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@@ -0,0 +1,5773 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Heap o' Livin', 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: A Heap o' Livin' + +Author: Edgar A. Guest + +Release Date: April 29, 2008 [EBook #328] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A HEAP O' LIVIN' *** + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + A Heap o' Livin' + + + by + + Edgar A. Guest + + + + + To + Marjorie and Buddy + this little book of verse + is affectionately + dedicated + by their Daddy + + + + +{11} + + WHEN YOU KNOW A FELLOW + + When you get to know a fellow, know his joys + and know his cares, + When you've come to understand him and the + burdens that he bears, + When you've learned the fight he's making and + the troubles in his way, + Then you find that he is different than you + thought him yesterday. + You find his faults are trivial and there's not so + much to blame + In the brother that you jeered at when you only + knew his name. + + You are quick to see the blemish in the distant + neighbor's style, + You can point to all his errors and may sneer + at him the while, + And your prejudices fatten and your hates + more violent grow + As you talk about the failures of the man you + do not know, + But when drawn a little closer, and your hands + and shoulders touch, + You find the traits you hated really don't + amount to much. + + When you get to know a fellow, know his every + mood and whim, + You begin to find the texture of the splendid + side of him; + You begin to understand him, and you cease to + scoff and sneer, + For with understanding always prejudices disappear. + You begin to find his virtues and his faults you + cease to tell, + For you seldom hate a fellow when you know + him very well. + + When next you start in sneering and your + phrases turn to blame, + Know more of him you censure than his business + and his name; + For it's likely that acquaintance would your + prejudice dispel + And you'd really come to like him if you + knew him very well. + When you get to know a fellow and you understand + his ways, + Then his faults won't really matter, for you'll + find a lot to praise. + +{13} + + THE ROUGH LITTLE RASCAL + + A smudge on his nose and a smear on his cheek + And knees that might not have been washed in a week; + A bump on his forehead, a scar on his lip, + A relic of many a tumble and trip: + A rough little, tough little rascal, but sweet, + Is he that each evening I'm eager to meet. + + A brow that is beady with jewels of sweat; + A face that's as black as a visage can get; + A suit that at noon was a garment of white, + Now one that his mother declares is a fright: + A fun-loving, sun-loving rascal, and fine, + Is he that comes placing his black fist in mine. + + A crop of brown hair that is tousled and tossed; + A waist from which two of the buttons are lost; + A smile that shines out through the dirt and the grime, + And eyes that are flashing delight all the time: + All these are the joys that I'm eager to meet + And look for the moment I get to my street. + +{14} + + IT ISN'T COSTLY + + Does the grouch get richer quicker than the + friendly sort of man? + Can the grumbler labor better than the cheerful + fellow can? + Is the mean and churlish neighbor any cleverer + than the one + Who shouts a glad "good morning," and then + smiling passes on? + + Just stop and think about it. Have you ever + known or seen + A mean man who succeeded, just because he + was so mean? + When you find a grouch with honors and with + money in his pouch, + You can bet he didn't win them just because + he was a grouch. + + Oh, you'll not be any poorer if you smile along + your way, + And your lot will not be harder for the kindly + things you say. + Don't imagine you are wasting time for others + that you spend: + You can rise to wealth and glory and still pause + to be a friend. + +{15} + + MY CREED + + To live as gently as I can; + To be, no matter where, a man; + To take what comes of good or ill + And cling to faith and honor still; + To do my best, and let that stand + The record of my brain and hand; + And then, should failure come to me, + Still work and hope for victory. + + To have no secret place wherein + I stoop unseen to shame or sin; + To be the same when I'm alone + As when my every deed is known; + To live undaunted, unafraid + Of any step that I have made; + To be without pretense or sham + Exactly what men think I am. + + To leave some simple mark behind + To keep my having lived in mind; + If enmity to aught I show, + To be an honest, generous foe, + To play my little part, nor whine + That greater