of me.
+
+
+
+
+Living Flowers
+
+
+"I'm never alone in the garden," he said. "I'm
+    never alone with the flowers.
+It seems like I'm meeting the wonderful dead
+    out here with these blossoms of ours.
+An' there's never a bush or a plant or a tree, but
+    somebody loved it of old.
+An' the souls of the angels come talkin' to me
+    through the petals of crimson an' gold.
+
+"The lilacs in spring bring the mother once more,
+    an' she lives in the midsummer rose.
+She smiles in the peony clump at the door, an'
+    sings when the four o'clocks close.
+She loved every blossom God gave us to own, an'
+    daily she gave it her care.
+So never I walk in the garden alone, for I feel
+    that the mother's still there.
+
+"These are the pinks that a baby once kissed,
+    still spicy with fragrance an' fair.
+The years have been long since her laughter I've
+    missed, but her spirit is hovering there.
+The roses that ramble and twine on the wall were
+    planted by one that was kind
+An' I'm sure as I stand here an' gaze on them all,
+    that his soul has still lingered behind.
+
+"I'm never alone in the garden," he said, "I
+    have many to talk with an' see,
+For never a flower comes to bloom in its bed, but
+    it brings back a loved one to me.
+An' I fancy whenever I'm bendin' above these
+    blossoms of crimson an' gold,
+That I'm seein' an' hearin' the ones that I love,
+    who lived in the glad days of old."
+
+
+
+
+The Common Joys
+
+
+These joys are free to all who live,
+  The rich and poor, the great and low:
+The charms which kindness has to give,
+  The smiles which friendship may bestow,
+The honor of a well-spent life,
+  The glory of a purpose true,
+High courage in the stress of strife,
+  And peace when every task is through.
+
+Nor class nor caste nor race nor creed,
+  Nor greater might can take away
+The splendor of an honest deed.
+  Who nobly serves from day to day
+Shall walk the road of life with pride,
+  With friends who recognize his worth,
+For never are these joys denied
+  Unto the humblest man on earth.
+
+Not all may rise to world-wide fame,
+  Not all may gather fortune's gold,
+Not all life's luxuries may claim;
+  In differing ways success is told.
+But all may know the peace of mind
+  Which comes from service brave and true;
+The poorest man can still be kind,
+  And nobly live till life is through.
+
+These joys abound for one and all:
+  The pride of fearing no man's scorn,
+Of standing firm, where others fall,
+  Of bearing well what must be borne.
+He that shall do an honest deed
+  Shall win an honest deed's rewards;
+For these, no matter race or creed,
+  Life unto every man affords.
+
+
+
+
+His Example
+
+
+There are little eyes upon you, and they're watching night and day;
+There are little ears that quickly take in every word you say;
+There are little hands all eager to do everything you do,
+And a little boy that's dreaming of the day he'll be like you.
+
+You're the little fellow's idol, you're the wisest of the wise;
+In his little mind about you no suspicions ever rise;
+He believes in you devoutly, holds that all you say and do
+He will say and do in your way when he's grown up just like you.
+
+Oh, it sometimes makes me shudder when I hear my boy repeat
+Some careless phrase I've uttered in the language of the street;
+And it sets my heart to grieving when some little fault I see
+And I know beyond all doubting that he picked it up from me.
+
+There's a wide-eyed little fellow who believes you're always right,
+And his ears are always open and he watches day and night;
+You are setting an example every day in all you do
+For the little boy who's waiting to grow up to be like you.
+
+
+
+
+The Change-Worker
+
+
+A feller don't start in to think of himself, an'
+    the part that he's playin' down here,
+When there's nobody lookin' to him fer support,
+    an' he don't give a thought to next year.
+His faults don't seem big an' his habits no worse
+    than a whole lot of others he knows,
+An' he don't seem to care what his neighbors may
+    say, as heedlessly forward he goes.
+He don't stop to think if it's wrong or it's right;
+    with his speech he is careless or glib,
+Till the minute the nurse lets him into the room
+    to see what's asleep in the crib.
