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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/21890-h.zip b/21890-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d54b602 --- /dev/null +++ b/21890-h.zip diff --git a/21890-h/21890-h.htm b/21890-h/21890-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4a7c73e --- /dev/null +++ b/21890-h/21890-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5417 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> +<html> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Path to Home, by Edgar A. Guest.</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- +body{margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} +div#titlepage, div#dedication {text-align: center; line-height: 2.0;} +div.note {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; + margin: 1em 12% 4em; border: solid 2px;} + .pagenum {/* visibility: hidden; */ width: 2.25em; color: #444; + position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right; padding: 0;} + .tdr {text-align: right; padding-right: 0.5em;} + h3.ptitle {text-align: left; margin-left: 1em; font-size: 140%; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;} + .poem {text-align: left; padding-top: 4em;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +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: ISO-8859-1 + +*** 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 + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="note"> +<p>Transcriber's Note: A few minor irregularities of punctuation +have been corrected in this text. +</p> +</div> + + +<div id="titlepage"> +<h1>The Path to Home</h1> + +<p>By<br /> +Edgar A. Guest</p> + +<p>Author of<br /> +"Just Folks"—"Over Here"<br /> +"A Heap o' Livin'"</p> + +<p>The Reilly & Lee Co.<br /> +Chicago</p> + +<p>Copyright, 1919</p> + +<p>by</p> + +<p>The Reilly & Lee Co.</p> + +<p><i>All Rights Reserved.</i></p> + +<p>Printed in<br /> +The United States<br /> +of America.</p> +</div> + +<div id="dedication"> +<p>To<br /> + +F. K. R.<br /> +A friend who had faith</p> +</div> + + +<h2>INDEX</h2> + +<table summary="Index of titles"> +<tr><td><a href="#ph84">Alone</a></td><td class="tdr">145</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph34">Along the Paths o' Glory</a></td><td class="tdr">61</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph33">Apple Tree in France, An</a></td><td class="tdr">60</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph31">Approach of Christmas, The</a></td><td class="tdr">56</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph98">At Dawn</a></td><td class="tdr">165</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph21">At the Peace Table</a></td><td class="tdr">40</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph50">Aunty</a></td><td class="tdr">88</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#ph47">Back Home</a></td><td class="tdr">82</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph72">Becoming a Dad</a></td><td class="tdr">124</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph57">Being Dad on Christmas Eve</a></td><td class="tdr">102</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph70">Best Way to Read a Book</a></td><td class="tdr">122</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph69">Boy at Christmas, A</a></td><td class="tdr">120</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph51">Bread and Jam</a></td><td class="tdr">90</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph32">Bride, The</a></td><td class="tdr">58</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph41">Bud Discusses Cleanliness</a></td><td class="tdr">72</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph64">Burden Bearer, The</a></td><td class="tdr">112</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#ph104">Change-Worker, The</a></td><td class="tdr">174</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph61">Children, The</a></td><td class="tdr">108</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph45">Choice, A</a></td><td class="tdr">79</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph35">Cliffs of Scotland</a></td><td class="tdr">63</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph62">Comedian, The</a></td><td class="tdr">109</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph102">Common Joys, The</a></td><td class="tdr">171</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph18">Compensation</a></td><td class="tdr">36</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph105">Convalescin' Woman, A</a></td><td class="tdr">176</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph38">Cookie-Lady, The</a></td><td class="tdr">67</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph86">Cut-Down Trousers, The</a></td><td class="tdr">147</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#ph28">Daddies</a></td><td class="tdr">52</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph48">Dead Return, The</a></td><td class="tdr">84</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph67">Different</a></td><td class="tdr">117</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph87">Dinner-Time</a></td><td class="tdr">149</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph11">Doctor, The</a></td><td class="tdr">26</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph17">Dr. Johnson's Picture Cow</a></td><td class="tdr">34</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph106">Doubtful To-morrow, The</a></td><td class="tdr">178</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#ph89">Evening-Prayer, The</a></td><td class="tdr">152</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#ph09">Faces</a></td><td class="tdr">22</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph63">Faith</a></td><td class="tdr">111</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph110">Father's Chore</a></td><td class="tdr">186</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph53">Father of the Man, The</a></td><td class="tdr">94</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph44">Fatherhood</a></td><td class="tdr">77</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph02">Fine</a></td><td class="tdr">13</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph66">Finest Fellowship, The</a></td><td class="tdr">116</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph24">First Name Friends</a></td><td class="tdr">44</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph96">Fun of Forgiving, The</a></td><td class="tdr">162</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph25">Furnace Door, The</a></td><td class="tdr">46</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#ph55">Gift of Play, The</a></td><td class="tdr">98</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph83">Good Name, A</a></td><td class="tdr">143</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#ph93">His Dog</a></td><td class="tdr">157</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph103">His Example</a></td><td class="tdr">172</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#ph19">It Couldn't Be Done</a></td><td class="tdr">37</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph65">"It's a Boy"</a></td><td class="tdr">114</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#ph14">Kindness</a></td><td class="tdr">31</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#ph109">Lesson from Golf, A</a></td><td class="tdr">184</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph12">Lines for a Flag Raising Ceremony</a></td><td class="tdr">28</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph37">Little Fishermen</a></td><td class="tdr">66</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph58">Little Girls</a></td><td class="tdr">103</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph52">Little Woman, The</a></td><td class="tdr">92</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph101">Living Flowers</a></td><td class="tdr">170</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph78">Lonely Garden, The</a></td><td class="tdr">134</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph75">Lost Opportunities</a></td><td class="tdr">130</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph10">Lost Purse, The</a></td><td class="tdr">24</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph94">Lullaby</a></td><td class="tdr">158</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#ph111">March o' Man, The</a></td><td class="tdr">188</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph30">Mother's Job</a></td><td class="tdr">55</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph36">Mother's Party Dress</a></td><td class="tdr">64</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph08">Mother Watch, The</a></td><td class="tdr">20</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph22">Mrs. Malone and the Censor</a></td><td class="tdr">41</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph82">My Job</a></td><td class="tdr">142</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph49">My Soul and I</a></td><td class="tdr">86</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#ph99">Names and Faces</a></td><td class="tdr">166</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#ph95">Old-Fashioned Parents, The</a></td><td class="tdr">160</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph04">Old-Fashioned Welcome, An</a></td><td class="tdr">15</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph74">Old Wooden Tub, The</a></td><td class="tdr">128</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph43">Our Country</a></td><td class="tdr">76</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph05">Our House</a></td><td class="tdr">16</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph26">Out Fishin'</a></td><td class="tdr">48</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#ph01">Path to Home, The</a></td><td class="tdr">11</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph76">Patriotism</a></td><td class="tdr">131</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph88">Pay Envelope, The</a></td><td class="tdr">150</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph29">Picture Books</a></td><td class="tdr">53</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph06">Plea, A</a></td><td class="tdr">17</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph100">Pleasing Dad</a></td><td class="tdr">168</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph39">Pleasure's Signs</a></td><td class="tdr">69</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#ph108">Right Family, The</a></td><td class="tdr">182</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#ph27">Selling the Old Home</a></td><td class="tdr">50</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph20">Service</a></td><td class="tdr">38</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph85">Shut-Ins</a></td><td class="tdr">146</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph79">Silver Stripes, The</a></td><td class="tdr">136</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph40">Snooping 'Round</a></td><td class="tdr">70</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph71">Song of Loved Ones, The</a></td><td class="tdr">123</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph03">Spoiling Them</a></td><td class="tdr">14</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph16">St. Valentine's Day</a></td><td class="tdr">33</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph07">Story-Time</a></td><td class="tdr">18</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#ph73">Test, The</a></td><td class="tdr">126</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph68">There Will Always Be Something to Do</a></td><td class="tdr">119</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph90">Thoughts of a Father</a></td><td class="tdr">153</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph42">Tied Down</a></td><td class="tdr">74</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph80">Tinkerin' at Home</a></td><td class="tdr">138</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph92">To the Boy</a></td><td class="tdr">156</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph107">Tommy Atkins' Way</a></td><td class="tdr">180</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph97">Tonsils</a></td><td class="tdr">163</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph56">Toys and Life</a></td><td class="tdr">100</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph13">Toy-Strewn Home, The</a></td><td class="tdr">30</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph77">Tramp, The</a></td><td class="tdr">133</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#ph15">Under the Roof Where the Laughter Rings</a></td><td class="tdr">32</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph59">United States</a></td><td class="tdr">105</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph23">Unknown Friends, The</a></td><td class="tdr">43</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#ph46">What Father Knows</a></td><td class="tdr">80</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph91">When a Little Baby Dies</a></td><td class="tdr">155</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph81">When an Old Man Gets to Thinking</a></td><td class="tdr">140</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph54">When Mother Made an Angel Cake</a></td><td class="tdr">96</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph60">When My Ship Comes In</a></td><td class="tdr">106</td></tr> +</table> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_011" id="Page_011">11</a></span> + + +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph01">The Path to Home</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There's the mother at the doorway, and the children at the gate,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And the little parlor windows with the curtains white and straight.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">There are shaggy asters blooming in the bed that lines the fence,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And the simplest of the blossoms seems of mighty consequence.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Oh, there isn't any mansion underneath God's starry dome</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That can rest a weary pilgrim like the little place called home.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Men have sought for gold and silver; men have dreamed at night of fame;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In the heat of youth they've struggled for achievement's honored name;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But the selfish crowns are tinsel, and their shining jewels paste,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And the wine of pomp and glory soon grows bitter to the taste.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For there's never any laughter, howsoever far you roam,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Like the laughter of the loved ones in the happiness of home.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_012" id="Page_012">12</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There is nothing so important as the mother's lullabies,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Filled with peace and sweet contentment, when the moon begins to rise—</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Nothing real except the beauty and the calm upon her face</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And the shouting of the children as they scamper round the place.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For the greatest of man's duties is to keep his loved ones glad</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And to have his children glory in the father they have had.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So where'er a man may wander, and whatever be his care,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">You'll find his soul still stretching to the home he left somewhere.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">You'll find his dreams all tangled up with hollyhocks in bloom,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And the feet of little children that go racing through a room,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With the happy mother smiling as she watches them at play—</span><br /> +<span class="i0">These are all in life that matter, when you've stripped the sham away.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_013" id="Page_013">13</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph02">Fine</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Isn't it fine when the day is done,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And the petty battles are lost or won,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When the gold is made and the ink is dried,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To quit the struggle and turn aside</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To spend an hour with your boy in play,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And let him race all of your cares away?</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Isn't it fine when the day's gone well,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When you have glorious tales to tell,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And your heart is light and your head is high.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For nothing has happened to make you sigh,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To hurry homewards to share the joy</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That your work has won with a little boy?</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Isn't it fine, whether good or bad</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Has come to the hopes and the plans you had,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And the day is over, to find him there,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Thinking you splendid and just and fair,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Ready to chase all your griefs away,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And soothe your soul with an hour of play?</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, whether the day's been long or brief,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Whether it's brought to me joy or grief,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Whether I've failed, or whether I've won,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It shall matter not when the work is done;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I shall count it fine if I end each day</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With a little boy in an hour of play.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_014" id="Page_014">14</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph03">Spoiling Them</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"You're spoiling them!" the mother cries</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When I give way to weepy eyes</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And let them do the things they wish,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Like cleaning up the jelly dish,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Or finishing the chocolate cake,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Or maybe let the rascal take</span><br /> +<span class="i0">My piece of huckleberry pie,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Because he wants it more than I.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"You're spoiling them!" the mother tells,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When I am heedless to their yells,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And let them race and romp about</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And do not put their joy to rout.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I know I should be firm, and yet</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I tried it once to my regret;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I will remember till I'm old</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The day I started in to scold.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I stamped my foot and shouted: "Stop!"</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And Bud just let his drum sticks drop,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And looked at me, and turned away;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That night there was no further play.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The girls were solemn-like and still,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Just as girls are when they are ill,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And when unto his cot I crept,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I found him sobbing as he slept.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_015" id="Page_015">15</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That was my first attempt and last</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To play the scold. I'm glad it passed</span><br /> +<span class="i0">So quickly and has left no trace</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Of memory on each little face;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But now when mother whispers low:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"You're spoiling them," I answer, "No!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But it is plain, as plain can be,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Those little tykes are spoiling me."</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph04">An Old-Fashioned Welcome</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There's nothing cheers a fellow up just like a hearty greeting,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">A handclasp and an honest smile that flash the joy of meeting;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And when at friendly doors you ring, somehow it seems to free you</span><br /> +<span class="i0">From all life's doubts to hear them say: "Come in! We're glad to see you!"</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At first the portal slips ajar in answer to your ringing,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And then your eyes meet friendly eyes, and wide the door goes flinging;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And something seems to stir the soul, however troubled be you,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">If but the cheery host exclaims: "Come in! We're glad to see you!"</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_016" id="Page_016">16</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph05">Our House</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We play at our house and have all sorts of fun,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' there's always a game when the supper is done;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' at our house there's marks on the walls an' the stairs,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' some terrible scratches on some of the chairs;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' ma says that our house is really a fright,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But pa and I say that our house is all right.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At our house we laugh an' we sing an' we shout,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' whirl all the chairs an' the tables about,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' I rassle my pa an' I get him down too,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' he's all out of breath when the fightin' is through;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' ma says that our house is surely a sight,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But pa an' I say that our house is all right.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I've been to houses with pa where I had</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To sit in a chair like a good little lad,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' there wasn't a mark on the walls an' the chairs,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' the stuff that we have couldn't come up to theirs;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' pa said to ma that for all of their joy</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He wouldn't change places an' give up his boy.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_017" id="Page_017">17</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They never have races nor rassles nor fights,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Coz they have no children to play with at nights;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' their walls are all clean an' their curtains hang straight,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' everything's shiny an' right up to date;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But pa says with all of its racket an' fuss,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He'd rather by far live at our house with us.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph06">A Plea</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">God grant me these: the strength to do</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Some needed service here;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The wisdom to be brave and true;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">The gift of vision clear,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That in each task that comes to me</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Some purpose I may plainly see.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">God teach me to believe that I</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Am stationed at a post,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Although the humblest 'neath the sky,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Where I am needed most.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And that, at last, if I do well</span><br /> +<span class="i0">My humble services will tell.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">God grant me faith to stand on guard,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Uncheered, unspoke, alone,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And see behind such duty hard</span><br /> +<span class="i2">My service to the throne.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Whate'er my task, be this my creed:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I am on earth to fill a need.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_018" id="Page_018">18</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph07">Story-Time</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Tell us a story," comes the cry</span><br /> +<span class="i2">From little lips when nights are cold,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And in the grate the flames leap high.</span><br /> +<span class="i2">"Tell us a tale of pirates bold,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Or fairies hiding in the glen,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Or of a ship that's wrecked at sea."</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I fill my pipe, and there and then</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Gather the children round my knee.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I give them all a role to play—</span><br /> +<span class="i2">No longer are they youngsters small,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And I, their daddy, turning gray;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">We are adventurers, one and all.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We journey forth as Robin Hood</span><br /> +<span class="i2">In search of treasure, or to do</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Some deed of daring or of good;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Our hearts are ever brave and true.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We take a solemn oath to be</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Defenders of the starry flag;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We brave the winter's stormy sea,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Or climb the rugged mountain crag,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To battle to the death with those</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Who would defame our native land;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We pitch our camp among the snows</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Or on the tropics' burning sand.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_019" id="Page_019">19</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We rescue maidens, young and fair,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Held captive long in prison towers;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We slay the villain in his lair,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">For we're possessed of magic powers.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And though we desperately fight,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">When by our foes are we beset,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We always triumph for the right;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">We have not lost a battle yet.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It matters not how far we stray,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Nor where our battle lines may be,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We never get so far away</span><br /> +<span class="i2">That we must spend a night at sea.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It matters not how high we climb,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">How many foes our pathway block,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We always conquer just in time</span><br /> +<span class="i2">To go to bed at 9 o'clock.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_020" id="Page_020">20</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph08">The Mother Watch</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She never closed her eyes in sleep till we were all in bed;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">On party nights till we came home she often sat and read.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We little thought about it then, when we were young and gay,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">How much the mother worried when we children were away.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We only knew she never slept when we were out at night,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And that she waited just to know that we'd come home all right.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Why, sometimes when we'd stayed away till one or two or three,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It seemed to us that mother heard the turning of the key;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For always when we stepped inside she'd call and we'd reply,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But we were all too young back then to understand just why.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Until the last one had returned she always kept a light,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For mother couldn't sleep until she'd kissed us all good night.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_021" id="Page_021">21</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She had to know that we were safe before she went to rest;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">She seemed to fear the world might harm the ones she loved the best.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And once she said: "When you are grown to women and to men,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Perhaps I'll sleep the whole night through; I may be different then."</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And so it seemed that night and day we knew a mother's care—</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That always when we got back home we'd find her waiting there.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then came the night that we were called to gather round her bed:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"The children all are with you now," the kindly doctor said.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And in her eyes there gleamed again the old-time tender light</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That told she had been waiting just to know we were all right.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">She smiled the old-familiar smile, and prayed to God to keep</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Us safe from harm throughout the years, and then she went to sleep.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_022" id="Page_022">22</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph09">Faces</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I look into the faces of the people passing by,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">The glad ones and the sad ones, and the lined with misery,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And I wonder why the sorrow or the twinkle in the eye;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">But the pale and weary faces are the ones that trouble me.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I saw a face this morning, and time was when it was fair;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Youth had brushed it bright with color in the distant long ago,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And the goddess of the lovely once had kept a temple there,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">But the cheeks were pale with grieving and the eyes were dull with woe.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Who has done this thing I wondered; what has wrought the ruin here?</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Why these sunken cheeks and pallid where the roses once were pink?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Why has beauty fled her palace; did some vandal hand appear?</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Did her lover prove unfaithful or her husband take to drink?</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_023" id="Page_023">23</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Once the golden voice of promise whispered sweetly in her ears;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">She was born to be a garden where the smiles of love might lurk;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Now the eyes that shone like jewels are but gateways for her tears,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And she takes her place among us, toilers early bound for work.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Is it fate that writes so sadly, or the cruelty of man?</span><br /> +<span class="i2">What foul deed has marred the parchment of a life so fair as this?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Who has wrecked this lovely temple and destroyed the Maker's plan,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Raining blows on cheeks of beauty God had fashioned just to kiss?</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, the pale and weary faces of the people that I see</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Are the ones that seem to haunt me, and I pray to God above</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That such cruel desolation shall not ever come to be</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Stamped forever in the future on the faces that I love.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_024" id="Page_024">24</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph10">The Lost Purse</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I remember the excitement and the terrible alarm</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That worried everybody when William broke his arm;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' how frantic Pa and Ma got only jes' the other day</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When they couldn't find the baby coz he'd up an' walked away;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But I'm sure there's no excitement that our house has ever shook</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Like the times Ma can't remember where she's put her pocketbook.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When the laundry man is standin' at the door an' wants his pay</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Ma hurries in to get it, an' the fun starts right away.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">She hustles to the sideboard, coz she knows exactly where</span><br /> +<span class="i0">She can put her hand right on it, but alas! it isn't there.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">She tries the parlor table an' she goes upstairs to look,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' once more she can't remember where she put her pocketbook.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She tells us that she had it just a half an hour ago,</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_025" id="Page_025">25</a></span> +<span class="i0">An' now she cannot find it though she's hunted high and low;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">She's searched the kitchen cupboard an' the bureau drawers upstairs,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' it's not behind the sofa nor beneath the parlor chairs.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">She makes us kids get busy searching every little nook,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' this time says she's certain that she's lost her pocketbook.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She calls Pa at the office an' he laughs I guess, for then</span><br /> +<span class="i0">She always mumbles something 'bout the heartlessness of men.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">She calls to mind a peddler who came to the kitchen door,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' she's certain from his whiskers an' the shabby clothes he wore</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' his dirty shirt an' collar that he must have been a crook,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' she's positive that feller came and got her pocketbook.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But at last she allus finds it in some queer an' funny spot,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Where she'd put it in a hurry, an' had somehow clean forgot;</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_026" id="Page_026">26</a></span> +<span class="i0">An' she heaves a sigh of gladness, an' she says, "Well, I declare,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I would take an oath this minute that I never put it there."</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' we're peaceable an' quiet till next time Ma goes to look</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' finds she can't remember where she put her pocketbook.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph11">The Doctor</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I don't see why Pa likes him so,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And seems so glad to have him come;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He jabs my ribs and wants to know</span><br /> +<span class="i2">If here and there it's hurting some.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He holds my wrist, coz there are things</span><br /> +<span class="i2">In there, which always jump and jerk,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Then, with a telephone he brings,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">He listens to my breather work.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He taps my back and pinches me,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Then hangs a mirror on his head</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And looks into my throat to see</span><br /> +<span class="i2">What makes it hurt and if it's red.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Then on his knee he starts to write</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And says to mother, with a smile:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"This ought to fix him up all right,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">We'll cure him in a little while."</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_027" id="Page_027">27</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I don't see why Pa likes him so.</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Whenever I don't want to play</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He says: "The boy is sick, I know!</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Let's get the doctor right away."</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And when he comes, he shakes his hand,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And hustles him upstairs to me,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And seems contented just to stand</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Inside the room where he can see.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then Pa says every time he goes:</span><br /> +<span class="i2">"That's money I am glad to pay;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It's worth it, when a fellow knows</span><br /> +<span class="i2">His pal will soon be up to play."</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But maybe if my Pa were me,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And had to take his pills and all,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He wouldn't be so glad to see</span><br /> +<span class="i2">The doctor come to make a call.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_028" id="Page_028">28</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph12">Lines For a Flag Raising Ceremony</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Full many a flag the breeze has kissed;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Through ages long the morning sun</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Has risen o'er the early mist</span><br /> +<span class="i2">The flags of men to look upon.