honors are not mine. + This, I believe, is all I need + For my philosophy and creed. + +{16} + + A WISH + + I'd like to be a boy again, a care-free prince of + joy again, + I'd like to tread the hills and dales the way I + used to do; + I'd like the tattered shirt again, the knickers + thick with dirt again, + The ugly, dusty feet again that long ago I + knew. + I'd like to play first base again, and Sliver's + curves to face again, + I'd like to climb, the way I did, a friendly + apple tree; + For, knowing what I do to-day, could I but + wander back and play, + I'd get full measure of the joy that boyhood + gave to me. + + I'd like to be a lad again, a youngster, wild and + glad again, + I'd like to sleep and eat again the way I used + to do; + I'd like to race and run again, and drain from + life its fun again, + And start another round of joy the moment + one was through. + But care and strife have come to me, and often + days are glum to me, + +{17} + + And sleep is not the thing it was and food + is not the same; + And I have sighed, and known that I must + journey on again to sigh, + And I have stood at envy's point and heard + the voice of shame. + + I've learned that joys are fleeting things; that + parting pain each meeting brings; + That gain and loss are partners here, and so + are smiles and tears; + That only boys from day to day can drain and + fill the cup of play; + That age must mourn for what is lost + throughout the coming years. + But boys cannot appreciate their priceless joy + until too late + And those who own the charms I had will + soon be changed to men; + And then, they too will sit, as I, and backward + turn to look and sigh + And share my longing, vain, to be a care-free boy again. + +{18} + + WHAT A BABY COSTS + + "How much do babies cost?" said he + The other night upon my knee; + And then I said: "They cost a lot; + A lot of watching by a cot, + A lot of sleepless hours and care, + A lot of heart-ache and despair, + A lot of fear and trying dread, + And sometimes many tears are shed + In payment for our babies small, + But every one is worth it all. + + "For babies people have to pay + A heavy price from day to day-- + There is no way to get one cheap. + Why, sometimes when they're fast asleep + You have to get up in the night + And go and see that they're all right. + But what they cost in constant care + And worry, does not half compare + With what they bring of joy and bliss-- + You'd pay much more for just a kiss. + + "Who buys a baby has to pay + A portion of the bill each day; + He has to give his time and thought + Unto the little one he's bought. + He has to stand a lot of pain + Inside his heart and not complain; + And pay with lonely days and sad + For all the happy hours he's had. + All this a baby costs, and yet + His smile is worth it all, you bet." + +{19} + + MOTHER + + Never a sigh for the cares that she bore for me + Never a thought of the joys that flew by; + Her one regret that she couldn't do more for me, + Thoughtless and selfish, her Master was I. + + Oh, the long nights that she came at my call to me! + Oh, the soft touch of her hands on my brow! + Oh, the long years that she gave up her all to me! + Oh, how I yearn for her gentleness now! + + Slave to her baby! Yes, that was the way of her, + Counting her greatest of services small; + Words cannot tell what this old heart would say of her, + Mother--the sweetest and fairest of all. + +{20} + + SELFISH + + I am selfish in my wishin' every sort o' joy for + you; + I am selfish when I tell you that I'm wishin' + skies o' blue + Bending o'er you every minute, and a pocketful + of gold, + An' as much of love an' gladness as a human + heart can hold. + Coz I know beyond all question that if such a + thing could be + As you cornerin' life's riches you would share + 'em all with me. + + I am selfish in my wishin' every sorrow from + your way, + With no trouble thoughts to fret you at the + closin' o' the day; + An' it's selfishness that bids me wish you + comforts by the score, + An' all the joys you long for, an' on top o' + them, some more; + Coz I know, old tried an' faithful, that if such + a thing could be + As you cornerin' life's riches you would share + 'em all with me. + +{21} + + RICH + + Who has a troop of romping youth + About his parlor floor, + Who nightly hears a round of cheers, + When he is at the door, + Who is attacked on every side + By eager little hands + That reach to tug his grizzled mug, + The wealth of earth commands. + + Who knows the joys of girls and boys, + His lads and lassies, too, + Who's pounced upon and bounced upon + When his day's work is through, + Whose trousers know