+
+An' then as he looks at that bundle o' red, an' the
+    wee little fingers an' toes,
+An' he knows it's his flesh an' his blood that is there,
+    an' will be just like him when it grows,
+It comes in a flash to a feller right then, there is
+    more here than pleasure or pelf,
+An' the sort of a man his baby will be is the sort
+    of a man he's himself.
+Then he kisses the mother an' kisses the child, an'
+    goes out determined that he
+Will endeavor to be just the sort of a man that
+    he's wantin' his baby to be.
+
+A feller don't think that it matters so much what
+    he does till a baby arrives;
+He sows his wild oats an' he has his gay fling an'
+    headlong in pleasure he dives;
+An' a drink more or less doesn't matter much
+    then, for life is a comedy gay,
+But the moment a crib is put in the home, an' a
+    baby has come there to stay,
+He thinks of the things he has done in the past,
+    an' it strikes him as hard as a blow,
+That the path he has trod in the past is a path
+    that he don't want his baby to go.
+
+I ain't much to preach, an' I can't just express
+    in the way that your clever men can
+The thoughts that I think, but it seems to me now
+    that when God wants to rescue a man
+From himself an' the follies that harmless appear,
+    but which, under the surface, are grim,
+He summons the angel of infancy sweet, an' sends
+    down a baby to him.
+For in that way He opens his eyes to himself, and
+    He gives him the vision to see
+That his duty's to be just the sort of a man that
+    he's wantin' his baby to be.
+
+
+
+
+A Convalescin' Woman
+
+
+A convalescin' woman does the strangest sort o' things,
+An' it's wonderful the courage that a little new strength brings;
+O, it's never safe to leave her for an hour or two alone,
+Or you'll find th' doctor's good work has been quickly overthrown.
+There's that wife o' mine, I reckon she's a sample of 'em all;
+She's been mighty sick, I tell you, an' to-day can scarcely crawl,
+But I left her jes' this mornin' while I fought potater bugs,
+An' I got back home an' caught her in the back yard shakin' rugs.
+
+I ain't often cross with Nellie, an' I let her have her way,
+But it made me mad as thunder when I got back home to-day
+An' found her doin' labor that'd tax a big man's strength;
+An' I guess I lost my temper, for I scolded her at length,
+'Til I seen her teardrops fallin' an' she said: "I couldn't stand
+To see those rugs so dirty, so I took 'em all in hand,
+An' it ain't hurt me nuther--see, I'm gettin' strong again--"
+An' I said: "Doggone it! can't ye leave sich work as that fer men?"
+
+Once I had her in a hospittle fer weeks an' weeks an' weeks,
+An' she wasted most to nothin', an' th' roses left her cheeks;
+An' one night I feared I'd lose her; 'twas the turnin' point, I guess,
+Coz th' next day I remember that th' doctor said: "Success!"
+Well, I brought her home an' told her that for two months she must stay
+A-sittin' in her rocker an' jes' watch th' kids at play.
+An' th' first week she was patient, but I mind the way I swore
+On th' day when I discovered 'at she'd scrubbed th' kitchen floor.
+
+O, you can't keep wimmin quiet, an' they ain't a bit like men;
+They're hungerin' every minute jes' to get to work again;
+An' you've got to watch 'em allus, when you know they're weak an' ill,
+Coz th' minute that yer back is turned they'll labor fit to kill.
+Th' house ain't cleaned to suit 'em an' they seem to fret an' fume
+'Less they're busy doin' somethin' with a mop or else a broom;
+An' it ain't no use to scold 'em an' it ain't no use to swear,
+Coz th' next time they will do it jes' the minute you ain't there.
+
+
+
+
+The Doubtful To-Morrow
+
+
+Whenever I walk through God's Acres of Dead
+I wonder how often the mute voices said:
+"I will do a kind deed or will lighten a sorrow
+Or rise to a sacrifice splendid--to-morrow."
+
+I wonder how many fine thoughts unexpressed
+Were lost to the world when they went to their rest;
+I wonder what beautiful deeds they'd have done
+If they had but witnessed to-morrow's bright sun.