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And some were red against the sky,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And some with colors true were gay,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And some in shame were born to die,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">For Flags of hate must pass away.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Such symbols fall as men depart,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Brief is the reign of arrant might;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The vicious and the vile at heart</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Give way in time before the right.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A flag is nothing in itself;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">It but reflects the lives of men;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And they who lived and toiled for pelf</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Went out as vipers in a den.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">God cleans the sky from time to time</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Of every tyrant flag that flies,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And every brazen badge of crime</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Falls to the ground and swiftly dies.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Proud kings are mouldering in the dust;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Proud flags of ages past are gone;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Only the symbols of the just</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Have lived and shall keep living on.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_029" id="Page_029">29</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So long as we shall serve the truth,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">So long as honor stamps us fair,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Each age shall pass unto its youth</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Old Glory proudly flying there!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But if we fail our splendid past,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">If we prove faithless, weak and base,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That age shall be our banner's last;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">A fairer flag shall take its place.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">This flag we fling unto the skies</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Is but an emblem of our hearts,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And when our love of freedom dies,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Our banner with our race departs.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Full many a flag the breezes kiss,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Full many a flag the sun has known,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But none so bright and fair as this;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">None quite so splendid as our own!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">This tells the world that we are men</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Who cling to manhood's ways and truth;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It is our soul's great voice and pen,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">The strength of age, the guide of youth,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And it shall ever hold the sky</span><br /> +<span class="i2">So long as we shall keep our trust;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But if our love of right shall die</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Our Flag shall sink into the dust.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_030" id="Page_030">30</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph13">The Toy-Strewn Home</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Give me the house where the toys are strewn,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Where the dolls are asleep in the chairs,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Where the building blocks and the toy balloon</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And the soldiers guard the stairs.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Let me step in a house where the tiny cart</span><br /> +<span class="i2">With the horses rules the floor,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And rest comes into my weary heart,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">For I am at home once more.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Give me the house with the toys about,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">With the battered old train of cars,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The box of paints and the books left out,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And the ship with her broken spars.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Let me step in a house at the close of day</span><br /> +<span class="i2">That is littered with children's toys,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And dwell once more in the haunts of play,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">With the echoes of by-gone noise.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Give me the house where the toys are seen,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">The house where the children romp,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And I'll happier be than man has been</span><br /> +<span class="i2">'Neath the gilded dome of pomp.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Let me see the litter of bright-eyed play</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Strewn over the parlor floor,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And the joys I knew in a far-off day</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Will gladden my heart once more.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Whoever has lived in a toy-strewn home,</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_031" id="Page_031">31</a></span> +<span class="i2">Though feeble he be and gray,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Will yearn, no matter how far he roam,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">For the glorious disarray</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Of the little home with its littered floor</span><br /> +<span class="i2">That was his in the by-gone days;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And his heart will throb as it throbbed before,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">When he rests where a baby plays.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph14">Kindness</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One never knows</span><br /> +<span class="i0">How far a word of kindness goes;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">One never sees</span><br /> +<span class="i0">How far a smile of friendship flees.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Down, through the years,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The deed forgotten reappears.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One kindly word</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The souls of many here has stirred.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Man goes his way</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And tells with every passing day,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Until life's end:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"Once unto me he played the friend."</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We cannot say</span><br /> +<span class="i0">What lips are praising us to-day.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We cannot tell</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Whose prayers ask God to guard us well.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But kindness lives</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Beyond the memory of him who gives.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_032" id="Page_032">32</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph15">Under the Roof Where the Laughter Rings</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Under the roof where the laughter rings,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">That's where I long to be;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">There are all of the glorious things,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Meaning so much to me.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">There is where striving and toiling ends;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">There is where always the rainbow bends.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Under the roof where the children shout,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">There is the perfect rest;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">There is the clamor of greed shut out,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Ended the ceaseless quest.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Battles I fight through the heat of to-day</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Are only to add to their hours of play.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Under the roof where the eyes are bright,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">There I would build my fame;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">There my record of life I'd write;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">There I would sign my name.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">There in laughter and true content</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Let me fashion my monument.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Under the roof where the hearts are true,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">There is my earthly goal;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">There I am pledged till my work is through,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Body and heart and soul.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Think you that God will my choice condemn</span><br /> +<span class="i0">If I have never played false to them?</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_033" id="Page_033">33</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph16">St. Valentine's Day</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Let loose the sails of love and let them fill</span><br /> +<span class="i2">With breezes sweet with tenderness to-day;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Scorn not the praises youthful lovers say;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Romance is old, but it is lovely still.</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Not he who shows his love deserves the jeer,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">But he who speaks not what she longs to hear.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There is no shame in love's devoted speech;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Man need not blush his tenderness to show;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">'Tis shame to love and never let her know,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To keep his heart forever out of reach.</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Not he the fool who lets his love go on,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">But he who spurns it when his love is won.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Men proudly vaunt their love of gold and fame,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">High station and accomplishments of skill,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Yet of life's greatest conquest they are still,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And deem it weakness, or an act of shame,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">To seem to place high value on the love</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Which first of all they should be proudest of.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Let loose the sails of love and let them take</span><br /> +<span class="i2">The tender breezes till the day be spent;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Only the fool chokes out life's sentiment.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">She is a prize too lovely to forsake.</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Be not ashamed to send your valentine;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">She has your love, but needs its outward sign.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_034" id="Page_034">34</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph17">Dr. Johnson's Picture Cow</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Got a sliver in my hand</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' it hurt t' beat the band,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' got white around it, too;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Then the first thing that I knew</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It was all swelled up, an' Pa</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Said: "There's no use fussin', Ma,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Jes' put on his coat an' hat;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Doctor Johnson must see that."</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I was scared an' yelled, because</span><br /> +<span class="i0">One time when the doctor was</span><br /> +<span class="i0">At our house he made me smell</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Something funny, an' I fell</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Fast asleep, an' when I woke</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Seemed like I was goin' t' choke;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' the folks who stood about</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Said I'd had my tonsils out.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">An' my throat felt awful sore</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' I couldn't eat no more,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' it hurt me when I'd talk,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' they wouldn't let me walk.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">So when Pa said I must go</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To the doctor's, I said: "No,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I don't want to go to-night,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">'Cause my hand will be all right."</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_035" id="Page_035">35</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Pa said: "Take him, Ma," an' so</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I jes' knew I had t' go.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' the doctor looked an' said:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"It is very sore an' red—</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Much too sore to touch at all.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">See that picture on the wall,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That one over yonder, Bud,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With the old cow in the mud?</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Once I owned a cow like that,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Jes' as brown an' big an' fat,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' one day I pulled her tail</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' she kicked an' knocked the pail</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Full o' milk clean over me."</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Then I looked up there t' see</span><br /> +<span class="i0">His old cow above the couch,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' right then I hollered "ouch."</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Bud," says he, "what's wrong with you;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Did the old cow kick you, too?"</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' he laughed, an' Ma said: "Son,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Never mind, now, it's all done."</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Pretty soon we came away</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' my hand's all well to-day.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But that's first time that I knew</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Picture cows could kick at you.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_036" id="Page_036">36</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph18">Compensation</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I'd like to think when life is done</span><br /> +<span class="i2">That I had filled a needed post,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That here and there I'd paid my fare</span><br /> +<span class="i2">With more than idle talk and boast;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That I had taken gifts divine,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The breath of life and manhood fine,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And tried to use them now and then</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In service for my fellow men.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I'd hate to think when life is through</span><br /> +<span class="i2">That I had lived my round of years</span><br /> +<span class="i0">A useless kind, that leaves behind</span><br /> +<span class="i2">No record in this vale of tears;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That I had wasted all my days</span><br /> +<span class="i0">By treading only selfish ways,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And that this world would be the same</span><br /> +<span class="i0">If it had never known my name.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I'd like to think that here and there,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">When I am gone, there shall remain</span><br /> +<span class="i0">A happier spot that might have not</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Existed had I toiled for gain;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That some one's cheery voice and smile</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Shall prove that I had been worth while;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That I had paid with something fine</span><br /> +<span class="i0">My debt to God for life divine.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_037" id="Page_037">37</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph19">It Couldn't Be Done</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Somebody said that it couldn't be done,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">But he with a chuckle replied</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That "maybe it couldn't," but he would be one</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Who wouldn't say so till he'd tried.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin</span><br /> +<span class="i2">On his face. If he worried he hid it.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He started to sing as he tackled the thing</span><br /> +<span class="i2">That couldn't be done, and he did it.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Somebody scoffed: "Oh, you'll never do that;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">At least no one ever has done it";</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But he took off his coat and he took off his hat,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And the first thing we knew he'd begun it.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Without any doubting or quiddit,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He started to sing as he tackled the thing</span><br /> +<span class="i2">That couldn't be done, and he did it.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">There are thousands to prophesy failure;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">There are thousands to point out to you one by one,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">The dangers that wait to assail you.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But just buckle in with a bit of a grin,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Just take off your coat and go to it;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Just start in to sing as you tackle the thing</span><br /> +<span class="i2">That "cannot be done," and you'll do it.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_038" id="Page_038">38</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph20">Service</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You never hear the robins brag about the sweetness of their song,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Nor do they stop their music gay whene'er a poor man comes along.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">God taught them how to sing an' when they'd learned the art He sent them here</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To use their talents day by day the dreary lives o' men to cheer.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' rich or poor an' sad or gay, the ugly an' the fair to see,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Can stop most any time in June an' hear the robins' melody.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I stand an' watch them in the sun, usin' their gifts from day to day,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Swellin' their little throats with song, regardless of man's praise or pay;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Jes' bein' robins, nothing else, nor claiming greatness for their deeds,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But jes' content to gratify one of the big world's many needs,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Singin' a lesson to us all to be ourselves and scatter cheer</span><br /> +<span class="i0">By usin' every day the gifts God gave us when He sent us here.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_039" id="Page_039">39</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Why should we keep our talents hid, or think we favor men because</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We use the gifts that God has given? The robins never ask applause,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Nor count themselves remarkable, nor strut in a superior way,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Because their music sweeter is than that God gave unto the jay.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Only a man conceited grows as he makes use of talents fine,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Forgetting that he merely does the working of the Will Divine.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Lord, as the robins, let me serve! Teach me to do the best I can</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To make this world a better place, an' happier for my fellow man.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">If gift o' mine can cheer his soul an' hearten him along his way</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Let me not keep that talent hid; I would make use of it to-day.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' since the robins ask no praise, or pay for all their songs o' cheer,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Let me in humbleness rejoice to do my bit o' service here.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_040" id="Page_040">40</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph21">At the Peace Table</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Who shall sit at the table, then, when the terms of peace are made—</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The wisest men of the troubled lands in their silver and gold brocade?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Yes, they shall gather in solemn state to speak for each living race,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But who shall speak for the unseen dead that shall come to the council place?</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though you see them not and you hear them not, they shall sit at the table, too;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They shall throng the room where the peace is made and know what it is you do;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The innocent dead from the sea shall rise to stand at the wise man's side,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And over his shoulder a boy shall look—a boy that was crucified.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You may guard the doors of that council hall with barriers strong and stout,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But the dead unbidden shall enter there, and never you'll shut them out.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And the man that died in the open boat, and the babes that suffered worse,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Shall sit at the table when peace is made by the side of a martyred nurse.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_041" id="Page_041">41</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You may see them not, but they'll all be there; when they speak you may fail to hear;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">You may think that you're making your pacts alone, but their spirits will hover near;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And whatever the terms of the peace you make with the tyrant whose hands are red,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">You must please not only the living here, but must satisfy your dead.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph22">Mrs. Malone and the Censor</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When Mrs. Malone got a letter from Pat</span><br /> +<span class="i0">She started to read it aloud in her flat.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"Dear Mary," it started, "I can't tell you much,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I'm somewhere in France, and I'm fightin' the Dutch;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I'm chokin' wid news thot I'd like to relate,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But it's little a soldier's permitted t' state.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Do ye mind Red McPhee—well, he fell in a ditch</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' busted an arrm, but I can't tell ye which.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"An' Paddy O'Hara was caught in a flame</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' rescued by—Faith, I can't tell ye his name.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Last night I woke up wid a terrible pain;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I thought for awhile it would drive me insane.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Oh, the suff'rin, I had was most dreadful t' bear!</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_042" id="Page_042">42</a></span> +<span class="i0">I'm sorry, my dear, but I can't tell ye where.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The doctor he gave me a pill, but I find</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It's conthrary to rules t' disclose here the kind.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I've been t' the dintist an' had a tooth out.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I'm sorry t' leave you so shrouded in doubt</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But the best I can say is that one tooth is gone,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The censor won't let me inform ye which one.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I met a young fellow who knows ye right well,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' ye know him, too, but his name I can't tell.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He's Irish, red-headed, an' there with th' blarney,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">His folks once knew your folks back home in Killarney."</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"By gorry," said Mrs. Malone in her flat,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"It's hard t' make sinse out av writin' like that,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But I'll give him as good as he sends, that I will."</span><br /> +<span class="i0">So she went right to work with her ink well an' quill,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' she wrote, "I suppose ye're dead eager fer news—</span><br /> +<span class="i0">You know when ye left we were buyin' the shoes;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Well, the baby has come, an' we're both doin' well;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It's a ----. Oh, but that's somethin' they won't let me tell."</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_043" id="Page_043">43</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph23">The Unknown Friends</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We cannot count our friends, nor say</span><br /> +<span class="i0">How many praise us day by day.</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Each one of us has friends that he</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Has yet to meet and really know,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Who guard him, wheresoe'er they be,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">From harm and slander's cruel blow.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They help to light our path with cheer,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Although they pass as strangers here.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">These friends, unseen, unheard, unknown,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Our lasting gratitude should own.</span><br /> +<span class="i2">They serve us in a thousand ways</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Where we perhaps should friendless be;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">They tell our worth and speak our praise</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And for their service ask no fee;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They choose to be our friends, although</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We have not learned to call them so.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We cannot guess how large the debt</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We owe to friends we have not met.</span><br /> +<span class="i2">We only know, from day to day,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">That we discover here and there</span><br /> +<span class="i2">How one has tried to smooth our way,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And ease our heavy load of care,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Then passed along and left behind</span><br /> +<span class="i0">His friendly gift for us to find.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_044" id="Page_044">44</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph24">First Name Friends</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though some may yearn for titles great, and seek the frills of fame,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I do not care to have an extra handle to my name.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I am not hungry for the pomp of life's high dignities,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I do not sigh to sit among the honored LL. D.'s.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I shall be satisfied if I can be unto the end,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To those I know and live with here, a simple, first-name friend.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There's nothing like the comradeship which warms the lives of those</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Who make the glorious circle of the Jacks and Bills and Joes.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With all his majesty and power, Old Caesar never knew</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The joy of first-name fellowship, as all the Eddies do.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Let them who will be "mistered" here and raised above the rest;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I hold a first-name greeting is by far the very best.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Acquaintance calls for dignity. You never really know</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The man on whom the terms of pomp you feel you must bestow.</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_045" id="Page_045">45</a></span> +<span class="i0">Professor William Joseph Wise may be your friend, but still</span><br /> +<span class="i0">You are not certain of the fact till you can call him Bill.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But hearts grow warm and lips grow kind, and all the shamming ends,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When you are in the company of good old first-name friends.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The happiest men on earth are not the men of highest rank;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That joy belongs to George, and Jim, to Henry and to Frank;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With them the prejudice of race and creed and wealth depart,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And men are one in fellowship and always light of heart.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">So I would live and laugh and love until my sun descends,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And share the joyous comradeship of honest first-name friends.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_046" id="Page_046">46</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph25">The Furnace Door</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My father is a peaceful man;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He tries in every way he can</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To live a life of gentleness</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And patience all the while.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He says that needless fretting's vain,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That it's absurd to be profane,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That nearly every wrong can be</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Adjusted with a smile.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Yet try no matter how he will,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">There's one thing that annoys him still,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">One thing that robs him of his calm</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And leaves him very sore;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He cannot keep his self-control</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When with a shovel full of coal</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He misses where it's headed for,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And hits the furnace door.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He measures with a careful eye</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The space for which he's soon to try,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Then grabs his trusty shovel up</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And loads it in the bin,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Then turns and with a healthy lunge,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That's two parts swing and two parts plunge,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He lets go at the furnace fire,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Convinced it will go in!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And then we hear a sudden smack,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The cellar air turns blue and black;</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_047" id="Page_047">47</a></span> +<span class="i0">Above the rattle of the coal</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We hear his awful roar.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">From dreadful language upward hissed</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We know that father's aim has missed,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And that his shovel full of coal</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Went up against the door.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The minister was here one day</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For supper, and Pa went away</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To fix the furnace fire, and soon</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We heard that awful roar.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And through the furnace pipes there came</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Hot words that made Ma blush for shame.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"It strikes me," said the minister,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"He hit the furnace door."</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Ma turned away and hung her head;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"I'm so ashamed," was all she said.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And then the minister replied:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"Don't worry. I admit</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That when I hit the furnace door,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And spill the coal upon the floor,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I quite forget the cloth I wear</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And—er—swear a little bit."</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_048" id="Page_048">48</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph26">Out Fishin'</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A feller isn't thinkin' mean,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Out fishin';</span><br /> +<span class="i0">His thoughts are mostly good an' clean,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Out fishin'.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He doesn't knock his fellow men,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Or harbor any grudges then;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">A feller's at his finest when</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Out fishin'.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The rich are comrades to the poor,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Out fishin';</span><br /> +<span class="i0">All brothers of a common lure,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Out fishin'.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The urchin with the pin an' string</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Can chum with millionaire an' king;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Vain pride is a forgotten thing,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Out fishin'.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A feller gits a chance to dream,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Out fishin';</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He learns the beauties of a stream,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Out fishin';</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' he can wash his soul in air</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That isn't foul with selfish care,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' relish plain and simple fare,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Out fishin'.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_049" id="Page_049">49</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A feller has no time fer hate,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Out fishin';</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He isn't eager to be great,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Out fishin'.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He isn't thinkin' thoughts of pelf,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Or goods stacked high upon a shelf,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But he is always just himself,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Out fishin'.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A feller's glad to be a friend,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Out fishin';</span><br /> +<span class="i0">A helpin' hand he'll always lend,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Out fishin'.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The brotherhood of rod an' line</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' sky and stream is always fine;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Men come real close to God's design,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Out fishin'.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A feller isn't plotting schemes,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Out fishin';</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He's only busy with his dreams,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Out fishin'.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">His livery is a coat of tan,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">His creed—to do the best he can;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">A feller's always mostly man,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Out fishin'.