the gentle tug + Of some glad little tot, + The baby of his crew of love, + Is wealthier than a lot. + + Oh, be he poor and sore distressed + And weary with the fight, + If with a whoop his healthy troop + Run, welcoming at night, + And kisses greet him at the end + Of all his toiling grim, + With what is best in life he's blest + And rich men envy him. + +{22} + + MA AND THE AUTO + + Before we take an auto ride Pa says to Ma: + "My dear, + Now just remember I don't need suggestions + from the rear. + If you will just sit still back there and hold + in check your fright, + I'll take you where you want to go and get + you back all right. + Remember that my hearing's good and also I'm + not blind, + And I can drive this car without suggestions + from behind." + + Ma promises that she'll keep still, then off we + gayly start, + But soon she notices ahead a peddler and his + cart. + "You'd better toot your horn," says she, "to let + him know we're near; + He might turn out!" and Pa replies: "Just + shriek at him, my dear." + And then he adds: "Some day, some guy will + make a lot of dough + By putting horns on tonneau seats for women-folks + to blow!" + + A little farther on Ma cries: "He signaled for + a turn!" + And Pa says: "Did he?" in a tone that's hot + enough to burn. + "Oh, there's a boy on roller skates!" cries Ma. + "Now do go slow. + I'm sure he doesn't see our car." And Pa says: + "I dunno, + I think I don't need glasses yet, but really it + may be + That I am blind and cannot see what's right + in front of me." + + If Pa should speed the car a bit some rigs to + hurry past + Ma whispers: "Do be careful now. You're + driving much too fast." + And all the time she's pointing out the dangers + of the street + And keeps him posted on the roads where + trolley cars he'll meet. + Last night when we got safely home, Pa sighed + and said: "My dear, + I'm sure we've all enjoyed the drive you gave + us from the rear!" + +{24} + + ON GOING HOME FOR CHRISTMAS + + He little knew the sorrow that was in his vacant + chair; + He never guessed they'd miss him, or he'd + surely have been there; + He couldn't see his mother or the lump that + filled her throat, + Or the tears that started falling as she read + his hasty note; + And he couldn't see his father, sitting sorrowful + and dumb, + Or he never would have written that he thought + he couldn't come. + + He little knew the gladness that his presence + would have made, + And the joy it would have given, or he never + would have stayed. + He didn't know how hungry had the little + mother grown + Once again to see her baby and to claim him + for her own. + He didn't guess the meaning of his visit + Christmas Day + Or he never would have written that he + couldn't get away. + + He couldn't see the fading of the cheeks that + once were pink, + And the silver in the tresses; and he didn't + stop to think + How the years are passing swiftly, and next + Christmas it might be + There would be no home to visit and no mother + dear to see. + He didn't think about it--I'll not say he didn't + care. + He was heedless and forgetful or he'd surely + have been there. + + Are you going home for Christmas? Have you + written you'll be there? + Going home to kiss the mother and to show + her that you care? + Going home to greet the father in a way to + make him glad? + If you're not I hope there'll never come a time + you'll wish you had. + Just sit down and write a letter--it will make + their heart strings hum + With a tune of perfect gladness--if you'll tell + them that you'll come. + +{26} + + AT SUGAR CAMP + + At Sugar Camp the cook is kind + And laughs the laugh we knew as boys; + And there we slip away and find + Awaiting us the old-time joys. + The catbird calls the selfsame way + She used to in the long ago, + And there's a chorus all the day + Of songsters it is good to know. + + The killdeer in the distance cries; + The thrasher, in her garb of brown, + From tree to tree in gladness flies. + Forgotten is the world's renown, + Forgotten are the years we've known; + At Sugar Camp there are no men; + We've ceased to strive for things to own; + We're in the woods as boys again. + + Our pride is in the strength of trees, + Our pomp the pomp of living things; + Our ears are tuned to melodies + That every feathered songster sings. + At Sugar Camp our noonday meal + Is eaten in the open air, + Where through the leaves the sunbeams steal + And simple is our bill of fare. + + At Sugar Camp in peace we dwell + And none is boastful of himself; + None plots to gain with shot and shell + His neighbor's bit of land or pelf. + The roar of cannon isn't heard, + There stilled is