+
+Oh, if the dead grieve, it is not for their fate,
+For death comes to all of us early or late,
+But their sighs of regret and their burdens of sorrow
+Are born of the joys they'd have scattered to-morrow.
+
+Do the friends they'd have cheered know the thoughts of the dead?
+Do they treasure to-day the last words that were said?
+What mem'ries would sweeten, what hearts cease to burn,
+If but for a day the dead friends could return!
+
+We know not the hour that our summons shall come;
+We know not the time that our voice shall be dumb,
+Yet even as they, to our ultimate sorrow,
+We leave much that's fine for that doubtful to-morrow.
+
+
+
+
+Tommy Atkins' Way
+
+
+He was battle-scarred and ugly with the marks of shot and shell,
+And we knew that British Tommy had a stirring tale to tell,
+So we asked him where he got it and what disarranged his face,
+And he answered, blushing scarlet: "In a nawsty little place."
+
+There were medals on his jacket, but he wouldn't tell us why.
+"A bit lucky, gettin' this one," was the sum of his reply.
+He had fought a horde of Prussians with his back against the wall,
+And he told us, when we questioned: "H'it was nothing arfter h'all."
+
+Not a word of what he'd suffered, not a word of what he'd seen,
+Not a word about the fury of the hell through which he'd been.
+All he said was: "When you're cornered, h'and you've got no plyce to go,
+You've just got to stand up to it! You cawn't 'elp yourself, you know.
+
+"H'it was just a bit unpleasant, when the shells were droppin' thick,"
+And he tapped his leather leggins with his little bamboo stick.
+"What did H'I do? Nothing, really! Nothing more than just my share;
+Some one h'else would gladly do it, but H'I 'appened to be there."
+
+When this sturdy British Tommy quits the battlefields of earth
+And St. Peter asks his spirit to recount his deeds of worth,
+I fancy I can hear him, with his curious English drawl,
+Saying: "Nothing, nothing really, that's worth mentioning at h'all."
+
+
+
+
+The Right Family
+
+
+With time our notions allus change,
+An' years make old idees seem strange--
+Take Mary there--time was when she
+Thought one child made a family,
+An' when our eldest, Jim, was born
+She used to say, both night an' morn':
+"One little one to love an' keep,
+To guard awake, an' watch asleep;
+To bring up right an' lead him through
+Life's path is all we ought to do."
+
+Two years from then our Jennie came,
+But Mary didn't talk the same;
+"Now that's just right," she said to me,
+"We've got the proper family--
+A boy an' girl, God sure is good;
+It seems as though He understood
+That I've been hopin' every way
+To have a little girl some day;
+Sometimes I've prayed the whole night through--
+One ain't enough; we needed two."
+
+Then as the months went rollin' on,
+One day the stork brought little John,
+An' Mary smiled an' said to me;
+"The proper family is three;
+Two boys, a girl to romp an' play--
+Jus' work enough to fill the day.
+I never had enough to do,
+The months that we had only two;
+Three's jus' right, pa, we don't want more."
+Still time went on an' we had four.
+
+An' that was years ago, I vow,
+An' we have six fine children now;
+An' Mary's plumb forgot the day
+She used to sit an' sweetly say
+That one child was enough for her
+To love an' give the proper care;
+One, two or three or four or five--
+Why, goodness gracious, sakes alive,
+If God should send her ten to-night,
+She'd vow her fam'ly was jus' right!
+
+
+
+
+A Lesson from Golf
+
+
+He couldn't use his driver any better on the tee
+Than the chap that he was licking, who just happened to be me;
+I could hit them with a brassie just as straight and just as far,
+But I piled up several sevens while he made a few in par;
+And he trimmed me to a finish, and I know the reason why:
+He could keep his temper better when he dubbed a shot than I.
+
+His mashie stroke is choppy, without any follow through;
+I doubt if he will ever, on a short hole, cop a two,
+But his putts are straight and deadly, and he doesn't even frown
+When he's tried to hole a long one and just fails to get it down.