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_050" id="Page_050">50</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph27">Selling the Old Home</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The little house has grown too small, or rather we have grown</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Too big to dwell within the walls where all our joys were known.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And so, obedient to the wish of her we love so well,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I have agreed for sordid gold the little home to sell.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Now strangers come to see the place, and secretly I sigh,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And deep within my breast I hope that they'll refuse to buy.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"This bedroom's small," one woman said; up went her nose in scorn!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To me that is the splendid room where little Bud was born.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"The walls are sadly finger-marked," another stranger said.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">A lump came rising in my throat; I felt my cheeks grow red.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"Yes, yes," I answered, "so they are. The fingermarks are free</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But I'd not leave them here if I could take them all with me."</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_051" id="Page_051">51</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The stairway shows the signs of wear." I answered her in heat,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"That's but the glorious sign to me of happy little feet.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Most anyone can have a flight of shiny stairs and new</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But those are steps where joy has raced, and love and laughter, too."</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"This paper's ruined! Here are scrawled some pencil marks, I note."</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I'd treasured them for years. They were the first he ever wrote.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh I suppose we'll sell the place; it's right that we should go;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The children must have larger rooms in which to live and grow.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But all my joys were cradled here; 'tis here I've lived my best,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">'Tis here, whatever else shall come, we've been our happiest;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And though into a stranger's hands this home I shall resign,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And take his gold in pay for it, I still shall call it mine.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_052" id="Page_052">52</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph28">Daddies</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I would rather be the daddy</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Of a romping, roguish crew,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Of a bright-eyed chubby laddie</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And a little girl or two,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Than the monarch of a nation,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">In his high and lofty seat,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Taking empty adoration</span><br /> +<span class="i2">From the subjects at his feet.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I would rather own their kisses,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">As at night to me they run,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Than to be the king who misses</span><br /> +<span class="i2">All the simpler forms of fun.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When his dreary day is ending</span><br /> +<span class="i2">He is dismally alone,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But when my sun is descending</span><br /> +<span class="i2">There are joys for me to own.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He may ride to horns and drumming;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">I must walk a quiet street,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But when once they see me coming,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Then on joyous, flying feet</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They come racing to me madly</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And I catch them with a swing,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And I say it proudly, gladly,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">That I'm happier than a king.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_053" id="Page_053">53</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You may talk of lofty places;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">You may boast of pomp and power;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Men may turn their eager faces</span><br /> +<span class="i2">To the glory of an hour,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But give me the humble station</span><br /> +<span class="i2">With its joys that long survive,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For the daddies of the nation</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Are the happiest men alive.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph29">Picture Books</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I hold the finest picture books</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Are woods an' fields an' runnin' brooks;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' when the month o' May has done</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Her paintin', an' the mornin' sun</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Is lightin' just exactly right</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Each gorgeous scene for mortal sight,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I steal a day from toil an' go</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To see the springtime's picture show.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It's everywhere I choose to tread—</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Perhaps I'll find a violet bed</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Half hidden by the larger scenes,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Or group of ferns, or living greens,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">So graceful an' so fine, I'll swear</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That angels must have placed them there</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To beautify the lonely spot</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That mortal man would have forgot.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_054" id="Page_054">54</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What hand can paint a picture book</span><br /> +<span class="i0">So marvelous as a runnin' brook?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It matters not what time o' day</span><br /> +<span class="i0">You visit it, the sunbeams play</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Upon it just exactly right,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The mysteries of God to light.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">No human brush could ever trace</span><br /> +<span class="i0">A droopin' willow with such grace!</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Page after page, new beauties rise</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To thrill with gladness an' surprise</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The soul of him who drops his care</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And seeks the woods to wander there.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Birds, with the angel gift o' song,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Make music for him all day long;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' nothin' that is base or mean</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Disturbs the grandeur of the scene.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There is no hint of hate or strife;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The woods display the joy of life,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' answer with a silence fine</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The scoffer's jeer at power divine.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When doubt is high an' faith is low,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Back to the woods an' fields I go,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' say to violet and tree:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"No mortal hand has fashioned thee."</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_055" id="Page_055">55</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph30">Mother's Job</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I'm just the man to make things right,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To mend a sleigh or make a kite,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Or wrestle on the floor and play</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Those rough and tumble games, but say!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Just let him get an ache or pain,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And start to whimper and complain,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And from my side he'll quickly flee</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To clamber on his mother's knee.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I'm good enough to be his horse</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And race with him along the course.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I'm just the friend he wants each time</span><br /> +<span class="i0">There is a tree he'd like to climb,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And I'm the pal he's eager for</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When we approach a candy store;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But for his mother straight he makes</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Whene'er his little stomach aches.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He likes, when he is feeling well,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The kind of stories that I tell,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And I'm his comrade and his chum</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And I must march behind his drum.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To me through thick and thin he'll stick,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Unless he happens to be sick.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In which event, with me he's through—</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Only his mother then will do.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_056" id="Page_056">56</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph31">The Approach of Christmas</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There's a little chap at our house that is being mighty good—</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Keeps the front lawn looking tidy in the way we've said he should;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Doesn't leave his little wagon, when he's finished with his play,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">On the sidewalk as he used to; now he puts it right away.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When we call him in to supper, we don't have to stand and shout;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It is getting on to Christmas and it's plain he's found it out.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He eats the food we give him without murmur or complaint;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He sits up at the table like a cherub or a saint;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He doesn't pinch his sister just to hear how loud she'll squeal;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Doesn't ask us to excuse him in the middle of the meal,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And at eight o'clock he's willing to be tucked away in bed.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It is getting close to Christmas; nothing further need be said.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I chuckle every evening as I see that little elf,</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_057" id="Page_057">57</a></span> +<span class="i0">With the crooked part proclaiming that he brushed his hair himself.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And I chuckle as I notice that his hands and face are clean,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For in him a perfect copy of another boy is seen—</span><br /> +<span class="i0">A little boy at Christmas, who was also being good,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Never guessing that his father and his mother understood.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There's a little boy at our house that is being mighty good;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Doing everything that's proper, doing everything he should.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But besides him there's a grown-up who has learned life's bitter truth,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Who is gladly living over all the joys of vanished youth.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And although he little knows it (for it's what I never knew),</span><br /> +<span class="i0">There's a mighty happy father sitting at the table, too.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_058" id="Page_058">58</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph32">The Bride</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Little lady at the altar,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Vowing by God's book and psalter</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To be faithful, fond and true</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Unto him who stands by you,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Think not that romance is ended,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That youth's curtain has descended,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And love's pretty play is done;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For it's only just begun.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Marriage, blushing little lady,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Is love's sunny path and shady,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Over which two hearts should wander,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Of each other growing fonder.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">As you stroll to each to-morrow,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">You will come to joy and sorrow,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And as faithful man and wife</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Read the troubled book of life.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Bitter cares will some day find you;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Closer, closer they will bind you;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">If together you will bear them,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Cares grow sweet when lovers share them.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Love unites two happy mortals,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Brings them here to wedlock's portals</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And then blithely bids them go,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Arm in arm, through weal and woe.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_059" id="Page_059">59</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Little lady, just remember</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Every year has its December,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Every rising sun its setting,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Every life its time of fretting;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And the honeymoon's sweet beauty</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Finds too soon the clouds of duty;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But keep faith, when trouble-tried,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And in joy you shall abide.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Little lady at the altar,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Never let your courage falter,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Never stoop to unbelieving,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Even when your heart is grieving.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To what comes of wintry weather</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Or disaster, stand together;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Through life's fearful hours of night</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Love shall bring you to the light.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_060" id="Page_060">60</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph33">An Apple Tree in France</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">An apple tree beside the way,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Drinking the sunshine day by day</span><br /> +<span class="i0">According to the Master's plan,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Had been a faithful friend to man.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It had been kind to all who came,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Nor asked the traveler's race or name,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But with the peasant boy or king</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Had shared its blossoms in the spring,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And from the summer's dreary heat</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To all had offered sweet retreat.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When autumn brought the harvest time,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Its branches all who wished might climb,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And take from many a tender shoot</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Its rosy-cheeked, delicious fruit.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Good men, by careless speech or deed,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Have caused a neighbor's heart to bleed;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Wrong has been done by high intent;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Hate has been born where love was meant,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Yet apple trees of field or farm</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Have never done one mortal harm.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then came the Germans into France</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And found this apple tree by chance.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They shared its blossoms in the spring;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They heard the songs the thrushes sing;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They rested in the cooling shade</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_061" id="Page_061">61</a></span> +<span class="i0">Its old and friendly branches made,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And in the fall its fruit they ate.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And then they turn on it in hate,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Like beasts, on blood and passion drunk,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They hewed great gashes in its trunk.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beneath its roots, with hell's delight,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They placed destruction's dynamite</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And blew to death, with impish glee,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An old and friendly apple tree.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Men may rebuild their homes in time;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Swiftly cathedral towers may climb,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And hearts forget their weight of woe,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">As over them life's currents flow,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But this their lasting shame shall be:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They put to death an apple tree!</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph34">Along the Paths o' Glory</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Along the paths o' glory there are faces new to-day,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">There are youthful hearts and sturdy that have found the westward way.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">From the rugged roads o' duty they have turned without a sigh,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To mingle with their brothers who were not afraid to die.</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_062" id="Page_062">62</a></span> +<span class="i0">And they're looking back and smiling at the loved ones left behind,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With the Old Flag flying o'er them, and they're calling "Never mind.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Never mind, oh, gentle mothers, that we shall not come again;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Never mind the years of absence, never mind the days of pain,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For we've found the paths o' glory where the flags o' freedom fly,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And we've learned the things we died for are the truths that never die.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Now there's never hurt can harm us, and the years will never fade</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The memory of the soldiers of the legions unafraid."</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Along the paths o' glory there are faces new to-day,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And the heavenly flags are flying as they march along the way;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For the world is safe from hatred; men shall know it at its best</span><br /> +<span class="i0">By the sacrifice and courage of the boys who go to rest.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Now they've claimed eternal splendor and they've won eternal youth,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And they've joined the gallant legions of the men who served the truth.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_063" id="Page_063">63</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph35">Cliffs of Scotland</h3> + +<p><i>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.)</i></p> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Cliffs of Scotland, guard them well,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Shield them from the blizzard's rage;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Let your granite towers tell</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That those sleeping heroes fell</span><br /> +<span class="i2">In the service of their age.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Cliffs of Scotland, they were ours!</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Now forever they are thine!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Guard them with your mighty powers!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Barren are your rocks of flowers,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">But their splendor makes them fine.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Cliffs of Scotland, at your base</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Freedom's finest children lie;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Keep them in your strong embrace!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Tell the young of every race</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Such as they shall never die.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Cliffs of Scotland, never more</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Men shall think you stern and cold;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Splendor now has found your shore;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Unto you the ocean bore</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Freedom's precious sons to hold.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_064" id="Page_064">64</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph36">Mother's Party Dress</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Some day," says Ma, "I'm goin' to get</span><br /> +<span class="i0">A party dress all trimmed with jet,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' hire a seamstress in, an' she</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Is goin' to fit it right on me;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' then, when I'm invited out</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To teas an' socials hereabout,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I'll put it on an' look as fine</span><br /> +<span class="i0">As all th' women friends of mine."</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' Pa looked up: "I sold a cow,"</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Says he, "go down an' get it now."</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' Ma replied: "I guess I'll wait,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We've other needs that's just as great.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The children need some clothes to wear,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' there are shoes we must repair;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It ain't important now to get</span><br /> +<span class="i0">A dress fer me, at least not yet;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">I really can't afford it."</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ma's talked about that dress fer years;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">How she'd have appliqued revers;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The kind o' trimmin' she would pick;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">How 't would be made to fit her slick;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The kind o' black silk she would choose,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The pattern she would like to use.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' I can mind the time when Pa</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Give twenty dollars right to Ma,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' said: "Now that's enough, I guess,</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_065" id="Page_065">65</a></span> +<span class="i0">Go buy yourself that party dress."</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' Ma would take th' bills an' smile,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' say: "I guess I'll wait awhile;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Aunt Kitty's poorly now with chills,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">She needs a doctor and some pills;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I'll buy some things fer her, I guess;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' anyhow, about that dress,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">I really can't afford it."</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">An' so it's been a-goin' on,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Her dress fer other things has gone;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Some one in need or some one sick</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Has always touched her to th' quick;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Or else, about th' time 'at she</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Could get th' dress, she'd always see</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The children needin' somethin' new;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' she would go an' get it, too.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' when we frowned at her, she'd smile</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' say: "The dress can wait awhile."</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Although her mind is set on laces,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Her heart goes out to other places;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' somehow, too, her money goes</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In ways that only mother knows.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">While there are things her children lack</span><br /> +<span class="i0">She won't put money on her back;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' that is why she hasn't got</span><br /> +<span class="i0">A party dress of silk, an' not</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Because she can't afford it.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_066" id="Page_066">66</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph37">Little Fishermen</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A little ship goes out to sea</span><br /> +<span class="i0">As soon as we have finished tea;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Off yonder where the big moon glows</span><br /> +<span class="i0">This tiny little vessel goes,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But never grown-up eyes have seen</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The ports to which this ship has been;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Upon the shore the old folks stand</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Till morning brings it back to land.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In search of smiles this little ship</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Each evening starts upon a trip;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Just smiles enough to last the day</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Is it allowed to bring away;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">So nightly to some golden shore</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It must set out alone for more,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And sail the rippling sea for miles</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Until the hold is full of smiles.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By gentle hands the sails are spread;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The stars are glistening overhead</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And in that hour when tiny ships</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Prepare to make their evening trips</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The sea becomes a wondrous place,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">As beautiful as mother's face;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And all the day's disturbing cries</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Give way to soothing lullabies.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_067" id="Page_067">67</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No clang of bell or warning shout</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Is heard on shore when they put out;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The little vessels slip away</span><br /> +<span class="i0">As silently as does the day.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And all night long on sands of gold</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They cast their nets, and fill the hold</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With smiles and joys beyond compare,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To cheer a world that's sad with care.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph38">The Cookie-Lady</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She is gentle, kind and fair,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And there's silver in her hair;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">She has known the touch of sorrow,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But the smile of her is sweet;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And sometimes it seems to me</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That her mission is to be</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The gracious cookie-lady</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To the youngsters of the street.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All the children in the block</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Daily stand beside the crock,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Where she keeps the sugar cookies</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That the little folks enjoy;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And no morning passes o'er</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That a tapping at her door</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Doesn't warn her of the visit</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Of a certain little boy.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_068" id="Page_068">68</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She has made him feel that he</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Has a natural right to be</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In her kitchen when she's baking</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Pies and cakes and ginger bread;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And each night to me he brings</span><br /> +<span class="i0">All the pretty, tender things</span><br /> +<span class="i0">About little by-gone children</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That the cookie-lady said.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, dear cookie-lady sweet,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">May you beautify our street</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With your kind and gentle presence</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Many more glad years, I pray;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">May the skies be bright above you,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">As you've taught our babes to love you;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">You will scar their hearts with sorrow</span><br /> +<span class="i0">If you ever go away.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Life is strange, and when I scan it,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I believe God tries to plan it,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">So that where He sends his babies</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In that neighborhood to dwell,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">One of rare and gracious beauty</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Shall abide, whose sweetest duty</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Is to be the cookie-lady</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That the children love so well.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_069" id="Page_069">69</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph39">Pleasure's Signs</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There's a bump on his brow and a smear on his cheek</span><br /> +<span class="i2">That is plainly the stain of his tears;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">At his neck there's a glorious sun-painted streak,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">The bronze of his happiest years.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Oh, he's battered and bruised at the end of the day,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">But smiling before me he stands,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And somehow I like to behold him that way.</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Yes, I like him with dirt on his hands.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Last evening he painfully limped up to me</span><br /> +<span class="i2">His tale of adventure to tell;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He showed me a grime-covered cut on his knee,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And told me the place where he fell.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">His clothing was stained to the color of clay,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And he looked to be nobody's lad,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But somehow I liked to behold him that way,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">For it spoke of the fun that he'd had.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Let women-folk prate as they will of a boy</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Who is heedless of knickers and shirt;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I hold that the badge of a young fellow's joy</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Are cheeks that are covered with dirt.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">So I look for him nightly to greet me that way,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">His joys and misfortunes to tell,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For I know by the signs that he wears of his play</span><br /> +<span class="i2">That the lad I'm so fond of is well.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_070" id="Page_070">70</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph40">Snooping 'Round</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Last night I caught him on his knees and looking underneath the bed,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And oh, the guilty look he wore, and oh, the stammered words he said,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When I, pretending to be cross, said: "Hey, young fellow, what's your game?"</span><br /> +<span class="i0">As if, back in the long ago, I hadn't also played the same;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">As if, upon my hands and knees, I hadn't many a time been found</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When, thinking of the Christmas Day, I'd gone upstairs to snoop around.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But there he stood and hung his head; the rascal knew it wasn't fair.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"I jes' was wonderin'," he said, "jes' what it was that's under there.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It's somepin' all wrapped up an' I thought mebbe it might be a sled,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Becoz I saw a piece of wood 'at's stickin' out all painted red."</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"If mother knew," I said to him, "you'd get a licking, I'll be bound,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But just clear out of here at once, and don't you ever snoop around."</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And as he scampered down the stairs I stood and chuckled to myself,</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_071" id="Page_071">71</a></span> +<span class="i0">As I remembered how I'd oft explored the topmost closet shelf.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It all came back again to me—with what a shrewd and cunning way</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I, too, had often sought to solve the mysteries of Christmas Day.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">How many times my daddy, too, had come upstairs without a sound</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And caught me, just as I'd begun my clever scheme to snoop around.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And oh, I envied him his plight; I envied him the joy he feels</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Who knows that every drawer that's locked some treasure dear to him conceals;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I envied him his Christmas fun and wished that it again were mine</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To seek to solve the mysteries by paper wrapped and bound by twine.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Some day he'll come to understand that all the time I stood and frowned,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I saw a boy of years ago who also used to snoop around.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_072" id="Page_072">72</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph41">Bud Discusses Cleanliness</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">First thing in the morning, last I hear at night,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Get it when I come from school: "My, you look a sight!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Go upstairs this minute, an' roll your sleeves up high</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' give your hands a scrubbing and wipe 'em till they're dry!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Now don't stand there and argue, and never mind your tears!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And this time please remember to wash your neck and ears."