money's tempting voice; + Someone detects a new-come bird + And at her presence all rejoice. + + At Sugar Camp the cook is kind; + His steak is broiling o'er the coals + And in its sputtering we find + Sweet harmony for tired souls. + There, sheltered by the friendly trees, + As boys we sit to eat our meal, + And, brothers to the birds and bees, + We hold communion with the real. + +{28} + + HOME + + It takes a heap o' livin' in a house t' make it + home, + A heap o' sun an' shadder, an' ye sometimes + have t' roam + Afore ye really 'preciate the things ye lef' + behind, + An' hunger fer 'em somehow, with 'em allus + on yer mind. + It don't make any differunce how rich ye get + t' be, + How much yer chairs an' tables cost, how great + yer luxury; + It ain't home t' ye, though it be the palace of a + king, + Until somehow yer soul is sort o' wrapped round + everything. + + Home ain't a place that gold can buy or get up + in a minute; + Afore it's home there's got t' be a heap o' livin' + in it; + Within the walls there's got t' be some babies + born, and then + Right there ye've got t' bring 'em up t' women + good, an' men; + And gradjerly as time goes on, ye find ye + wouldn't part + With anything they ever used--they've grown + into yer heart: + The old high chairs, the playthings, too, the + little shoes they wore + Ye hoard; an' if ye could ye'd keep the + thumb-marks on the door. + + Ye've got t' weep t' make it home, ye've got t' + sit an' sigh + An' watch beside a loved one's bed, an' know + that Death is nigh; + An' in the stillness o' the night t' see Death's + angel come, + An' close the eyes o' her that smiled, an' leave + her sweet voice dumb. + Fer these are scenes that grip the heart, an' + when yer tears are dried, + Ye find the home is dearer than it was, an' + sanctified; + An' tuggin' at ye always are the pleasant + memories + O' her that was an' is no more--ye can't escape + from these. + + Ye've got t' sing an' dance fer years, ye've got + t' romp an' play, + An' learn t' love the things ye have by usin' 'em + each day; + Even the roses 'round the porch must blossom + year by year + Afore they 'come a part o' ye, suggestin' + someone dear + Who used t' love 'em long ago, an' trained 'em + jes t' run + The way they do, so's they would get the early + mornin' sun; + Ye've got t' love each brick an' stone from + cellar up t' dome: + It takes a heap o' livin' in a house t' make it + home. + +{30} + + THE PATH THAT LEADS TO HOME + + The little path that leads to home, + That is the road for me, + I know no finer path to roam, + With finer sights to see. + With thoroughfares the world is lined + That lead to wonders new, + But he who treads them leaves behind + The tender things and true. + + Oh, north and south and east and west + The crowded roadways go, + And sweating brow and weary breast + Are all they seem to know. + And mad for pleasure some are bent, + And some are seeking fame, + And some are sick with discontent, + And some are bruised and lame. + + Across the world the gleaming steel + Holds out its lure for men, + But no one finds his comfort real + Till he comes home again. + And charted lanes now line the sea + For weary hearts to roam, + But, Oh, the finest path to me + Is that which leads to home. + + 'Tis there I come to laughing eyes + And find a welcome true; + 'Tis there all care behind me lies + And joy is ever new. + And, Oh, when every day is done + Upon that little street, + A pair of rosy youngsters run + To me with flying feet. + + The world with myriad paths is lined + But one alone for me, + One little road where I may find + The charms I want to see. + Though thoroughfares majestic call + The multitude to roam, + I would not leave, to know them all, + The path that leads to home. + +{32} + + A FRIEND'S GREETING + + I'd like to be the sort of friend that you have + been to me; + I'd like to be the help that you've been always + glad to be; + I'd like to mean as much to you each minute + of the day + As you have meant, old friend of mine, to me + along the way. + + I'd like to do the big things and the splendid + things for you, + To brush the gray from out your skies and + leave them only blue; + I'd like to say the kindly things that I so oft + have heard, + And feel that I could rouse your soul the way + that mine you've stirred. + + I'd like to give you back the joy that you have + given me, + Yet that were wishing you a need I hope will + never be; + I'd like to make you feel as rich as I, who + travel on + Undaunted in the darkest hours with you to + lean upon. + + I'm wishing at this Christmas time that I could + but repay + A portion of the gladness that you've