+On the fourteenth green I faded; there he put me on the shelf,
+And it's not to his discredit when I say I licked myself.
+
+He never whined or whimpered when a shot of his went wrong;
+Never kicked about his troubles, but just plodded right along.
+When he flubbed an easy iron, though I knew that he was vexed,
+He merely shrugged his shoulders, and then coolly played the next,
+While I flew into a frenzy over every dub I made
+And was loud in my complaining at the dismal game I played.
+
+Golf is like the game of living; it will show up what you are;
+If you take your troubles badly you will never play to par.
+You may be a fine performer when your skies are bright and blue
+But disaster is the acid that shall prove the worth of you;
+So just meet your disappointments with a cheery sort of grin,
+For the man who keeps his temper is the man that's sure to win.
+
+
+
+
+Father's Chore
+
+
+My Pa can hit his thumbnail with a hammer and keep still;
+  He can cut himself while shaving an' not swear;
+If a ladder slips beneath him an' he gets a nasty spill
+  He can smile as though he really didn't care.
+But the pan beneath the ice-box--when he goes to empty that--
+  Then a sound-proof room the children have to hunt;
+For we have a sad few minutes in our very pleasant flat
+  When the water in it splashes down his front.
+
+My Pa believes his temper should be all the time controlled;
+  He doesn't rave at every little thing;
+When his collar-button underneath the chiffonier has rolled
+  A snatch of merry ragtime he will sing.
+But the pan beneath the ice box--when to empty that he goes--
+  As he stoops to drag it out we hear a grunt;
+From the kitchen comes a rumble, an' then everybody knows
+  That he splashed the water in it down his front.
+
+Now the distance from the ice box to the sink's not very far--
+  I'm sure it isn't over twenty feet--
+But though very short the journey, it is long enough for Pa
+  As he travels it disaster grim to meet.
+And it's seldom that he makes it without accident, although
+  In the summer time it is his nightly stunt;
+And he says a lot of language that no gentleman should know
+  When the water in it splashes down his front.
+
+
+
+
+The March o' Man
+
+
+Down to work o' mornings, an' back to home at nights,
+Down to hours o' labor, an' home to sweet delights;
+Down to care an' trouble, an' home to love an' rest,
+With every day a good one, an' every evening blest.
+
+Down to dreary dollars, an' back to home to play,
+From love to work an' back to love, so slips the day away.
+From babies back to business an' back to babes again,
+From parting kiss to welcome kiss, this marks the march o' men.
+
+Some care between our laughter, a few hours filled with strife,
+A time to stand on duty, then home to babes and wife;
+The bugle sounds o' mornings to call us to the fray,
+But sweet an' low 'tis love that calls us home at close o' day.
+
+
+
+
+INDEX OF FIRST LINES
+
+
+  A convalescin' woman does the strangest sort o' things,  176
+  A feller don't start in to think of himself,             174
+  A feller isn't thinkin' mean out fishin',                 48
+  A little ship goes out to sea,                            66
+  Along the paths o' glory there are faces new to-day,      61
+  An apple tree beside the way,                             60
+  Before you came, my little lad,                           77
+  Best way to read a book I know,                          122
+  Cliffs of Scotland, guard them well,                      63
+  Down to work o' mornings an' back to home at nights,     188
+  Eagerly he took my dime,                                 133
+  First thing in the morning, last I hear at night,         72
+  Full many a flag the breeze has kissed,                   28
+  Give me the house where the toys are strewn,              30
+  Glad to get back home again,                              82
+  God grant me these: the strength to do,                   17
+  God grant that we shall never see,                        76
+  God made the little boys for fun,                        103
+  Got a sliver in my hand,                                  34
+  He couldn't use his driver any better on the tee,        184
+  He shall be great who serves his country well,           105
+  He was battle-scarred and ugly,                          180
+  I can't help thinkin' o' the lad,                         94
+  I do not ask a store of wealth,                          166
+  I don't see why Pa likes him so,                          26
+  I have no wish, my little lad,                           156
+  I hold the finest picture books,                          53
+  I like to get to thinking of the old days
+    that are gone,                                         128
+  I look into the faces of the people passing by,           22
+  I remember the excitement and the terrible alarm,         24
+  I think my country needs my vote,                        131
+  I wish I was a poet like the men that write in books,     90
+  I wonder what the trees will say,                        134
+  I wonder where's a better job than buying
+    cake and meat,                                         142