</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Can't see why ears grow on us, all crinkled like a shell,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With lots of fancy carvings that make a feller yell</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Each time his Ma digs in them to get a speck of dirt,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When plain ones would be easy to wash and wouldn't hurt.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And I can't see the reason why every time Ma nears,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">She thinks she's got to send me to wash my neck and ears.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I never wash to suit her; don't think I ever will.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">If I was white as sister, she'd call me dirty still.</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_073" id="Page_073">73</a></span> +<span class="i0">At night I get a scrubbing and go to bed, and then</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The first thing in the morning, she makes me wash again.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That strikes me as ridiklus; I've thought of it a heap.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">A feller can't get dirty when he is fast asleep.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When I grow up to be a man like Pa, and have a wife</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And kids to boss around, you bet they'll have an easy life.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We won't be at them all the time, the way they keep at me,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And kick about a little dirt that no one else can see.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And every night at supper time as soon as he appears,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We will not chase our boy away to wash his neck and ears.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_074" id="Page_074">74</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph42">Tied Down</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"They tie you down," a woman said,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Whose cheeks should have been flaming red</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With shame to speak of children so.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"When babies come you cannot go</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In search of pleasure with your friends,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And all your happy wandering ends.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The things you like you cannot do,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For babies make a slave of you."</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I looked at her and said: "'Tis true</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That children make a slave of you,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And tie you down with many a knot,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But have you never thought to what</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It is of happiness and pride</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That little babies have you tied?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Do you not miss the greater joys</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That come with little girls and boys?</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"They tie you down to laughter rare,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To hours of smiles and hours of care,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To nights of watching and to fears;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Sometimes they tie you down to tears</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And then repay you with a smile,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And make your trouble all worth while.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They tie you fast to chubby feet,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And cheeks of pink and kisses sweet.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_075" id="Page_075">75</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"They fasten you with cords of love</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To God divine, who reigns above.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They tie you, whereso'er you roam,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Unto the little place called home;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And over sea or railroad track</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They tug at you to bring you back.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The happiest people in the town</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Are those the babies have tied down.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh, go your selfish way and free,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But hampered I would rather be,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Yes rather than a kingly crown</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I would be, what you term, tied down;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Tied down to dancing eyes and charms,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Held fast by chubby, dimpled arms,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The fettered slave of girl and boy,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And win from them earth's finest joy."</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_076" id="Page_076">76</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph43">Our Country</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">God grant that we shall never see</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Our country slave to lust and greed;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">God grant that here all men shall be</span><br /> +<span class="i2">United by a common creed.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Here Freedom's Flag has held the sky</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Unstained, untarnished from its birth;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Long may it wave to typify</span><br /> +<span class="i2">The happiest people on the earth.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beneath its folds have mothers smiled</span><br /> +<span class="i2">To see their little ones at play;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">No tyrant hand, by shame defiled,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">To them has barred life's rosy way.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">No cruel wall of caste or class</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Has bid men pause or turn aside;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Here looms no gate they may not pass—</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Here every door is opened wide.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Here at the wells of Freedom all</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Who are athirst may drink their fill.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Here fame and fortune wait to call</span><br /> +<span class="i2">The toiler who has proved his skill.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Here wisdom sheds afar its light</span><br /> +<span class="i2">As every morn the school bells ring,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And little children read and write</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And share the knowledge of a king.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_077" id="Page_077">77</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">God grant that we shall never see</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Our country slave to lust and greed;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">God grant that men shall always be</span><br /> +<span class="i2">United for our nation's need.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Here selfishness has never reigned,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Here freedom all who come may know;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">By tyranny our Flag's unstained!</span><br /> +<span class="i2">God grant that we may keep it so.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph44">Fatherhood</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Before you came, my little lad,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">I used to think that I was good;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Some vicious habits, too, I had,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">But wouldn't change them if I could.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I held my head up high and said:</span><br /> +<span class="i2">"I'm all that I have need to be,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It matters not what path I tread—"</span><br /> +<span class="i2">But that was ere you came to me.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I treated lightly sacred things,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And went my way in search of fun;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Upon myself I kept no strings,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And gave no heed to folly done.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I gave myself up to the fight</span><br /> +<span class="i2">For worldly wealth and earthly fame,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And sought advantage, wrong or right—</span><br /> +<span class="i2">But that was long before you came.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_078" id="Page_078">78</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But now you sit across from me,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Your big brown eyes are opened wide,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And every deed I do you see,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And, O, I dare not step aside.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I've shaken loose from habits bad,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And what is wrong I've come to dread,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Because I know, my little lad,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">That you will follow where I tread.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I want those eyes to glow with pride;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">In me I want those eyes to see,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The while we wander side by side,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">The sort of man I'd have you be.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And so I'm striving to be good</span><br /> +<span class="i2">With all my might, that you may know,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When this great world is understood,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">What pleasures are worth while below.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I see life in a different light</span><br /> +<span class="i2">From what I did before you came;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Then anything that pleased seemed right—</span><br /> +<span class="i2">But you are here to bear my name,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And you are looking up to me</span><br /> +<span class="i2">With those big eyes from day to day,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And I'm determined not to be</span><br /> +<span class="i2">The means of leading you astray.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_079" id="Page_079">79</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph45">A Choice</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sure, they get stubborn at times; they worry and fret us a lot,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But I'd rather be crossed by a glad little boy and frequently worried than not.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">There are hours when they get on my nerves and set my poor brain all awhirl,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But I'd rather be troubled that way than to be the man who has no little girl.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There are times they're a nuisance, that's true, with all of their racket and noise,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But I'd rather my personal pleasures be lost than to give up my girls and my boys.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Not always they're perfectly good; there are times when they're wilfully bad,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But I'd rather be worried by youngsters of mine than lonely and childless and sad.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So I try to be patient and calm whenever they're having their fling;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For the sum of their laughter and love is more than the worry they bring.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And each night when sweet peace settles down and I see them asleep in their cot,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I chuckle and say: "They upset me to-day, but I'd rather be that way than not."</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_080" id="Page_080">80</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph46">What Father Knows</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My father knows the proper way</span><br /> +<span class="i2">The nation should be run;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He tells us children every day</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Just what should now be done.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He knows the way to fix the trusts,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">He has a simple plan;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But if the furnace needs repairs</span><br /> +<span class="i2">We have to hire a man.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My father, in a day or two,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Could land big thieves in jail;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">There's nothing that he cannot do,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">He knows no word like "fail."</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"Our confidence" he would restore,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Of that there is no doubt;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But if there is a chair to mend</span><br /> +<span class="i2">We have to send it out.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All public questions that arise</span><br /> +<span class="i2">He settles on the spot;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He waits not till the tumult dies,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">But grabs it while it's hot.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In matters of finance he can</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Tell Congress what to do;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But, O, he finds it hard to meet</span><br /> +<span class="i2">His bills as they fall due.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_081" id="Page_081">81</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It almost makes him sick to read</span><br /> +<span class="i2">The things law-makers say;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Why, father's just the man they need;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">He never goes astray.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">All wars he'd very quickly end,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">As fast as I can write it;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But when a neighbor starts a fuss</span><br /> +<span class="i2">'Tis mother has to fight it.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In conversation father can</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Do many wondrous things;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He's built upon a wiser plan</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Than presidents or kings.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He knows the ins and outs of each</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And every deep transaction;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We look to him for theories,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">But look to ma for action.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_082" id="Page_082">82</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph47">Back Home</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Glad to get back home again,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Where abide the friendly men;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Glad to see the same old scenes</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And the little house that means</span><br /> +<span class="i0">All the joys the soul has treasured—</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Glad to be where smiles aren't measured,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Where I've blended with the gladness</span><br /> +<span class="i0">All the heart has known of sadness,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Where some long-familiar steeple</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Marks my town of friendly people.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though it's fun to go a-straying</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Where the bands are nightly playing</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And the throngs of men and women</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Drain the cup of pleasure brimmin',</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I am glad when it is over</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That I've ceased to play the Rover.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And when once the train starts chugging</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Towards the children I'd be hugging,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">All my thoughts and dreams are set there;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Fast enough I cannot get there.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Guess I wasn't meant for bright lights,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For the blaze of red and white lights,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For the throngs that seems to smother</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In their selfishness, each other;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For whenever I've been down there,</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_083" id="Page_083">83</a></span> +<span class="i0">Tramped the noisy, blatant town there,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Always in a week I've started</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Yearning, hungering, heavy-hearted,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For the home town and its spaces</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Lit by fine and friendly faces.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Like to be where men about me</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Do not look on me to doubt me;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Where I know the men and women,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Know why tears some eyes are dimmin',</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Know the good folks an' the bad folks</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' the glad folks an' the sad folks;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Where we live with one another,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Meanin' something to each other.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' I'm glad to see the steeple,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Where the crowds aren't merely people.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_084" id="Page_084">84</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph48">The Dead Return</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The dead return. I know they do;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The glad smile may have passed from view,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The ringing voice that cheered us so</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In that remembered long ago</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Be stilled, and yet in sweeter ways</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It speaks to us throughout our days.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The kindly father comes again</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To guide us through the haunts of men,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And always near, their sons to greet</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Are lingering the mothers sweet.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">About us wheresoe'er we tread</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Hover the spirits of our dead;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We cannot see them as we could</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In bygone days, when near they stood</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And shared the joys and griefs that came,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But they are with us just the same.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They see us as we plod along,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And proudly smile when we are strong,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And sigh and grieve the self-same way</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When thoughtlessly we go astray.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I sometimes think it hurts the dead</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When into sin and shame we're led,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And that they feel a thrill divine</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When we've accomplished something fine.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And sometimes thoughts that come at night</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_085" id="Page_085">85</a></span> +<span class="i0">Seem more like messages that might</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Have whispered been by one we love,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Whose spirit has been called above.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">So wise the counsel, it must be</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That all we are the dead can see.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The dead return. They come to share</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Our laughter and our bit of care;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They glory, as they used to do,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When we are splendid men and true,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In all the joy that we have won,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And they are proud of what we've done.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They suffer when we suffer woe;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">All things about us here they know.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And though we never see them here</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Their spirits hover very near.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_086" id="Page_086">86</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph49">My Soul and I</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When winter shuts a fellow in and turns the lock upon his door,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">There's nothing else for him to do but sit and dream his bygones o'er.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And then before an open fire he smokes his pipe, while in the blaze</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He seems to see a picture show of all his happy yesterdays.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">No ordinary film is that which memory throws upon the screen,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But one in which his hidden soul comes out and can be plainly seen.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now, I've been dreaming by the grate. I've seen myself the way I am,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Stripped bare of affectation's garb and wisdom's pose and folly's sham.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I've seen my soul and talked with it, and learned some things I never knew.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I walk about the world as one, but I express the wish of two.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I've come to see the soul of me is wiser than my selfish mind,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For it has safely led me through the tangled paths I've left behind.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_087" id="Page_087">87</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I should have sold myself for gold when I was young long years ago,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But for my soul which whispered then: "You love your home and garden so,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">You never could be quite content in palace walls. Once rise to fame</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And you will lose the gentler joys which now so eagerly you claim.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I want to walk these lanes with you and keep the comradeship of trees,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Let you and I be happy here, nor seek life's gaudy luxuries."</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mine is a curious soul, I guess; it seemed so, smiling in my dreams;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It keeps me close to little folks and birds and flowers and running streams,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To Mother and her friends and mine; and though no fortune we possess,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The years that we have lived and loved have all been rich with happiness.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I'm glad the snowdrifts shut me in, for I have had a chance to see</span><br /> +<span class="i0">How fortunate I've been to have that sort of soul to counsel me.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_088" id="Page_088">88</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph50">Aunty</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I'm sorry for a feller if he hasn't any aunt,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To let him eat and do the things his mother says he can't.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An aunt to come a visitin' or one to go and see</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Is just about the finest kind of lady there could be.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Of course she's not your mother, an' she hasn't got her ways,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But a part that's most important in a feller's life she plays.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She is kind an' she is gentle, an' sometimes she's full of fun,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' she's very sympathetic when some dreadful thing you've done.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' she likes to buy you candy, an' she's always gettin' toys</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That you wish your Pa would get you, for she hasn't any boys.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But sometimes she's over-loving, an' your cheeks turn red with shame</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When she smothers you with kisses, but you like her just the same.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One time my father took me to my aunty's, an' he said:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"You will stay here till I get you, an' be sure you go to bed</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_089" id="Page_089">89</a></span> +<span class="i0">When your aunty says it's time to, an' be good an' mind her, too,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' when you come home we'll try to have a big surprise for you."</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I did as I was told to, an' when Pa came back for me</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He said there was a baby at the house for me to see.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I've been visitin' at aunty's for a week or two, an' Pa</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Has written that he's comin' soon to take me home to Ma.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He says they're gettin' lonely, an' I'm kind o' lonely, too,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Coz an aunt is not exactly what your mother is to you.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I am hungry now to see her, but I'm wondering to-day</span><br /> +<span class="i0">If Pa's bought another baby in the time I've been away.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_090" id="Page_090">90</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph51">Bread and Jam</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I wish I was a poet like the men that write in books</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The poems that we have to learn on valleys, hills an' brooks;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I'd write of things that children like an' know an' understand,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' when the kids recited them the folks would call them grand.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">If I'd been born a Whittier, instead of what I am,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I'd write a poem now about a piece of bread an' jam.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I'd tell how hungry children get all afternoon in school,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' sittin' at attention just because it is the rule,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' lookin' every now an' then up to the clock to see</span><br /> +<span class="i0">If that big hand an' little hand would ever get to three.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I'd tell how children hurry home an' give the door a slam</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' ask their mothers can they have a piece of bread an' jam.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Some poets write of things to eat an' sing of dinners fine,</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_091" id="Page_091">91</a></span> +<span class="i0">An' praise the dishes they enjoy, an' some folks sing of wine,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But they've forgotten, I suppose, the days when they were small</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' hurried home from school to get the finest food of all;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They don't remember any more how good it was to cram</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Inside their hungry little selves a piece of bread an' jam.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I wish I was a Whittier, a Stevenson or Burns,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I wouldn't write of hills an' brooks, or mossy banks or ferns,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I wouldn't write of rolling seas or mountains towering high,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But I would sing of chocolate cake an' good old apple pie,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' best of all the food there is, beyond the slightest doubt,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Is bread an' jam we always get as soon as school is out.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_092" id="Page_092">92</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph52">The Little Woman</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The little woman, to her I bow</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And doff my hat as I pass her by;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I reverence the furrows that mark her brow,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And the sparkling love light in her eye.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The little woman who stays at home,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And makes no bid for the world's applause;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Who never sighs for a chance to roam,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">But toils all day in a grander cause.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The little woman, who seems so weak,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Yet bears her burdens day by day;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And no one has ever heard her speak</span><br /> +<span class="i2">In a bitter or loud complaining way.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">She sings a snatch of a merry song,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">As she toils in her home from morn to night.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Her work is hard and the hours are long</span><br /> +<span class="i2">But the little woman's heart is light.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A slave to love is that woman small,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And yearly her burdens heavier grow,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But somehow she seems to bear them all,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">As the deep'ning lines in her white cheeks show.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Her children all have a mother's care,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Her home the touch of a good wife knows;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">No burden's too heavy for her to bear,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">But, patiently doing her best, she goes.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_093" id="Page_093">93</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The little woman, may God be kind</span><br /> +<span class="i2">To her wherever she dwells to-day;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The little woman who seems to find</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Her joy in toiling along life's way.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">May God bring peace to her work-worn breast</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And joy to her mother-heart at last;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">May love be hers when it's time to rest,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And the roughest part of the road is passed.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The little woman—how oft it seems</span><br /> +<span class="i2">God chooses her for the mother's part;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And many a grown-up sits and dreams</span><br /> +<span class="i2">To-day of her with an aching heart.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For he knows well how she toiled for him</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And he sees it now that it is too late;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And often his eyes with tears grow dim</span><br /> +<span class="i2">For the little woman whose strength was great.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_094" id="Page_094">94</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph53">The Father of the Man</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I can't help thinkin' o' the lad!</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Here's summer bringin' trees to fruit,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' every bush with roses clad,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">An' nature in her finest suit,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' all things as they used to be</span><br /> +<span class="i2">In days before the war came on.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Yet time has changed both him an' me,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">An' I am here, but he is gone.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The orchard's as it was back then</span><br /> +<span class="i2">When he was just a little tyke;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The lake's as calm an' fair as when</span><br /> +<span class="i2">We used to go to fish for pike.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">There's nothing different I can see</span><br /> +<span class="i2">That God has made about the place,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Except the change in him an' me,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">An' that is difficult to trace.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I only know one day he came</span><br /> +<span class="i2">An' found me in the barn alone.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To some he might have looked the same,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">But he was not the lad I'd known.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">His soul, it seemed, had heard the call</span><br /> +<span class="i2">As plainly as a mortal can.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Before he spoke to me at all,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">I saw my boy become a man.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_095" id="Page_095">95</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I can't explain just what occurred;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">I sat an' talked about it there;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The dinner-bell I never heard,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Or if I did, I didn't care.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But suddenly it seemed to me</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Out of the dark there came a light,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' in a new way I could see</span><br /> +<span class="i2">That I was wrong an' he was right.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I can't help thinkin' o' the lad!</span><br /> +<span class="i2">He's fightin' hate an' greed an' lust,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' here am I, his doting dad,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Believin' in a purpose just.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Time was I talked the joy o' play,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">But now life's goal is all I see;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The petty thoughts I've put away—</span><br /> +<span class="i2">My boy has made a man o' me.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_096" id="Page_096">96</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph54">When Mother Made An Angel Cake</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When mother baked an angel cake we kids would gather round</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' watch her gentle hands at work, an' never make a sound;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We'd watch her stir the eggs an' flour an' powdered sugar, too,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' pour it in the crinkled tin, an' then when it was through</span><br /> +<span class="i0">She'd spread the icing over it, an' we knew very soon</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That one would get the plate to lick, an' one would get the spoon.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It seemed no matter where we were those mornings at our play,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Upstairs or out of doors somewhere, we all knew right away</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When Ma was in the kitchen, an' was gettin' out the tin</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' things to make an angel cake, an' so we scampered in.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' Ma would smile at us an' say: "Now you keep still an' wait</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' when I'm through I'll let you lick the spoon an' icing plate."</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_097" id="Page_097">97</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We watched her kneel beside the stove, an' put her arm so white</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Inside the oven just to find if it was heatin' right.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' mouths an' eyes were open then, becoz we always knew</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The time for us to get our taste was quickly comin' due.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Then while she mixed the icing up, she'd hum a simple tune,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' one of us would bar the plate, an' one would bar the spoon.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Could we catch a glimpse of Heaven, and some snow-white kitchen there,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I'm sure that we'd see mother, smiling now, and still as fair;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And I know that gathered round her we should see an angel brood</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That is watching every movement as she makes an angel food;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For I know that little angels, as we used to do, await</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The moment when she lets them lick the icing spoon and plate.