strewn + along my way; + And could I have one wish this year, this only + would it be: + I'd like to be the sort of friend that you have + been to me. + +{33} + + A SONG + + None knows the day that friends must part + None knows how near is sorrow; + If there be laughter in your heart, + Don't hold it for to-morrow. + Smile all the smiles you can to-day; + Grief waits for all along the way. + + To-day is ours for joy and mirth; + We may be sad to-morrow; + Then let us sing for all we've worth, + Nor give a thought to sorrow. + None knows what lies along the way; + Let's smile what smiles we can to-day. + +{34} + + OLD FRIENDS + + I do not say new friends are not considerate and + true, + Or that their smiles ain't genuine, but still I'm + tellin' you + That when a feller's heart is crushed and achin' + with the pain, + And teardrops come a-splashin' down his cheeks + like summer rain, + Becoz his grief an' loneliness are more than + he can bear, + Somehow it's only old friends, then, that really + seem to care. + The friends who've stuck through thick an' + thin, who've known you, good an' bad, + Your faults an' virtues, an' have seen the + struggles you have had, + When they come to you gentle-like an' take + your hand an' say: + "Cheer up! we're with you still," it counts, for + that's the old friends' way. + + The new friends may be fond of you for what + you are to-day; + They've only known you rich, perhaps, an' only + seen you gay; + You can't tell what's attracted them; your + station may appeal; + Perhaps they smile on you because you're doin' + something real; + But old friends who have seen you fail, an' also + seen you win, + Who've loved you either up or down, stuck + to you, thick or thin, + Who knew you as a budding youth, an' watched + you start to climb, + Through weal an' woe, still friends of yours + an' constant all the time, + When trouble comes an' things go wrong, I + don't care what you say, + They are the friends you'll turn to, for you + want the old friends' way. + + The new friends may be richer, an' more stylish, + too, but when + Your heart is achin' an' you think your sun + won't shine again, + It's not the riches of new friends you want, it's + not their style, + It's not the airs of grandeur then, it's just the + old friend's smile, + The old hand that has helped before, stretched + out once more to you, + The old words ringin' in your ears, so sweet an', + Oh, so true! + The tenderness of folks who know just what + your sorrow means, + These are the things on which, somehow, your + spirit always leans. + When grief is poundin' at your breast--the + new friends disappear + An' to the old ones tried an' true, you turn for + aid an' cheer. + +{36} + + FOLKS + + We was speakin' of folks, jes' common folks, + An' we come to this conclusion, + That wherever they be, on land or sea, + They warm to a home allusion; + That under the skin an' under the hide + There's a spark that starts a-glowin' + Whenever they look at a scene or book + That something of home is showin'. + + They may differ in creeds an' politics, + They may argue an' even quarrel, + But their throats grip tight, if they catch a sight + Of their favorite elm or laurel. + An' the winding lane that they used to tread + With never a care to fret 'em, + Or the pasture gate where they used to wait, + Right under the skin will get 'em. + + Now folks is folks on their different ways, + With their different griefs an' pleasures, + But the home they knew, when their years were few, + Is the dearest of all their treasures. + An' the richest man to the poorest waif + Right under the skin is brother + When they stand an' sigh, with a tear-dimmed eye, + At a thought of the dear old mother. + + It makes no difference where it may be, + Nor the fortunes that years may alter, + Be they simple or wise, the old home ties + Make all of 'em often falter. + Time may robe 'em in sackcloth coarse + Or garb 'em in gorgeous splendor, + But whatever their lot, they keep one spot + Down deep that is sweet an' tender. + + We was speakin' of folks, jes' common folks, + An' we come to this conclusion, + That one an' all, be they great or small, + Will warm to a home allusion; + That under the skin an' the beaten hide + They're kin in a real affection + For the joys they knew, when their years were few, + An' the home of their recollection. + +{38} + + LITTLE MASTER MISCHIEVOUS + + Little Master Mischievous, that's the name for you; + There's no better title that describes the things you do: + Into something all the while where you shouldn't be, + Prying into matters that are not for you to see; + Little Master Mischievous, order's overthrown + If your mother leaves you for a minute all alone. + + Little Master Mischievous, opening every door, + Spilling books and papers round about the parlor floor, + Scratching all the tables and marring all the chairs, + Climbing where you shouldn't climb and tumbling down the stairs. + How'd you get the ink well? We can never guess. + Now the rug is ruined; so's your little dress. + + Little Master Mischievous, in the cookie jar, + Who has ever told you where the cookies are? + Now your sticky fingers smear the curtains white; + You have finger-printed everything in sight. + There's no use in scolding; when you smile that way + You can rob of terror every word we say. + + Little Master Mischievous, that's the name for you; + There's no better title that describes the things you do: + Prying into corners, peering into nooks, + Tugging table covers, tearing costly books. + Little Master Mischievous, have your roguish way; + Time, I know, will stop you, soon enough some day. + +{39} + + OPPORTUNITY + + So long as men shall be on earth + There will be tasks for them to do, + Some way for them to show their worth; + Each day shall bring its problems new. + + And men shall dream of mightier deeds + Than ever have been done before: + There always shall be human needs + For men to work and struggle for. + +{40} + + THE SORROW TUGS + + There's a lot of joy in the smiling world, + there's plenty of morning sun, + And laughter and songs and dances, too, whenever + the day's work's done; + Full many an hour is a shining one, when + viewed by itself apart, + But the golden threads in the warp of life are + the sorrow tugs at your heart. + + Oh, the fun is froth and it blows away, and + many a joy's forgot, + And the pleasures come and the pleasures go, + and memory holds them not; + But treasured ever you keep the pain that causes + your tears to start, + For the sweetest hours are the ones that bring + the sorrow tugs at your heart. + + The lump in your throat and the little sigh when + your baby trudged away + The very first time to the big red school--how + long will their memory stay? + The fever days and the long black nights you + watched as she troubled, slept, + And the joy you felt when she smiled once + more--how long will that all be kept? + + The glad hours live in a feeble way, but the sad + ones never die. + His first long trousers caused a pang and you + saw them with a sigh. + And the big still house when the boy and girl, + unto youth and beauty grown, + To college went; will you e'er forget that first + grim hour alone? + + It seems as you look back over things, that all + that you treasure dear + Is somehow blent in a wondrous way with a + heart pang and a tear. + Though many a day is a joyous one when + viewed by itself apart, + The golden threads in the warp of life are the + sorrow tugs at your heart. + +{42} + + ONLY A DAD + + Only a dad with a tired face, + Coming home from the daily race, + Bringing little of gold or fame + To show how well he has played the game; + But glad in his heart that his own rejoice + To see him come and to hear his voice. + + Only a dad with a brood of four, + One of ten million men or more + Plodding along in the daily strife, + Bearing the whips and the scorns of life, + With never a whimper of pain or hate, + For the sake of those who at home await. + + Only a dad, neither rich nor proud, + Merely one of the surging crowd, + Toiling, striving from day to day, + Facing whatever may come his way, + Silent whenever the harsh condemn, + And bearing it all for the love of them. + + Only a dad but he gives his all, + To smooth the way for his children small, + Doing with courage stern and grim + The deeds that his father did for him. + This is the line that for him I pen: + Only a dad, but the best of men. + +{43} + + HARD KNOCKS + + I'm not the man to say that failure's sweet, + Nor tell a chap to laugh when things go wrong; + I know it hurts to have to take defeat + An' no one likes to lose before a throng; + It isn't very pleasant not to win + When you have done the very best you could; + But if you're down, get up an' buckle in-- + A lickin' often does a fellow good. + + I've seen some chaps who never knew their power + Until somebody knocked 'em to the floor; + I've known men who discovered in an hour + A courage they had never shown before. + I've seen 'em rise from failure to the top + By doin' things they hadn't understood + Before the day disaster made 'em drop-- + A lickin' often does a fellow good. + + Success is not the teacher, wise an' true, + That gruff old failure is, remember that; + She's much too apt to make a fool of you, + Which isn't true of