+  I would rather be the daddy,                              52
+  I'd like to think when life is done,                      36
+  If I could have my wish to-night,                        120
+  I'm just the man to make things right,                    55
+  "I'm never alone in the garden," he said,                170
+  I'm sorry for a feller if he hasn't any aunt,             88
+  Is it all in the envelope holding your pay?              150
+  Isn't it fine when the day is done,                       13
+  It is faith that bridges the land of breath,             111
+  Last night I caught him on his knees,                     70
+  Let loose the sails of love and let them fill,            33
+  Little girlie, kneeling there,                           152
+  Little lady at the altar,                                 58
+  Men talk too much of gold and fame,                      143
+  My father is a peaceful man,                              46
+  My father knows the proper way,                           80
+  My Pa can hit his thumbnail,                             186
+  Oh, my shoulders grow aweary,                            112
+  Old women say that men don't know,                       124
+  One day the doctor came because my throat
+    was feeling awful sore,                                163
+  One never knows how far a word of kindness goes,          31
+  Pete bristles when the doorbell rings,                   157
+  She is gentle, kind and fair,                             67
+  She never closed her eyes in sleep,                       20
+  "Some day," says Ma, "I'm goin' to get,                   64
+  Some folks there be who seem to need excitement,         138
+  Some have the gift of song,                               98
+  Somebody said that it couldn't be done,                   37
+  Sometimes I'm almost glad to hear,                       162
+  Strange thoughts come to the man alone,                  145
+  Sure, they get stubborn at times,                         79
+  "Tell us a story," comes the cry,                         18
+  The children bring us laughter,                          108
+  The dead return; I know they do,                          84
+  The doctor leads a busy life,                            114
+  The father toils at his work all day,                    123
+  The golden dreamboat's ready,                            158
+  The good old-fashioned mothers,                          160
+  The kids at our house number three,                      117
+  The little house has grown too small,                     50
+  The little woman, to her I bow,                           92
+  There are little eyes upon you,                          172
+  There may be finer pleasures than just
+    tramping with your boy,                                116
+  There will always be something to do,                    119
+  There's a bump on his brow,                               69
+  There's a little chap at our house,                       56
+  There's nothing cheers a fellow up
+    just like a hearty greeting,                            15
+  There's the mother at the doorway,                        11
+  These joys are free to all who live,                     171
+  They come to my room at the break of day,                165
+  "They tie you down," a woman said,                        74
+  They've hung their stockings up with care,               102
+  Though some may yearn for titles great,                   44
+  Tuggin' at your bottle,                                  149
+  Under the roof where the laughter rings,                  32
+  We cannot count our friends, nor say,                     43
+  We play at our house and have all sorts of fun,           16
+  We're gittin' so we need again,                          146
+  We've never seen the Father here,                        153
+  Whatever the task and whatever the risk,                 109
+  When a little baby dies,                                 155
+  When an old man gets to thinking,                        140
+  When father couldn't wear them,                          147
+  "When I am rich," he used to say,                        130
+  When I was but a little lad,                             168
+  When mother baked an angel cake,                          96
+  When Mrs. Malone got a letter from Pat,                   41
+  When we've honored the heroes returning from France,     136
+  When winter shuts a fellow in,                            86
+  Whenever I walk through God's Acres of Dead,             178
+  Who shall sit at the table, then,                         40
+  With time our notions allus change,                      182
+  You can brag about the famous men you know,              126
+  You can learn a lot from boys,                           100
+  You never hear the robins brag,                           38
+  You shall have satin and silk to wear,                   106
+  "You're spoiling them!" the mother cries,                 14
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Path to Home, by Edgar A. Guest
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