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_098" id="Page_098">98</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph55">The Gift of Play</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Some have the gift of song and some possess the gift of silver speech,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Some have the gift of leadership and some the ways of life can teach.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And fame and wealth reward their friends; in jewels are their splendors told,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But in good time their favorites grow very faint and gray and old.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But there are men who laugh at time and hold the cruel years at bay;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They romp through life forever young because they have the gift of play.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They walk with children, hand in hand, through daisy fields and orchards fair,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Nor all the dignity of age and power and pomp can follow there;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They've kept the magic charm of youth beneath the wrinkled robe of Time,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And there's no friendly apple tree that they have grown too old to climb.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They have not let their boyhood die; they can be children for the day;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They have not bartered for success and all its praise, the gift of play.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_099" id="Page_099">99</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They think and talk in terms of youth; with love of life their eyes are bright;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">No rheumatism of the soul has robbed them of the world's delight;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They laugh and sing their way along and join in pleasures when they can,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And in their glad philosophy they hold that mirth becomes a man.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They spend no strength in growing old. What if their brows be crowned with gray?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The spirits in their breasts are young. They still possess the gift of play.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The richest men of life are not the ones who rise to wealth and fame—</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Not the great sages, old and wise, and grave of face and bent of frame,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But the glad spirits, tall and straight, who 'spite of time and all its care,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Have kept the power to laugh and sing and in youth's fellowship to share.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They that can walk with boys and be a boy among them, blithe and gay,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Defy the withering blasts of Age because they have the gift of play.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">100</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph56">Toys and Life</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You can learn a lot from boys</span><br /> +<span class="i0">By the way they use their toys;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Some are selfish in their care,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Never very glad to share</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Playthings with another boy;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Seem to want to hoard their joy.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And they hide away the drum</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For the days that never come;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Hide the train of cars and skates,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Keeping them from all their mates,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And run all their boyhood through</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With their toys as good as new.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Others gladly give and lend,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Heedless that the tin may bend,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Caring not that drum-heads break,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Minding not that playmates take</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To themselves the joy that lies</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In the little birthday prize.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And in homes that house such boys</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Always there are broken toys,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Symbolizing moments glad</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That the youthful lives have had.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">There you'll never find a shelf</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Dedicated unto self.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Toys are made for children's fun,</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">101</a></span> +<span class="i0">Very frail and quickly done,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And who keeps them long to view,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Bright of paint and good as new,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Robs himself and other boys</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Of their swiftly passing joys.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">So he looked upon a toy</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When our soldier was a boy;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And somehow to-day we're glad</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That the tokens of our lad</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And the trinkets that we keep</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Are a broken, battered heap.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Life itself is but a toy</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Filled with duty and with joy;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Not too closely should we guard</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Our brief time from being scarred;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Never high on musty shelves</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Should we hoard it for ourselves.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It is something we should share</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In another's hour of care—</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Something we should gladly give</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That another here may live;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We should never live it through</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Keeping it as good as new.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">102</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph57">Being Dad on Christmas Eve</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They've hung their stockings up with care,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And I am in my old arm chair,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And mother's busy dragging out</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The parcels hidden all about.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Within a corner, gaunt to see,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">There stands a barren Christmas tree,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But soon upon its branches green</span><br /> +<span class="i0">A burst of splendor will be seen.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And when the busy tongues grow still,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That now are wagging with a will</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Above me as I sit and rest,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I shall be at my happiest.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The greatest joy man can receive</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Is being Dad on Christmas eve.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Soon I shall toil with tinsel bright;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Place here and there a colored light,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And wheresoe'er my fingers lie</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To-morrow shall a youngster spy</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Some wonder gift or magic toy,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To fill his little soul with joy.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The stockings on the mantle piece</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I'll bulge with sweets, till every crease</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That marks them now is stretched away.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">There will be horns and drums to play</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And dolls to love. For it's my task</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To get for them the joys they ask.</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">103</a></span> +<span class="i0">What greater charm can fortune weave</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Than being Dad on Christmas eve?</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With all their pomp, great monarchs miss</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The happiness of scenes like this.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Rich halls to-night are still and sad,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Because no little girl or lad</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Shall wake upon the morn to find</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The joys that love has left behind.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Oh, I have had my share of woe—</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Known what it is to bear a blow—</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Shed sorrow's tears and stood to care</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When life seemed desolate and bare,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Yet here to-night I smile and say</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Worth while was all that came my way.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For this one joy, all else I'd leave:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To be their Dad on Christmas eve.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph58">Little Girls</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">God made the little boys for fun, for rough and tumble times of play;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He made their little legs to run and race and scamper through the day.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He made them strong for climbing trees, he suited them for horns and drums,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And filled them full of revelries so they could be their father's chums.</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">104</a></span> +<span class="i0">But then He saw that gentle ways must also travel from above.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And so, through all our troubled days He sent us little girls to love.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He knew that earth would never do, unless a bit of Heaven it had.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Men needed eyes divinely blue to toil by day and still be glad.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">A world where only men and boys made merry would in time grow stale,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And so He shared His Heavenly joys that faith in Him should never fail.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He sent us down a thousand charms, He decked our ways with golden curls</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And laughing eyes and dimpled arms. He let us have His little girls.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They are the tenderest of His flowers, the little angels of His flock,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And we may keep and call them ours, until God's messenger shall knock.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They bring to us the gentleness and beauty that we sorely need;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They soothe us with each fond caress and strengthen us for every deed.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And happy should that mortal be whom God has trusted, through the years,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To guard a little girl and see that she is kept from pain and tears.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">105</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph59">United States</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He shall be great who serves his country well.</span><br /> +<span class="i2">He shall be loved who ever guards her fame.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">His worth the starry banner long shall tell,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Who loves his land too much to stoop to shame.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Who shares the splendor of these sunny skies</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Has freedom as his birthright, and may know</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Rich fellowship with comrades brave and wise;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Into the realms of manhood he may go.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Who writes, "United States" beside his name</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Offers a pledge that he himself is true;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Gives guarantee that selfishness or shame</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Shall never mar the work he finds to do.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He is received world-wide as one who lives</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Above the sordid dreams of petty gain,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And is reputed as a man who gives</span><br /> +<span class="i2">His best to others in their hours of pain.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">This is the heritage of Freedom's soil:</span><br /> +<span class="i2">High purposes and lofty goals to claim.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And he shall be rewarded for his toil</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Who loves his land too much to stoop to shame.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">106</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph60">When My Ship Comes In</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You shall have satin and silk to wear,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">When my ship comes in;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And jewels to shine in your raven hair,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">When my ship comes in.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Oh, the path is dreary to-day and long,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And little I've brought to your life of song,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But the dream still lives and the faith is strong,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">When my ship comes in.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Gold and silver are pledged to you,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">When my ship comes in;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I pay with this promise for all you do,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">When my ship comes in.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Oh, fairest partner man ever had,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It's little I've brought you to make you glad</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Save the whispered suggestion in moments sad,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When my ship comes in.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though crowded with treasures should be her hold,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">When my ship comes in,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I never can pay for the charms of old,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">When my ship comes in.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The strength I have taken from you has fled,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The time for the joys that you craved has sped,</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">107</a></span> +<span class="i0">I must pay for your gold with the dullest lead,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">When my ship comes in.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Too late, too late will the treasures be,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">When my ship comes in.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For Age shall stand with us on the quay,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">When my ship comes in.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For the love you've given and the faith you've shown,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But a glimpse of the joys that you might have known</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Will it then be yours on that day to own,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">When my ship comes in.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">108</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph61">The Children</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The children bring us laughter, and the children bring us tears;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They string our joys, like jewels bright, upon the thread of years;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They bring the bitterest cares we know, their mothers' sharpest pain,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Then smile our world to loveliness, like sunshine after rain.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The children make us what we are; the childless king is spurned;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The children send us to the hills where glories may be earned;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For them we pledge our lives to strife, for them do mothers fade,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And count in new-born loveliness their sacrifice repaid.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The children bring us back to God; in eyes that dance and shine</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Men read from day to day the proof of love and power divine;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For them are fathers brave and good and mothers fair and true,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For them is every cherished dream and every deed we do.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">109</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For children are the furnace fires of life kept blazing high;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For children on the battle fields are soldiers pleased to die;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In every place where humans toil, in every dream and plan,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The laughter of the children shapes the destiny of man.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph62">The Comedian</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Whatever the task and whatever the risk, wherever the flag's in air,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The funny man with his sunny ways is sure to be laughing there.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">There are men who fret, there are men who dream, men making the best of it,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">But whether it's hunger or death they face,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Or burning thirst in a desert place,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">There is always one, by the good Lord's grace,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Who is making a jest of it.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He travels wherever his brothers go and he leaves his home behind him,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The need for smiles he seems to know; in the ranks of death you'll find him.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When some are weary and sick and faint, and all with the dust are choking,</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">110</a></span> +<span class="i2">He dances there with a spirit gay,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And tints with gold what is drab and gray,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And into the gloom of the night and day</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He scatters his mirthful joking.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He wins to courage the soul-tried men; he lightens their hours of sorrow;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He turns their thoughts from the grief that is to the joy that may come to-morrow.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He mocks at death and he jests at toil, as one that is never weary;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">He japes at danger and discipline,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Or the muddy trench that he's standing in;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">There's nothing can banish his merry grin,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Or dampen his spirits cheery.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The honors of war to its heroes go; for them are the pomp and glory,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But seldom it is that the types relate a victory's inside story.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And few shall know when the strife is done and the history's made hereafter,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">How much depended on him who stirred</span><br /> +<span class="i2">The souls of men with a cheerful word,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And kept them brave by a jest absurd,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And brightened their days with laughter.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">111</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph63">Faith</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It is faith that bridges the land of breath</span><br /> +<span class="i2">To the realms of the souls departed,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That comforts the living in days of death,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And strengthens the heavy-hearted.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It is faith in his dreams that keeps a man</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Face front to the odds about him,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And he shall conquer who thinks he can,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">In spite of the throngs who doubt him.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Each must stand in the court of life</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And pass through the hours of trial;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He shall tested be by the rules of strife,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And tried for his self-denial.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Time shall bruise his soul with the loss of friends,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And frighten him with disaster,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But he shall find when the anguish ends</span><br /> +<span class="i2">That of all things faith is master.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So keep your faith in the God above,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And faith in the righteous truth,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It shall bring you back to the absent love,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And the joys of a vanished youth.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">You shall smile once more when your tears are dried,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Meet trouble and swiftly rout it,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For faith is the strength of the soul inside,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And lost is the man without it.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">112</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph64">The Burden Bearer</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, my shoulders grow aweary of the burdens I am bearin',</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' I grumble when I'm footsore at the rough road I am farin',</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But I strap my knapsack tighter till I feel the leather bind me,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' I'm glad to bear the burdens for the ones who come behind me.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It's for them that I am ploddin', for the children comin' after;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I would strew their path with roses and would fill their days with laughter.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, there's selfishness within me, there are times it gets to talkin',</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Times I hear it whisper to me, "It's a dusty road you're walkin';</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Why not rest your feet a little; why not pause an' take your leisure?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Don't you hunger in your strivin' for the merry whirl of pleasure?"</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Then I turn an' see them smilin' an' I grip my burdens tighter,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For the joy that I am seekin' is to see their eyes grow brighter.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">113</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, I've sipped the cup of sorrow an' I've felt the gad of trouble,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' I know the hurt of trudgin' through a field o'errun with stubble;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But a rougher road to travel had my father good before me,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' I'm owin' all my gladness to the tasks he shouldered for me.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Oh, I didn't understand it, when a lad I played about him,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But he labored for my safety in the days I'd be without him.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, my kindly father never gave himself a year of leisure—</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Never lived one selfish moment, never turned aside for pleasure—</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Though he must have grown aweary of the burdens he was bearin';</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He was tryin' hard to better every road I'd soon be farin'.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Now I turn an' see them smilin' an' I hear their merry laughter,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' I'm glad to bear the burdens for the ones that follow after.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">114</a></span></div> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph65">"It's a Boy"</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The doctor leads a busy life, he wages war with death;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Long hours he spends to help the one who's fighting hard for breath;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He cannot call his time his own, nor share in others' fun,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">His duties claim him through the night when others' work is done.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And yet the doctor seems to be God's messenger of joy,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Appointed to announce this news of gladness: "It's a boy!"</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In many ways unpleasant is the doctor's round of cares,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I should not like to have to bear the burdens that he bears;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">His eyes must look on horrors grim, unmoved he must remain,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Emotion he must master if he hopes to conquer pain;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Yet to his lot this duty falls, his voice he must employ</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To speak to man the happiest phrase that's sounded: "It's a boy!"</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I wish 'twere given me to speak a message half so glad</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">115</a></span> +<span class="i0">As that the doctor brings unto the fear-distracted dad.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I wish that simple words of mine could change the skies to blue,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And lift the care from troubled hearts, as those he utters do.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I wish that I could banish all the thoughts that man annoy,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And cheer him as the doctor does, who whispers: "It's a boy."</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Whoever through the hours of night has stood outside her door,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And wondered if she'd smile again; whoe'er has paced the floor,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And lived those years of fearful thoughts, and then been swept from woe</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Up to the topmost height of bliss that's given man to know,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Will tell you there's no phrase so sweet, so charged with human joy</span><br /> +<span class="i0">As that the doctor brings from God—that message: "It's a boy!"</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">116</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph66">The Finest Fellowship</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There may be finer pleasures than just tramping with your boy,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And better ways to spend a day; there may be sweeter joy;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">There may be richer fellowship than that of son and dad,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But if there is, I know it not; it's one I've never had.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, some may choose to walk with kings and men of pomp and pride,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But as for me, I choose to have my youngster at my side.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And some may like the rosy ways of grown-up pleasures glad,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But I would go a-wandering with just a little lad.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yes, I would seek the woods with him and talk to him of trees,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And learn to know the birds a-wing and hear their melodies;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And I would drop all worldly care and be a boy awhile;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Then hand-in-hand come home at dusk to see the mother smile.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">117</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Grown men are wearisome at times, and selfish pleasures jar,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But sons and dads throughout the world the truest comrades are.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">So when I want a perfect day with every joy that's fine,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I spend it in the open with that little lad o' mine.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph67">Different</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The kids at our house number three,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">As different as they can be;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And if perchance they numbered six</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Each one would have particular tricks,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And certain little whims and fads</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Unlike the other girls and lads.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">No two glad rascals can you name</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Whom God has fashioned just the same.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Bud's tough and full of life and fun</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And likes to race about and run,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And tease the girls; the rascal knows</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The slyest ways to pinch a nose,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And yank a curl until it hurts,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And disarrange their Sunday skirts.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Sometimes he trips them, heads o'er heels,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To glory in their frenzied squeals.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">118</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And Marjorie: She'd have more joy,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">She thinks, if she'd been born a boy;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">She wants no ribbons on her hair,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">No fancy, fussy things to wear.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The things in which Sylvia delights</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To Marjorie are dreadful frights.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They're sisters, yet I'd swear the name</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Is all they own that is the same.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Proud Sylvia, beautiful to see,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">A high-toned lady wants to be;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">She'll primp and fuss and deck her hair</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And gorgeous raiment wants to wear;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">She'll sit sedately by the light</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And read a fairy tale at night;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And she will sigh and sometimes wince</span><br /> +<span class="i0">At all the trials of the prince.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If God should send us children nine</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To follow our ancestral line,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I'd vow that in the lot we'd strike</span><br /> +<span class="i0">No two among them just alike.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And that's the way it ought to be;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The larger grows the family,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The more we own of joy and bliss,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For each brings charms the others miss.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">119</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph68">There Will Always Be Something to Do</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There will always be something to do, my boy;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">There will always be wrongs to right;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">There will always be need for a manly breed</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And men unafraid to fight.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">There will always be honor to guard, my boy;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">There will always be hills to climb,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And tasks to do, and battles new</span><br /> +<span class="i2">From now to the end of time.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There will always be dangers to face, my boy;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">There will always be goals to take;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Men shall be tried, when the roads divide,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And proved by the choice they make.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">There will always be burdens to bear, my boy;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">There will always be need to pray;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">There will always be tears through the future years,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">As loved ones are borne away.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There will always be God to serve, my boy,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And always the Flag above;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They shall call to you until life is through</span><br /> +<span class="i2">For courage and strength and love.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">So these are things that I dream, my boy,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And have dreamed since your life began:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That whatever befalls, when the old world calls,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">It shall find you a sturdy man.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">120</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph69">A Boy at Christmas</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If I could have my wish to-night it would not be for wealth or fame,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It would not be for some delight that men who live in luxury claim,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But it would be that I might rise at three or four a. m. to see,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With eager, happy, boyish eyes, my presents on the Christmas tree.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Throughout this world there is no joy, I know now I am growing gray,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">So rich as being just a boy, a little boy on Christmas Day.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I'd like once more to stand and gaze enraptured on a tinseled tree,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With eyes that know just how to blaze, a heart still tuned to ecstasy;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I'd like to feel the old delight, the surging thrills within me come;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To love a thing with all my might, to grasp the pleasure of a drum;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To know the meaning of a toy—a meaning lost to minds blasé;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To be just once again a boy, a little boy on Christmas Day.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I'd like to see a pair of skates the way they looked to me back then,</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">121</a></span> +<span class="i0">Before I'd turned from boyhood's gates and marched into the world of men;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I'd like to see a jackknife, too, with those same eager, dancing eyes</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That couldn't fault or blemish view; I'd like to feel the same surprise,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The pleasure, free from all alloy, that has forever passed away,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When I was just a little boy and had my faith in Christmas Day.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, little, laughing, roguish lad, the king that rules across the sea</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Would give his scepter if he had such joy as now belongs to thee!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And beards of gray would give their gold, and all the honors they possess,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Once more within their grasp to hold thy present fee of happiness.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Earth sends no greater, surer joy, as, too soon, thou, as I, shall say,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Than that of him who is a boy, a little boy on Christmas Day.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">122</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph70">Best Way to Read a Book</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Best way to read a book I know</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Is get a lad of six or so,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And curl him up upon my knee</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Deep in a big arm chair, where we</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Can catch the warmth of blazing coals,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And then let two contented souls</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Melt into one, old age and youth,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Sharing adventure's marvelous truth.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I read a page, and then we sit</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And talk it over, bit by bit;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Just how the pirates looked, and why</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They flung a black flag to the sky.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We pass no paragraph without</span><br /> +<span class="i0">First knowing what it's all about,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And when the author starts a fight</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We join the forces that are right.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We're deep in Treasure Island, and</span><br /> +<span class="i0">From Spy Glass Hill we've viewed the land;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Through thickets dense we've followed Jim</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And shared the doubts that came to him.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We've heard Cap. Smollett arguing there</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With Long John Silver, gaunt and spare,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And mastering our many fears</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We've battled with those buccaneers.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">123</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Best way to read a book I've found</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Is have a little boy around</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And take him up upon your knee;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Then talk about the tale, till he</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Lives it and feels it, just as you,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And shares the great adventure, too.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Books have a deep and lasting joy</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For him who reads them to his boy.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph71">The Song of Loved Ones</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The father toils at his work all day,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And he hums this song as he plods away:</span><br /> +<span class="i2">"Heigho! for the mother and babe of three</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Who watch at the window each night for me.</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Their smiles are ever before my eyes,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And never the sound of their voices dies,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">But ever and ever they seem to say,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">'Love waits for you at the close of day.'"</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At home, a mother is heard to croon</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To a little babe, this simple tune:</span><br /> +<span class="i2">"Heigho! for the father who toils to-day,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">He thinks of us, though he's far away;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">He soon will come with a happy tread,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And stooping over your trundle bed,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Your little worries he'll kiss away;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Love comes to us at the close of day."</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">124</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph72">Becoming a Dad</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Old women say that men don't know</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The pain through which all mothers go,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And maybe that is true, and yet</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I vow I never shall forget</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The night he came. I suffered, too,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Those bleak and dreary long hours through;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I paced the floor and mopped my brow</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And waited for his glad wee-ow!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I went upstairs and then came down,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Because I saw the doctor frown</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And knew beyond the slightest doubt</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He wished to goodness I'd clear out.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I walked into the yard for air</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And back again to hear her there,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And met the nurse, as calm as though</span><br /> +<span class="i0">My world was not in deepest woe,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And when I questioned, seeking speech</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Of consolation that would reach</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Into my soul and strengthen me</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For dreary hours that were to be:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"Progressing nicely!" that was all</span><br /> +<span class="i0">She said and tip-toed down the hall;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"Progressing nicely!" nothing more,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And left me there to pace the floor.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And once the nurse came out in haste</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For something that had been misplaced,</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">125</a></span> +<span class="i0">And I that had been growing bold</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Then felt my blood grow icy cold;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And fear's stern chill swept over me.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I stood and watched and tried to see</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Just what it was she came to get.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I haven't learned that secret yet.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I half-believe that nurse in white</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Was adding fuel to my fright</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And taking an unholy glee,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">From time to time, in torturing me.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then silence! To her room I crept</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And was informed the doctor slept!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The doctor slept! Oh, vicious thought,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">While she at death's door bravely fought</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And suffered untold anguish deep,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The doctor lulled himself to sleep.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I looked and saw him stretched out flat</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And could have killed the man for that.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Then morning broke, and oh, the joy;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With dawn there came to us our boy,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And in a glorious little while</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I went in there and saw her smile!</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I must have looked a human wreck,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">My collar wilted at the neck,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">My hair awry, my features drawn</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With all the suffering I had borne.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">She looked at me and softly said,</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">126</a></span> +<span class="i0">"If I were you, I'd go to bed."</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Hers was the bitterer part, I know;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">She traveled through the vale of woe,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But now when women folks recall</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The pain and anguish of it all</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I answer them in manner sad:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"It's no cinch to become a dad."</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph73">The Test</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You can brag about the famous men you know;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">You may boast about the great men you have met,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Parsons, eloquent and wise; stars in histrionic skies;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Millionaires and navy admirals, and yet</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Fame and power and wealth and glory vanish fast;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">They are lusters that were never made to stick,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And the friends worth-while and true, are the happy smiling few</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Who come to call upon you when you're sick.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You may think it very fine to know the great;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">You may glory in some leader's words of praise;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">You may tell with eyes aglow of the public men you know,</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">127</a></span> +<span class="i2">But the true friends seldom travel glory's ways,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And the day you're lying ill, lonely, pale and keeping still,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">With a fevered pulse, that's beating double quick,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Then it is you must depend on the old-familiar friend</span><br /> +<span class="i2">To come to call upon you when you're sick.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It is pleasing to receive a great man's nod,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And it's good to know the big men of the land,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But the test of friendship true, isn't merely: "Howdy-do?"</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And a willingness to shake you by the hand.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">If you want to know the friends who love you best,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And the faithful from the doubtful you would pick,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It is not a mighty task; of yourself you've but to ask:</span><br /> +<span class="i2">"Does he come to call upon me when I'm sick?"</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">128</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph74">The Old Wooden Tub</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I like to get to thinking of the old days that are gone,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When there were joys that never more the world will look upon,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The days before inventors smoothed the little cares away</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And made, what seemed but luxuries then, the joys of every day;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When bathrooms were exceptions, and we got our weekly scrub</span><br /> +<span class="i0">By standing in the middle of a little wooden tub.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We had no rapid heaters, and no blazing gas to burn,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We boiled the water on the stove, and each one took his turn.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Sometimes to save expenses we would use one tub for two;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The water brother Billy used for me would also do,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Although an extra kettle I was granted, I admit,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">On winter nights to freshen and to warm it up a bit.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We carried water up the stairs in buckets and in pails,</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">129</a></span> +<span class="i0">And sometimes splashed it on our legs, and rent the air with wails,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But if the nights were very cold, by closing every door</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We were allowed to take our bath upon the kitchen floor.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Beside the cheery stove we stood and gave ourselves a rub,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In comfort most luxurious in that old wooden tub.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But modern homes no more go through that joyous weekly fun,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And through the sitting rooms at night no half-dried children run;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">No little flying forms go past, too swift to see their charms,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With shirts and underwear and things tucked underneath their arms;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The home's so full of luxury now, it's almost like a club,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I sometimes wish we could go back to that old wooden tub.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">130</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph75">Lost Opportunities</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"When I am rich," he used to say,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"A thousand joys I'll give away;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I'll walk among the poor I find</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And unto one and all be kind.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I'll place a wreath of roses red</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Upon the bier of all my dead;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I'll help the struggling youth to climb;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In doing good I'll spend my time;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To all in need I'll friendly be</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The day that fortune smiles on me."</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He never guessed that being kind</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Depends upon the heart and mind</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And not upon the purse at all;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That poor men's gifts, however small,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Make light some weary traveler's load</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And smooth for him his troubled road.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He never knew or understood</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The fellowship of doing good.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Because he had not much to spare</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He thought it vain to give his share.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet many passed him, day by day,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He might have helped along the way.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He fancied kindness something which</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Belongs entirely to the rich.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And so he lived and toiled for gold,</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">131</a></span> +<span class="i0">Unsympathetic, harsh and cold,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Intending all the time to share</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The burdens that his brothers bear</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When he possessed great wealth, and he</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Could well afford a friend to be.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">His fortune came, but, oh, too late;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The poor about him could not wait.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They never guessed and never knew</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The things that he had meant to do.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Few knew how much he'd planned to give</span><br /> +<span class="i0">If God had only let him live.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And when at last his form was cold,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">All that he'd left on earth was gold.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">A kindly name is something which</span><br /> +<span class="i0">A man must earn before he's rich.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph76">Patriotism</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I think my country needs my vote,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I know it doesn't need my throat,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">My lungs and larynx, too;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And so I sit at home at night</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And teach my children what is right</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And wise for them to do;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And when I'm on the job by day</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I do my best to earn my pay.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">132</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though arguments may rage and roar;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I grease the hinges on my door</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And paint the porches blue;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I love this splendid land of ours,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And so I plant the seeds and flowers</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And watch them bursting through.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I never stand upon a box</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To say we're headed for the rocks.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My notion of a patriot</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Is one who guards his little cot,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And keeps it up to date;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Who pays his taxes when they're due,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And pays his bills for groc'ries, too,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And dresses well his mate;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He keeps his children warmly clad</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And lets them know they have a dad.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The nation's safe as long as men</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Get to their work and back again</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Each day with cheerful smile;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">So long as there are fathers who</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Rejoice in what they have to do</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And find their homes worth while,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The Stars and Stripes will wave on high</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And liberty will never die.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">133</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph77">The Tramp</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Eagerly he took my dime,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Then shuffled on his way,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Thick with sin and filth and grime,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">But I wondered all that day</span><br /> +<span class="i2">How the man had gone astray.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Not to him the dime I gave;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Not unto the man of woe,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Not to him who should be brave,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Not to him who'd sunk so low,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">But the boy of long ago.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Passed his years of sin and shame</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Through the filth that all could see,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Out of what he is there came</span><br /> +<span class="i2">One more pitiful to me:</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Came the boy that used to be.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Smiling, full of promise glad,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Stood a baby, like my own;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I beheld a glorious lad,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Someone once had loved and known</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Out of which this wreck had grown!</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">134</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Where, thought I, must lie the blame?</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Who has failed in such a way?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">As all children come he came,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">There's a soul within his clay;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Who has led his feet astray?</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As he shuffled down the hall</span><br /> +<span class="i2">With the coin I'd never miss,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">What, thought I, were fame and all</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Man may gain of earthly bliss,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">If my child should come to this!</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph78">The Lonely Garden</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I wonder what the trees will say,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The trees that used to share his play,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' knew him as the little lad</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Who used to wander with his dad.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They've watched him grow from year to year</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Since first the good Lord sent him here.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">This shag-bark hick'ry, many a time,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The little fellow tried t' climb,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' never a spring has come but he</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Has called upon his favorite tree.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I wonder what they all will say</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When they are told he's marched away.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">135</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I wonder what the birds will say,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The swallow an' the chatterin' jay,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The robin, an' the kill-deer, too.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For every one o' them, he knew,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' every one o' them knew him,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' hoppin' there from limb t' limb,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Waited each spring t' tell him all</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They'd done an' seen since 'way last fall.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He was the first to greet 'em here</span><br /> +<span class="i0">As they returned from year t' year;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' now I wonder what they'll say</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When they are told he's marched away.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I wonder how the roses there</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Will get along without his care,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' how the lilac bush will face</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The loneliness about th' place;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For ev'ry spring an' summer, he</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Has been the chum o' plant an' tree,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' every livin' thing has known</span><br /> +<span class="i0">A comradeship that's finer grown,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">By havin' him from year t' year.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Now very soon they'll all be here,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' I am wonderin' what they'll say</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When they find out he's marched away.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">136</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph79">The Silver Stripes</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When we've honored the heroes returning from France</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And we've mourned for the heroes who fell,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When we've done all we can for the homecoming man</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Who stood to the shot and the shell,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Let us all keep in mind those who lingered behind—</span><br /> +<span class="i2">The thousands who waited to go—</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The brave and the true, who did all they could do,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Yet have only the silver to show.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They went from their homes at the summons for men,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">They drilled in the heat of the sun,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They fell into line with a pluck that was fine;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Each cheerfully shouldered a gun.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They were ready to die for Old Glory on high,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">They were eager to meet with the foe;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They were just like the rest of our bravest and best,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Though they've only the silver to show.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Their bodies stayed here, but their spirits were there;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And the boys who looked death in the face,</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">137</a></span> +<span class="i0">For the cause had no fear—for they knew, waiting here,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">There were many to fill up each place.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Oh, the ships came and went, till the battle was spent</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And the tyrant went down with the blow!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But he still might have reigned but for those who remained</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And have only the silver to show.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So here's to the soldiers who never saw France,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And here's to the boys unafraid!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Let us give them their due; they were glorious, too,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And it isn't their fault that they stayed.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They were eager to share in the sacrifice there;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Let them share in the peace that we know.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For we know they were brave, by the service they gave,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Though they've only the silver to show.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">138</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph80">Tinkerin' at Home</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Some folks there be who seem to need excitement fast and furious,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' reckon all the joys that have no thrill in 'em are spurious.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Some think that pleasure's only found down where the lights are shining,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' where an orchestra's at work the while the folks are dining.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Still others seek it at their play, while some there are who roam,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But I am happiest when I am tinkerin' 'round the home.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I like to wear my oldest clothes, an' fuss around the yard,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' dig a flower bed now an' then, and pensively regard</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The mornin' glories climbin' all along the wooden fence,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' do the little odds an' ends that aren't of consequence.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I like to trim the hedges, an' touch up the paint a bit,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' sort of take a homely pride in keepin' all things fit.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' I don't envy rich folks who are sailin' o'er the foam</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">139</a></span> +<span class="i0">When I can spend a day or two in tinkerin' 'round the home.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If I were fixed with money, as some other people are,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I'd take things mighty easy; I'd not travel very far.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I'd jes' wear my oldest trousers an' my flannel shirt, an' stay</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' guard my vine an' fig tree in an old man's tender way.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I'd bathe my soul in sunshine every mornin', and I'd bend</span><br /> +<span class="i0">My back to pick the roses; Oh, I'd be a watchful friend</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To everything around the place, an' in the twilight gloam</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I'd thank the Lord for lettin' me jes' tinker 'round the home.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But since I've got to hustle in the turmoil of the town,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' don't expect I'll ever be allowed to settle down</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' live among the roses an' the tulips an' the phlox,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Or spend my time in carin' for the noddin' hollyhocks,</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">140</a></span> +<span class="i0">I've come to the conclusion that perhaps in Heaven I may</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Get a chance to know the pleasures that I'm yearnin' for to-day;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' I'm goin' to ask the good Lord, when I've climbed the golden stair,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">If he'll kindly let me tinker 'round the home we've got up there.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph81">When An Old Man Gets to Thinking</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When an old man gets to thinking of the years he's traveled through,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He hears again the laughter of the little ones he knew.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He isn't counting money, and he isn't planning schemes;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He's at home with friendly people in the shadow of his dreams.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When he's lived through all life's trials and his sun is in the west,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When he's tasted all life's pleasures and he knows which ones were best,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Then his mind is stored with riches, not of silver and of gold,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But of happy smiling faces and the joys he couldn't hold.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">141</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Could we see what he is seeing as he's dreaming in his chair,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We should find no scene of struggle in the distance over there.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">As he counts his memory treasures, we should see some shady lane</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Where's he walking with his sweetheart, young, and arm in arm again.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We should meet with friendly people, simple, tender folk and kind,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That had once been glad to love him. In his dreaming we should find</span><br /> +<span class="i0">All the many little beauties that enrich the lives of men</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That the eyes of youth scarce notice and the poets seldom pen.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Age will tell you that the memory is the treasure-house of man.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Gold and fleeting fame may vanish, but life's riches never can;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For the little home of laughter and the voice of every friend</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And the joys of real contentment linger with us to the end.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">142</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph82">My Job</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I wonder where's a better job than buying cake and meat,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And chocolate drops and sugar buns for little folks to eat?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And who has every day to face a finer round of care</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Than buying frills and furbelows for little folks to wear?</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, you may brag how much you know and boast of what you do,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And think an all-important post has been assigned to you,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But I've the greatest job on earth, a task I'll never lose;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I've several pairs of little feet to keep equipped with shoes.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I rather like the job I have, though humble it may be,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And little gold or little fame may come from it to me;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It seems to me that life can give to man no finer joy</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Than buying little breeches for a sturdy little boy.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">143</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My job is not to run the world or pile up bonds and stocks;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It's just to keep two little girls in plain and fancy frocks;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To dress and feed a growing boy whose legs are brown and stout,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And furnish stockings just as fast as he can wear them out.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I would not for his crown and throne change places with a king,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I've got the finest job on earth and unto it I'll cling;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I know no better task than mine, no greater chance for joys,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Than serving day by day the needs of little girls and boys.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph83">A Good Name</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Men talk too much of gold and fame,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And not enough about a name;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And yet a good name's better far</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Than all earth's glistening jewels are.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Who holds his name above all price</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And chooses every sacrifice</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To keep his earthly record clear,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Can face the world without a fear.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">144</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Who never cheats nor lies for gain,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">A poor man may, perhaps, remain,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Yet, when at night he goes to rest,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">No little voice within his breast</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Disturbs his slumber. Conscience clear,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He falls asleep with naught to fear</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And when he wakes the world to face</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He is not tainted by disgrace.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Who keeps his name without a stain</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Wears no man's brand and no man's chain;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He need not fear to speak his mind</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In dread of what the world may find.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He then is master of his will;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">None may command him to be still,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Nor force him, when he would stand fast,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To flinch before his hidden past.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Not all the gold that men may claim</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Can cover up a deed of shame;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Not all the fame of victory sweet</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Can free the man who played the cheat;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He lives a slave unto the last</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Unto the shame that mars his past.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He only freedom here may own</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Whose name a stain has never known.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">145</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph84">Alone</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Strange thoughts come to the man alone;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">'Tis then, if ever, he talks with God,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And views himself as a single clod</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In the soil of life where the souls are grown.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">'Tis then he questions the why and where,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">The start and end of his years and days,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And what is blame and what is praise,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And what is ugly and what is fair.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When a man has drawn from the busy throng</span><br /> +<span class="i2">To the sweet retreat of the silent hours,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Low voices whisper of higher powers.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He catches the strain of some far-off song,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And the sham fades out and his eyes can see,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Not the man he is in the day's hot strife</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And the greed and grind of a selfish life,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But the soul of the man he is to be.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He feels the throbbing of life divine,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And catches a glimpse of the greater plan;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">He questions the purpose and work of man.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In the hours of silence his mind grows fine;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He seeks to learn what is kept unknown;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">He turns from self and its garb of clay</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And dwells on the soul and the higher way.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Strange thoughts come when a man's alone.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">146</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph85">Shut-Ins</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We're gittin' so we need again</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To see the sproutin' seed again.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We've been shut up all winter long</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Within our narrow rooms;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We're sort o' shriveled up an' dry—</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Ma's cranky-like an' quick to cry;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We need the blue skies overhead,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The garden with its blooms.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I'm findin' fault with this an' that!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I threw my bootjack at the cat</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Because he rubbed against my leg—</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I guess I'm all on edge;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I'm fidgety an' fussy too,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' Ma finds fault with all I do;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It seems we need to see again</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The green upon the hedge.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We've been shut up so long, it seems</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We've lost the glamour of our dreams.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We've narrowed down as people will</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Till fault is all we see.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We need to stretch our souls in air</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Where there is room enough to spare;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We need the sight o' something green</span><br /> +<span class="i0">On every shrub an' tree.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">147</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But soon our petulance will pass—</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Our feet will tread the dew-kissed grass;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Our souls will break their narrow cells,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' swell with love once more.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And with the blue skies overhead,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The harsh an' hasty words we've said</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Will vanish with the snow an' ice,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When spring unlocks the door.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The sun will make us sweet again</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With blossoms at our feet again;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We'll wander, arm in arm, the ways</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Where beauty reigns supreme.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' Ma an' I shall smile again,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' be ourselves awhile again,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' claim, like prisoners set free,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The charm of every dream.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph86">The Cut-Down Trousers</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When father couldn't wear them mother cut them down for me;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">She took the slack in fore and aft, and hemmed them at the knee;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They fitted rather loosely, but the things that made me glad</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Were the horizontal pockets that those good old trousers had.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">148</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They shone like patent leather just where well-worn breeches do,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But the cloth in certain portions was considered good as new,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And I know that I was envied by full many a richer lad</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For the horizontal pockets that those good old knickers had.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They were cut along the waist line, with the opening straight and wide,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And there wasn't any limit to what you could get inside;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They would hold a peck of marbles, and a knife and top and string,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And snakes and frogs and turtles; there was room for everything.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then our fortune changed a little, and my mother said that she</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Wouldn't bother any longer fitting father's duds on me,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But the store clothes didn't please me; there were times they made me sad,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For I missed those good old pockets that my father's trousers had.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">149</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph87">Dinner-Time</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tuggin' at your bottle,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">An' it's O, you're mighty sweet!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Just a bunch of dimples</span><br /> +<span class="i2">From your top-knot to your feet,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Lying there an' gooin'</span><br /> +<span class="i2">In the happiest sort o' way,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Like a rosebud peekin' at me</span><br /> +<span class="i2">In the early hours o' day;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Gloating over goodness</span><br /> +<span class="i2">That you know an' sense an' clutch,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' smilin' at your daddy,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Who loves you, O, so much!</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tuggin' at your bottle,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">As you nestle in your crib,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With your daddy grinnin' at you</span><br /> +<span class="i2">'Cause you've dribbled on your bib,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' you gurgle an' you chortle</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Like a brook in early Spring;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' you kick your pink feet gayly,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">An' I think you'd like to sing.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">All you wanted was your dinner,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Daddy knew it too, you bet!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' the moment that you got it</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Then you ceased to fuss an' fret.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tuggin' at your bottle,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Not a care, excepting when</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">150</a></span> +<span class="i0">You lose the rubber nipple,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">But you find it soon again;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' the gurglin' an' the gooin'</span><br /> +<span class="i2">An' the chortlin' start anew,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' the kickin' an' the squirmin'</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Show the wondrous joy o' you.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But I'll bet you're not as happy</span><br /> +<span class="i2">At your dinner, little tot,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">As the weather-beaten daddy</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Who is bendin' o'er your cot!</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph88">The Pay Envelope</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Is it all in the envelope holding your pay?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Is that all you're working for day after day?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Are you getting no more from your toil than the gold</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That little enclosure of paper will hold?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Is that all you're after; is that all you seek?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Does that close the deal at the end of the week?</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Is it all in the envelope holding his pay?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Is that all you offer him day after day?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Is that all he wins by his labor from you?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Is that the reward for the best he can do?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Would you say of your men, when the week has been turned,</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">151</a></span> +<span class="i0">That all they've received is the money they've earned?</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Is it all in the envelope, workman and chief?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Then loyalty's days must be fleeting and brief;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">If you measure your work by its value in gold</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The sum of your worth by your pay shall be told;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And if something of friendship your men do not find</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Outside of their envelopes, you're the wrong kind.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If all that you offer is silver and gold,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">You haven't a man in your plant you can hold.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">If all that you're after each week is your pay,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">You are doing your work in a short-sighted way;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For the bigger rewards it is useless to hope</span><br /> +<span class="i0">If you never can see past the pay envelope.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">152</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph89">The Evening Prayer</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Little girlie, kneeling there,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Speaking low your evening prayer,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In your cunning little nightie</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With your pink toes peeping through,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With your eyes closed and your hands</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Tightly clasped, while daddy stands</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In the doorway, just to hear the</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"God bless papa," lisped by you,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">You don't know just what I feel,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">As I watch you nightly kneel</span><br /> +<span class="i0">By your trundle bed and whisper</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Soft and low your little prayer!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But in all I do or plan,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I'm a bigger, better man</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Every time I hear you asking</span><br /> +<span class="i0">God to make my journey fair.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Little girlie, kneeling there,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Lisping low your evening prayer,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Asking God above to bless me</span><br /> +<span class="i0">At the closing of each day,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Oft the tears come to my eyes,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And I feel a big lump rise</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In my throat, that I can't swallow,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And I sometimes turn away.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In the morning, when I wake,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And my post of duty take,</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">153</a></span> +<span class="i0">I go forth with new-born courage</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To accomplish what is fair;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And, throughout the live-long day,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I am striving every way</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To come back to you each evening</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And be worthy of your prayer.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph90">Thoughts of a Father</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We've never seen the Father here, but we have known the Son,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The finest type of manhood since the world was first begun.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And, summing up the works of God, I write with reverent pen,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The greatest is the Son He sent to cheer the lives of men.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Through Him we learned the ways of God and found the Father's love;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The Son it was who won us back to Him who reigns above.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The Lord did not come down himself to prove to men His worth,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He sought our worship through the Child He placed upon the earth.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">154</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How can I best express my life? Wherein does greatness lie?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">How can I long remembrance win, since I am born to die?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Both fame and gold are selfish things; their charms may quickly flee,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But I'm the father of a boy who came to speak for me.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In him lies all I hope to be; his splendor shall be mine;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I shall have done man's greatest work if only he is fine.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">If some day he shall help the world long after I am dead,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In all that men shall say of him my praises shall be said.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It matters not what I may win of fleeting gold or fame,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">My hope of joy depends alone on what my boy shall claim.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">My story must be told through him, for him I work and plan,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Man's greatest duty is to be the father of a man.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">155</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph91">When a Little Baby Dies</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When a little baby dies</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And its wee form silent lies,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And its little cheeks seem waxen</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And its little hands are still,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Then your soul gives way to treason,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And you cry: "O, God, what reason,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">O, what justice and what mercy</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Have You shown us by Your will?</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"There are, O, so many here</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Of the yellow leaf and sere,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Who are anxious, aye, and ready</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To respond unto Your call;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Yet You pass them by unheeding,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And You set our hearts to bleeding!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"O," you mutter, "God, how cruel</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Do Your vaunted mercies fall!"</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet some day, in after years,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When Death's angel once more nears,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And the unknown, silent river</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Looms as darkly as a pall,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">You will hear your baby saying,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"Mamma, come to me, I'm staying</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With my arms outstretched to greet you,"</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And you'll understand it all.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">156</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph92">To the Boy</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I have no wish, my little lad,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">To climb the towering heights of fame.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I am content to be your dad</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And share with you each pleasant game.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I am content to hold your hand</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And walk along life's path with you,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And talk of things we understand—</span><br /> +<span class="i2">The birds and trees and skies of blue.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though some may seek the smiles of kings,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">For me your laughter's joy enough;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I have no wish to claim the things</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Which lure men into pathways rough.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I'm happiest when you and I,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Unmindful of life's bitter cares,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Together watch the clouds drift by,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Or follow boyhood's thoroughfares.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I crave no more of life than this:</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Continuance of such a trust;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Your smile, whate'er the morning is,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Until my clay returns to dust.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">If but this comradeship may last</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Until I end my earthly task—</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Your hand and mine by love held fast—</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Fame has no charm for which I'd ask.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">157</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I would not trade one day with you</span><br /> +<span class="i2">To wear the purple robes of power,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Nor drop your hand from mine to do</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Some great deed in a selfish hour.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For you have brought me joy serene</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And made my soul supremely glad.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In life rewarded I have been;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">'Twas all worth while to be your dad.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph93">His Dog</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Pete bristles when the doorbell rings.</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Last night he didn't act the same.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Dogs have a way of knowin' things,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">An' when the dreaded cable came,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He looked at mother an' he whined</span><br /> +<span class="i2">His soft, low sign of somethin' wrong,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">As though he knew that we should find</span><br /> +<span class="i2">The news that we had feared so long.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He's followed me about the place</span><br /> +<span class="i2">An' hasn't left my heels to-day;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He's rubbed his nose against my face</span><br /> +<span class="i2">As if to kiss my grief away.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">There on his plate beside the door</span><br /> +<span class="i2">You'll see untouched his mornin' meal.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I never understood before</span><br /> +<span class="i2">That dogs share every hurt you feel.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">158</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We've got the pride o' service fine</span><br /> +<span class="i2">As consolation for the blow;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We know by many a written line</span><br /> +<span class="i2">He went the way he wished to go.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We know that God an' Country found</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Our boy a servant brave an' true—</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But Pete must sadly walk around</span><br /> +<span class="i2">An' miss the master that he knew.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The mother's bearing up as well</span><br /> +<span class="i2">As such a noble mother would;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The hurt I feel I needn't tell—</span><br /> +<span class="i2">I guess by all it's understood.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But Pete—his dog—that used to wait</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Each night to hear his cheery call,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' romped about him at the gate,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Has felt the blow the worst of all.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph94">Lullaby</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The golden dreamboat's ready, all her silken sails are spread,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And the breeze is gently blowing to the fairy port of Bed,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And the fairy's captain's waiting while the busy sandman flies</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With the silver dust of slumber, closing every baby's eyes.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">159</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, the night is rich with moonlight and the sea is calm with peace,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And the angels fly to guard you and their watch shall never cease,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And the fairies there await you; they have splendid dreams to spin;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">You shall hear them gayly singing as the dreamboat's putting in.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Like the ripple of the water does the dreamboat's whistle blow,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Only baby ears can catch it when it comes the time to go,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Only little ones may journey on so wonderful a ship,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And go drifting off to slumber with no care to mar the trip.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, the little eyes are heavy but the little soul is light;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It shall never know a sorrow or a terror through the night.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And at last when dawn is breaking and the dreamboat's trip is o'er,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">You shall wake to find the mother smiling over you once more.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">160</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph95">The Old-Fashioned Parents</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The good old-fashioned mothers and the good old-fashioned dads,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With their good old-fashioned lassies and their good old-fashioned lads,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Still walk the lanes of loving in their simple, tender ways,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">As they used to do back yonder in the good old-fashioned days.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They dwell in every city and they live in every town,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Contentedly and happy and not hungry for renown;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">On every street you'll find 'em in their simple garments clad,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The good old-fashioned mother and the good old-fashioned dad.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There are some who sigh for riches, there are some who yearn for fame,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And a few misguided people who no longer blush at shame;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But the world is full of mothers, and the world is full of dads;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Who are making sacrifices for their little girls and lads.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">161</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They are growing old together, arm in arm they walk along,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And their hearts with love are beating and their voices sweet with song;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They still share their disappointments and they share their pleasures, too,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And whatever be their fortune, to each other they are true.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They are watching at the bedside of a baby pale and white,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And they kneel and pray together for the care of God at night;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They are romping with their children in the fields of clover sweet,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And devotedly they guard them from the perils of the street.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They are here in countless numbers, just as they have always been,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And their glory is untainted by the selfish and the mean.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And I'd hate to still be living, it would dismal be and sad,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">If we'd no old-fashioned mother and we'd no old-fashioned dad.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">162</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph96">The Fun of Forgiving</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sometimes I'm almost glad to hear when I get home that they've been bad;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And though I try to look severe, within my heart I'm really glad</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When mother sadly tells to me the list of awful things they've done,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Because when they come tearfully, forgiving them is so much fun.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I like to have them all alone, with no one near to hear or see,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Then as their little faults they own, I like to take them on my knee</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And talk it over and pretend the whipping soon must be begun;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And then to kiss them at the end—forgiving them is so much fun.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Within the world there's no such charm as children penitent and sad,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Who put two soft and chubby arms around your neck, when they've been bad.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And as you view their trembling lips, away your temper starts to run,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And from your mind all anger slips—forgiving them is so much fun.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">163</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If there were nothing to forgive I wonder if we'd love them so;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">If they were wise enough to live as grown-ups do, and always go</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Along the pleasant path of right, with ne'er a fault from sun to sun,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">A lot of joys we'd miss at night—forgiving them is so much fun.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph97">Tonsils</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One day the doctor came because my throat was feeling awful sore,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And when he looked inside to see he said: "It's like it was before;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It's tonserlitis, sure enough. You'd better tell her Pa to-day</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To make his mind up now to have that little party right away."</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I'd heard him talk that way before when Bud was sick, and so I knew</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That what they did to him that time, to me they planned to come and do.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' when my Pa came home that night Ma said: "She can't grow strong and stout</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Until the doctor comes an' takes her addynoids an' tonsils out."</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">164</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">An' then Pa took me on his knee and kissed me solemn-like an' grave,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' said he guessed it was the best, an' then he asked me to be brave.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Ma said: "Don't look at her like that, it's nothing to be scared about";</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' Pa said: "True, but still I wish she needn't have her tonsils out."</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Next morning when I woke, Ma said I couldn't have my breakfast then,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Because the doctors and the nurse had said they would be here by ten.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When they got here the doctor smiled an' gave me some perfume to smell,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' told me not to cry at all, coz pretty soon I would be well.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When I woke up Ma smiled an' said: "It's all right now"; but in my head</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It seemed like wheels were buzzing round and everywhere I looked was red.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' I can't eat hard cookies yet, nor use my voice at all to shout,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But Pa an' Ma seem awful glad that I have had my tonsils out.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">165</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph98">At Dawn</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They come to my room at the break of the day,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With their faces all smiles and their minds full of play;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They come on their tip-toes and silently creep</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To the edge of the bed where I'm lying asleep,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And then at a signal, on which they agree,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With a shout of delight they jump right onto me.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They lift up my eyelids and tickle my nose,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And scratch at my cheeks with their little pink toes;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And sometimes to give them a laugh and a scare</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I snap and I growl like a cinnamon bear;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Then over I roll, and with three kids astride</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I gallop away on their feather-bed ride.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I've thought it all over. Man's biggest mistake</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Is in wanting to sleep when his babes are awake;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When they come to his room for that first bit of fun</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He should make up his mind that his sleeping is done;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He should share in the laughter they bring to his side</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And start off the day with that feather-bed ride.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh they're fun at their breakfast and fun at their lunch;</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">166</a></span> +<span class="i0">Any hour of the day they're a glorious bunch!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When they're togged up for Sundays they're certainly fine,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And I'm glad in my heart I can call them all mine,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But I think that the time that I like them the best</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Is that hour in the morning before they are dressed.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph99">Names and Faces</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I do not ask a store of wealth,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Nor special gift of power;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I hope always for strength and health</span><br /> +<span class="i2">To brave each troubled hour.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But life would be distinctly good,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">However low my place is,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Had I a memory that could</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Remember names and faces.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I am not troubled by the fact</span><br /> +<span class="i2">That common skill is mine;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I care not that my life has lacked</span><br /> +<span class="i2">The glory of the fine.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But, oh, when someone speaks to me,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">My cheeks grow red with shame</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Because I'm sure that he must see</span><br /> +<span class="i2">That I have lost his name.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">167</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Embarrassment, where'er I go,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Pursues me night and day;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I hear some good friend's glad "Hello,"</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And stop a word to say.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">His voice melodiously may ring,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">But that's all lost on me,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For all the time I'm wondering</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Whoever can he be.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I envy no man's talent rare</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Save his who can repeat</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The names of men, no matter where</span><br /> +<span class="i2">It is they chance to meet.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For he escapes the bitter blow,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">The sorrow and regret,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Of greeting friends he ought to know</span><br /> +<span class="i2">As though they'd never met.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I do not ask a store of gold,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">High station here, or fame;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I have no burning wish to hold</span><br /> +<span class="i2">The popular acclaim;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Life's lanes I'd gladly journey through,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Nor mind the stony places,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Could I but do as others do</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And know men's names and faces!</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">168</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph100">Pleasing Dad</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When I was but a little lad, not more than two or three,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I noticed in a general way my dad was proud of me.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He liked the little ways I had, the simple things I said;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Sometimes he gave me words of praise, sometimes he stroked my head;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And when I'd done a thing worth while, the thought that made me glad</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Was always that I'd done my best, and that would please my dad.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I can look back to-day and see how proud he used to be</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When I'd come home from school and say they'd recommended me.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I didn't understand it then, for school boys never do,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But in a vague and general way it seems to me I knew</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That father took great pride in me, and wanted me to shine,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And that it meant a lot to him when I'd done something fine.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then one day out of school I went, amid the great world's hum,</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">169</a></span> +<span class="i0">An office boy, and father watched each night to see me come.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And I recall how proud he was of me that wondrous day</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When I could tell him that, unasked, the firm had raised my pay.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I still can feel that hug he gave, I understand the joy</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It meant to him to learn that men were trusting in his boy.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I wonder will it please my dad? How oft the thought occurs</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When I am stumbling on the paths, beset with briars and burrs!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He isn't here to see me now, alone my race I run,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And yet some day I'll go to him and tell him all I've done.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And oh I pray that when we meet beyond life's stormy sea</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That he may claim the old-time joy of being proud of me.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">170</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph101">Living Flowers</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I'm never alone in the garden," he said. "I'm never alone with the flowers.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It seems like I'm meeting the wonderful dead out here with these blossoms of ours.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' there's never a bush or a plant or a tree, but somebody loved it of old.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' the souls of the angels come talkin' to me through the petals of crimson an' gold.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The lilacs in spring bring the mother once more, an' she lives in the midsummer rose.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">She smiles in the peony clump at the door, an' sings when the four o'clocks close.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">She loved every blossom God gave us to own, an' daily she gave it her care.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">So never I walk in the garden alone, for I feel that the mother's still there.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"These are the pinks that a baby once kissed, still spicy with fragrance an' fair.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The years have been long since her laughter I've missed, but her spirit is hovering there.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The roses that ramble and twine on the wall were planted by one that was kind</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' I'm sure as I stand here an' gaze on them all, that his soul has still lingered behind.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">171</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I'm never alone in the garden," he said, "I have many to talk with an' see,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For never a flower comes to bloom in its bed, but it brings back a loved one to me.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' I fancy whenever I'm bendin' above these blossoms of crimson an' gold,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That I'm seein' an' hearin' the ones that I love, who lived in the glad days of old."</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph102">The Common Joys</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">These joys are free to all who live,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">The rich and poor, the great and low:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The charms which kindness has to give,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">The smiles which friendship may bestow,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The honor of a well-spent life,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">The glory of a purpose true,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">High courage in the stress of strife,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And peace when every task is through.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nor class nor caste nor race nor creed,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Nor greater might can take away</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The splendor of an honest deed.</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Who nobly serves from day to day</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Shall walk the road of life with pride,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">With friends who recognize his worth,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For never are these joys denied</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Unto the humblest man on earth.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">172</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Not all may rise to world-wide fame,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Not all may gather fortune's gold,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Not all life's luxuries may claim;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">In differing ways success is told.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But all may know the peace of mind</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Which comes from service brave and true;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The poorest man can still be kind,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And nobly live till life is through.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">These joys abound for one and all:</span><br /> +<span class="i2">The pride of fearing no man's scorn,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Of standing firm, where others fall,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Of bearing well what must be borne.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He that shall do an honest deed</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Shall win an honest deed's rewards;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For these, no matter race or creed,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Life unto every man affords.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph103">His Example</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There are little eyes upon you, and they're watching night and day;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">There are little ears that quickly take in every word you say;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">There are little hands all eager to do everything you do,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And a little boy that's dreaming of the day he'll be like you.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">173</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You're the little fellow's idol, you're the wisest of the wise;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In his little mind about you no suspicions ever rise;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He believes in you devoutly, holds that all you say and do</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He will say and do in your way when he's grown up just like you.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, it sometimes makes me shudder when I hear my boy repeat</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Some careless phrase I've uttered in the language of the street;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And it sets my heart to grieving when some little fault I see</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And I know beyond all doubting that he picked it up from me.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There's a wide-eyed little fellow who believes you're always right,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And his ears are always open and he watches day and night;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">You are setting an example every day in all you do</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For the little boy who's waiting to grow up to be like you.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">174</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph104">The Change-Worker</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A feller don't start in to think of himself, an' the part that he's playin' down here,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When there's nobody lookin' to him fer support, an' he don't give a thought to next year.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">His faults don't seem big an' his habits no worse than a whole lot of others he knows,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' he don't seem to care what his neighbors may say, as heedlessly forward he goes.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He don't stop to think if it's wrong or it's right; with his speech he is careless or glib,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Till the minute the nurse lets him into the room to see what's asleep in the crib.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">An' then as he looks at that bundle o' red, an' the wee little fingers an' toes,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' he knows it's his flesh an' his blood that is there, an' will be just like him when it grows,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It comes in a flash to a feller right then, there is more here than pleasure or pelf,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' the sort of a man his baby will be is the sort of a man he's himself.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Then he kisses the mother an' kisses the child, an' goes out determined that he</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Will endeavor to be just the sort of a man that he's wantin' his baby to be.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">175</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A feller don't think that it matters so much what he does till a baby arrives;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He sows his wild oats an' he has his gay fling an' headlong in pleasure he dives;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' a drink more or less doesn't matter much then, for life is a comedy gay,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But the moment a crib is put in the home, an' a baby has come there to stay,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He thinks of the things he has done in the past, an' it strikes him as hard as a blow,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That the path he has trod in the past is a path that he don't want his baby to go.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I ain't much to preach, an' I can't just express in the way that your clever men can</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The thoughts that I think, but it seems to me now that when God wants to rescue a man</span><br /> +<span class="i0">From himself an' the follies that harmless appear, but which, under the surface, are grim,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He summons the angel of infancy sweet, an' sends down a baby to him.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For in that way He opens his eyes to himself, and He gives him the vision to see</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That his duty's to be just the sort of a man that he's wantin' his baby to be.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">176</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph105">A Convalescin' Woman</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A convalescin' woman does the strangest sort o' things,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' it's wonderful the courage that a little new strength brings;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">O, it's never safe to leave her for an hour or two alone,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Or you'll find th' doctor's good work has been quickly overthrown.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">There's that wife o' mine, I reckon she's a sample of 'em all;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">She's been mighty sick, I tell you, an' to-day can scarcely crawl,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But I left her jes' this mornin' while I fought potater bugs,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' I got back home an' caught her in the back yard shakin' rugs.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I ain't often cross with Nellie, an' I let her have her way,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But it made me mad as thunder when I got back home to-day</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' found her doin' labor that'd tax a big man's strength;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' I guess I lost my temper, for I scolded her at length,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">'Til I seen her teardrops fallin' an' she said: "I couldn't stand</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">177</a></span> +<span class="i0">To see those rugs so dirty, so I took 'em all in hand,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' it ain't hurt me nuther—see, I'm gettin' strong again--"</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' I said: "Doggone it! can't ye leave sich work as that fer men?"</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Once I had her in a hospittle fer weeks an' weeks an' weeks,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' she wasted most to nothin', an' th' roses left her cheeks;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' one night I feared I'd lose her; 'twas the turnin' point, I guess,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Coz th' next day I remember that th' doctor said: "Success!"</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Well, I brought her home an' told her that for two months she must stay</span><br /> +<span class="i0">A-sittin' in her rocker an' jes' watch th' kids at play.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' th' first week she was patient, but I mind the way I swore</span><br /> +<span class="i0">On th' day when I discovered 'at she'd scrubbed th' kitchen floor.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O, you can't keep wimmin quiet, an' they ain't a bit like men;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">They're hungerin' every minute jes' to get to work again;</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">178</a></span> +<span class="i0">An' you've got to watch 'em allus, when you know they're weak an' ill,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Coz th' minute that yer back is turned they'll labor fit to kill.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Th' house ain't cleaned to suit 'em an' they seem to fret an' fume</span><br /> +<span class="i0">'Less they're busy doin' somethin' with a mop or else a broom;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' it ain't no use to scold 'em an' it ain't no use to swear,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Coz th' next time they will do it jes' the minute you ain't there.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph106">The Doubtful To-Morrow</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Whenever I walk through God's Acres of Dead</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I wonder how often the mute voices said:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"I will do a kind deed or will lighten a sorrow</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Or rise to a sacrifice splendid—to-morrow."</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I wonder how many fine thoughts unexpressed</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Were lost to the world when they went to their rest;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I wonder what beautiful deeds they'd have done</span><br /> +<span class="i0">If they had but witnessed to-morrow's bright sun.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, if the dead grieve, it is not for their fate,</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">179</a></span> +<span class="i0">For death comes to all of us early or late,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But their sighs of regret and their burdens of sorrow</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Are born of the joys they'd have scattered to-morrow.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Do the friends they'd have cheered know the thoughts of the dead?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Do they treasure to-day the last words that were said?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">What mem'ries would sweeten, what hearts cease to burn,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">If but for a day the dead friends could return!</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We know not the hour that our summons shall come;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We know not the time that our voice shall be dumb,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Yet even as they, to our ultimate sorrow,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We leave much that's fine for that doubtful to-morrow.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">180</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph107">Tommy Atkins' Way</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He was battle-scarred and ugly with the marks of shot and shell,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And we knew that British Tommy had a stirring tale to tell,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">So we asked him where he got it and what disarranged his face,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And he answered, blushing scarlet: "In a nawsty little place."</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There were medals on his jacket, but he wouldn't tell us why.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"A bit lucky, gettin' this one," was the sum of his reply.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He had fought a horde of Prussians with his back against the wall,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And he told us, when we questioned: "H'it was nothing arfter h'all."</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Not a word of what he'd suffered, not a word of what he'd seen,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Not a word about the fury of the hell through which he'd been.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">All he said was: "When you're cornered, h'and you've got no plyce to go,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">You've just got to stand up to it! You cawn't 'elp yourself, you know.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">181</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"H'it was just a bit unpleasant, when the shells were droppin' thick,"</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And he tapped his leather leggins with his little bamboo stick.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"What did H'I do? Nothing, really! Nothing more than just my share;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Some one h'else would gladly do it, but H'I 'appened to be there."</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When this sturdy British Tommy quits the battlefields of earth</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And St. Peter asks his spirit to recount his deeds of worth,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I fancy I can hear him, with his curious English drawl,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Saying: "Nothing, nothing really, that's worth mentioning at h'all."</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">182</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph108">The Right Family</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With time our notions allus change,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' years make old idees seem strange—</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Take Mary there—time was when she</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Thought one child made a family,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' when our eldest, Jim, was born</span><br /> +<span class="i0">She used to say, both night an' morn':</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"One little one to love an' keep,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To guard awake, an' watch asleep;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To bring up right an' lead him through</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Life's path is all we ought to do."</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Two years from then our Jennie came,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But Mary didn't talk the same;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"Now that's just right," she said to me,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"We've got the proper family—</span><br /> +<span class="i0">A boy an' girl, God sure is good;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It seems as though He understood</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That I've been hopin' every way</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To have a little girl some day;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Sometimes I've prayed the whole night through—</span><br /> +<span class="i0">One ain't enough; we needed two."</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then as the months went rollin' on,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">One day the stork brought little John,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' Mary smiled an' said to me;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"The proper family is three;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Two boys, a girl to romp an' play—</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">183</a></span> +<span class="i0">Jus' work enough to fill the day.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I never had enough to do,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The months that we had only two;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Three's jus' right, pa, we don't want more."</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Still time went on an' we had four.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">An' that was years ago, I vow,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' we have six fine children now;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">An' Mary's plumb forgot the day</span><br /> +<span class="i0">She used to sit an' sweetly say</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That one child was enough for her</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To love an' give the proper care;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">One, two or three or four or five—</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Why, goodness gracious, sakes alive,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">If God should send her ten to-night,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">She'd vow her fam'ly was jus' right!</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">184</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph109">A Lesson from Golf</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He couldn't use his driver any better on the tee</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Than the chap that he was licking, who just happened to be me;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I could hit them with a brassie just as straight and just as far,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But I piled up several sevens while he made a few in par;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And he trimmed me to a finish, and I know the reason why:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He could keep his temper better when he dubbed a shot than I.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">His mashie stroke is choppy, without any follow through;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I doubt if he will ever, on a short hole, cop a two,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But his putts are straight and deadly, and he doesn't even frown</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When he's tried to hole a long one and just fails to get it down.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">On the fourteenth green I faded; there he put me on the shelf,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And it's not to his discredit when I say I licked myself.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He never whined or whimpered when a shot of his went wrong;</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">185</a></span> +<span class="i0">Never kicked about his troubles, but just plodded right along.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When he flubbed an easy iron, though I knew that he was vexed,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He merely shrugged his shoulders, and then coolly played the next,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">While I flew into a frenzy over every dub I made</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And was loud in my complaining at the dismal game I played.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Golf is like the game of living; it will show up what you are;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">If you take your troubles badly you will never play to par.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">You may be a fine performer when your skies are bright and blue</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But disaster is the acid that shall prove the worth of you;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">So just meet your disappointments with a cheery sort of grin,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For the man who keeps his temper is the man that's sure to win.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">186</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph110">Father's Chore</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My Pa can hit his thumbnail with a hammer and keep still;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">He can cut himself while shaving an' not swear;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">If a ladder slips beneath him an' he gets a nasty spill</span><br /> +<span class="i2">He can smile as though he really didn't care.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But the pan beneath the ice-box—when he goes to empty that—</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Then a sound-proof room the children have to hunt;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For we have a sad few minutes in our very pleasant flat</span><br /> +<span class="i2">When the water in it splashes down his front.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My Pa believes his temper should be all the time controlled;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">He doesn't rave at every little thing;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When his collar-button underneath the chiffonier has rolled</span><br /> +<span class="i2">A snatch of merry ragtime he will sing.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But the pan beneath the ice box—when to empty that he goes—</span><br /> +<span class="i2">As he stoops to drag it out we hear a grunt;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">From the kitchen comes a rumble, an' then everybody knows</span><br /> +<span class="i2">That he splashed the water in it down his front.</span><br /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">187</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now the distance from the ice box to the sink's not very far—</span><br /> +<span class="i2">I'm sure it isn't over twenty feet—</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But though very short the journey, it is long enough for Pa</span><br /> +<span class="i2">As he travels it disaster grim to meet.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And it's seldom that he makes it without accident, although</span><br /> +<span class="i2">In the summer time it is his nightly stunt;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And he says a lot of language that no gentleman should know</span><br /> +<span class="i2">When the water in it splashes down his front.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">188</a></span> +<div class="poem"> +<h3 class="ptitle" id="ph111">The March o' Man</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Down to work o' mornings, an' back to home at nights,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Down to hours o' labor, an' home to sweet delights;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Down to care an' trouble, an' home to love an' rest,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With every day a good one, an' every evening blest.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Down to dreary dollars, an' back to home to play,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">From love to work an' back to love, so slips the day away.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">From babies back to business an' back to babes again,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">From parting kiss to welcome kiss, this marks the march o' men.</span><br /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Some care between our laughter, a few hours filled with strife,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">A time to stand on duty, then home to babes and wife;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The bugle sounds o' mornings to call us to the fray,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But sweet an' low 'tis love that calls us home at close o' day.</span><br /> +</div> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">189</a></span> + + +<h2 style="margin-top:4em">INDEX OF FIRST LINES</h2> + +<table summary="index of first lines"> +<tr><td><a href="#ph105">A convalescin' woman does the strangest sort o' things,</a></td><td class="tdr">176</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph104">A feller don't start in to think of himself,</a></td><td class="tdr">174</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph26">A feller isn't thinkin' mean out fishin',</a></td><td class="tdr">48</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph37">A little ship goes out to sea,</a></td><td class="tdr">66</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph34">Along the paths o' glory there are faces new to-day,</a></td><td class="tdr">61</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph33">An apple tree beside the way,</a></td><td class="tdr">60</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph44">Before you came, my little lad,</a></td><td class="tdr">77</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph70">Best way to read a book I know,</a></td><td class="tdr">122</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph35">Cliffs of Scotland, guard them well,</a></td><td class="tdr">63</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph111">Down to work o' mornings an' back to home at nights,</a></td><td class="tdr">188</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph77">Eagerly he took my dime,</a></td><td class="tdr">133</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph41">First thing in the morning, last I hear at night,</a></td><td class="tdr">72</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph12">Full many a flag the breeze has kissed,</a></td><td class="tdr">28</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph13">Give me the house where the toys are strewn,</a></td><td class="tdr">30</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph47">Glad to get back home again,</a></td><td class="tdr">82</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph06">God grant me these: the strength to do,</a></td><td class="tdr">17</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph43">God grant that we shall never see,</a></td><td class="tdr">76</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph58">God made the little boys for fun,</a></td><td class="tdr">103</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph17">Got a sliver in my hand,</a></td><td class="tdr">34</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph109">He couldn't use his driver any better on the tee,</a></td><td class="tdr">184</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph59">He shall be great who serves his country well,</a></td><td class="tdr">105</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph107">He was battle-scarred and ugly,</a></td><td class="tdr">180</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#ph53">I can't help thinkin' o' the lad,</a></td><td class="tdr">94</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph99">I do not ask a store of wealth,</a></td><td class="tdr">166</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph11">I don't see why Pa likes him so,</a></td><td class="tdr">26</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph92">I have no wish, my little lad,</a></td><td class="tdr">156</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph29">I hold the finest picture books,</a></td><td class="tdr">53</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph74">I like to get to thinking of the old days that are gone,</a></td><td class="tdr">128</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph09">I look into the faces of the people passing by,</a></td><td class="tdr">22</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph10">I remember the excitement and the terrible alarm,</a></td><td class="tdr">24</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph76">I think my country needs my vote,</a></td><td class="tdr">131</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph51">I wish I was a poet like the men that write in books,</a></td><td class="tdr">90</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph78">I wonder what the trees will say,</a></td><td class="tdr">134</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph82">I wonder where's a better job than buying cake and meat,</a></td><td class="tdr">142</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph28">I would rather be the daddy,</a></td><td class="tdr">52</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph18">I'd like to think when life is done,</a></td><td class="tdr">36</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph69">If I could have my wish to-night,</a></td><td class="tdr">120</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph30">I'm just the man to make things right,</a></td><td class="tdr">55</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph101">"I'm never alone in the garden," he said,</a></td><td class="tdr">170</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph50">I'm sorry for a feller if he hasn't any aunt,</a></td><td class="tdr">88</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph88">Is it all in the envelope holding your pay?</a></td><td class="tdr">150</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph02">Isn't it fine when the day is done,</a></td><td class="tdr">13</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph63">It is faith that bridges the land of breath,</a></td><td class="tdr">111</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph40">Last night I caught him on his knees,</a></td><td class="tdr">70</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph16">Let loose the sails of love and let them fill,</a></td><td class="tdr">33</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph89">Little girlie, kneeling there,</a></td><td class="tdr">152</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph32">Little lady at the altar,</a></td><td class="tdr">58</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph83">Men talk too much of gold and fame,</a></td><td class="tdr">143</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph25">My father is a peaceful man,</a></td><td class="tdr">46</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph46">My father knows the proper way,</a></td><td class="tdr">80</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph110">My Pa can hit his thumbnail,</a></td><td class="tdr">186</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph64">Oh, my shoulders grow aweary,</a></td><td class="tdr">112</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#ph72">Old women say that men don't know,</a></td><td class="tdr">124</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph97">One day the doctor came because my throat was feeling awful sore,</a></td><td class="tdr">163</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph14">One never knows how far a word of kindness goes,</a></td><td class="tdr">31</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph93">Pete bristles when the doorbell rings,</a></td><td class="tdr">157</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph38">She is gentle, kind and fair,</a></td><td class="tdr">67</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph08">She never closed her eyes in sleep,</a></td><td class="tdr">20</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph36">"Some day," says Ma, "I'm goin' to get,</a></td><td class="tdr">64</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph80">Some folks there be who seem to need excitement,</a></td><td class="tdr">138</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph55">Some have the gift of song,</a></td><td class="tdr">98</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph19">Somebody said that it couldn't be done,</a></td><td class="tdr">37</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph96">Sometimes I'm almost glad to hear,</a></td><td class="tdr">162</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph84">Strange thoughts come to the man alone,</a></td><td class="tdr">145</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph45">Sure, they get stubborn at times,</a></td><td class="tdr">79</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph07">"Tell us a story," comes the cry,</a></td><td class="tdr">18</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph61">The children bring us laughter,</a></td><td class="tdr">108</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph48">The dead return; I know they do,</a></td><td class="tdr">84</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph65">The doctor leads a busy life,</a></td><td class="tdr">114</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph71">The father toils at his work all day,</a></td><td class="tdr">123</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph94">The golden dreamboat's ready,</a></td><td class="tdr">158</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph95">The good old-fashioned mothers,</a></td><td class="tdr">160</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph67">The kids at our house number three,</a></td><td class="tdr">117</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph27">The little house has grown too small,</a></td><td class="tdr">50</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph52">The little woman, to her I bow,</a></td><td class="tdr">92</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph103">There are little eyes upon you,</a></td><td class="tdr">172</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph66">There may be finer pleasures than just tramping with your boy,</a></td><td class="tdr">116</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph68">There will always be something to do,</a></td><td class="tdr">119</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph39">There's a bump on his brow,</a></td><td class="tdr">69</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph31">There's a little chap at our house,</a></td><td class="tdr">56</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph04">There's nothing cheers a fellow up just like a hearty greeting,</a></td><td class="tdr">15</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph01">There's the mother at the doorway,</a></td><td class="tdr">11</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#ph102">These joys are free to all who live,</a></td><td class="tdr">171</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph98">They come to my room at the break of day,</a></td><td class="tdr">165</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph42">"They tie you down," a woman said,</a></td><td class="tdr">74</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph57">They've hung their stockings up with care,</a></td><td class="tdr">102</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph24">Though some may yearn for titles great,</a></td><td class="tdr">44</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph87">Tuggin' at your bottle,</a></td><td class="tdr">149</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph15">Under the roof where the laughter rings,</a></td><td class="tdr">32</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph23">We cannot count our friends, nor say,</a></td><td class="tdr">43</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph05">We play at our house and have all sorts of fun,</a></td><td class="tdr">16</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph85">We're gittin' so we need again,</a></td><td class="tdr">146</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph90">We've never seen the Father here,</a></td><td class="tdr">153</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph62">Whatever the task and whatever the risk,</a></td><td class="tdr">109</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph91">When a little baby dies,</a></td><td class="tdr">155</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph81">When an old man gets to thinking,</a></td><td class="tdr">140</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph86">When father couldn't wear them,</a></td><td class="tdr">147</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph75">"When I am rich," he used to say,</a></td><td class="tdr">130</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph100">When I was but a little lad,</a></td><td class="tdr">168</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph54">When mother baked an angel cake,</a></td><td class="tdr">96</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph22">When Mrs. Malone got a letter from Pat,</a></td><td class="tdr">41</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph79">When we've honored the heroes returning from France,</a></td><td class="tdr">136</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph49">When winter shuts a fellow in,</a></td><td class="tdr">86</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph106">Whenever I walk through God's Acres of Dead,</a></td><td class="tdr">178</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph21">Who shall sit at the table, then,</a></td><td class="tdr">40</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph108">With time our notions allus change,</a></td><td class="tdr">182</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph73">You can brag about the famous men you know,</a></td><td class="tdr">126</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph56">You can learn a lot from boys,</a></td><td class="tdr">100</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph20">You never hear the robins brag,</a></td><td class="tdr">38</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph60">You shall have satin and silk to wear,</a></td><td class="tdr">106</td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ph03">"You're spoiling them!" the mother cries,</a></td><td class="tdr">14</td></tr> +</table> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Path to Home, by Edgar A. 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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. 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