blows that knock you flat. + Hard knocks are painful things an' hard to bear, + An' most of us would dodge 'em if we could; + There's something mighty broadening in care-- + A lickin' often does a fellow good. + +{44} + + SPRING IN THE TRENCHES + + It's coming time for planting in that little patch of ground, + Where the lad and I made merry as he followed me around; + Now the sun is getting higher, and the skies above are blue, + And I'm hungry for the garden, and I wish the war was through. + But it's tramp, tramp, tramp, + And it's never look behind, + And when you see a stranger's kids + Pretend that you are blind. + + The spring is coming back again, the birds begin to mate; + The skies are full of kindness, but the world is full of hate. + And it's I that should be bending now in peace above the soil + With laughing eyes and little hands about to bless the toil. + But it's fight, fight, fight, + And it's charge at double-quick; + A soldier thinking thoughts of home + Is one more soldier sick. + + Last year I brought the bulbs to bloom and saw the roses bud; + This year I'm ankle deep in mire, and most of it is blood. + Last year the mother in the door was glad as she could be; + To-day her heart is full of pain, and mine is hurting me. + But it's shoot, shoot, shoot, + And when the bullets hiss, + Don't let the tears fill up your eyes, + For weeping soldiers miss. + + Oh, who will tend the roses now and who will sow the seeds? + And who will do the heavy work the little garden needs? + And who will tell the lad of mine the things he wants to know, + And take his hand and lead him round the paths we used to go? + For it's charge, charge, charge, + And it's face the foe once more; + Forget the things you love the most + And keep your mind on gore. + +{46} + + FATHER + + Used to wonder just why father + Never had much time for play, + Used to wonder why he'd rather + Work each minute of the day. + Used to wonder why he never + Loafed along the road an' shirked; + Can't recall a time whenever + Father played while others worked. + + Father didn't dress in fashion, + Sort of hated clothing new; + Style with him was not a passion; + He had other things in view. + Boys are blind to much that's going + On about 'em day by day, + And I had no way of knowing + What became of father's pay. + + All I knew was when I needed + Shoes I got 'em on the spot; + Everything for which I pleaded, + Somehow, father always got. + Wondered, season after season, + Why he never took a rest, + And that _I_ might be the reason + Then I never even guessed. + + Father set a store on knowledge; + If he'd lived to have his way + He'd have sent me off to college + And the bills been glad to pay. + That, I know, was his ambition: + Now and then he used to say + He'd have done his earthly mission + On my graduation day. + + Saw his cheeks were getting paler, + Didn't understand just why; + Saw his body growing frailer, + Then at last I saw him die. + Rest had come! His tasks were ended, + Calm was written on his brow; + Father's life was big and splendid, + And I understand it now. + +{48} + + LADDIES + + Show me the boy who never threw + A stone at someone's cat, + Or never hurled a snowball swift + At someone's high silk hat-- + Who never ran away from school, + To seek the swimming hole, + Or slyly from a neighbor's yard + Green apples never stole-- + + Show me the boy who never broke + A pane of window glass, + Who never disobeyed the sign + That says: "Keep off the grass." + Who never did a thousand things, + That grieve us sore to tell, + And I'll show you a little boy + Who must be far from well. + +{49} + + THE LIVING BEAUTIES + + I never knew, until they went, + How much their laughter really meant + I never knew how much the place + Depended on each little face; + How barren home could be and drear + Without its living beauties here. + + I never knew that chairs and books + Could wear such sad and solemn looks! + That rooms and halls could be at night + So still and drained of all delight. + This home is now but brick and board + Where bits of furniture are stored. + + I used to think I loved each shelf + And room for what it was itself. + And once I thought each picture fine + Because I proudly called it mine. + But now I know they mean no more + Than art works hanging in a store. + + Until they went away to roam + I never knew what made it home. + But I have learned that all is base, + However wonderful the place + And decked with costly treasures, rare, + Unless the living joys are there. + +{50} + + AT BREAKFAST TIME + + My Pa he eats his breakfast in a funny sort of way: + We hardly ever see him at the first meal of the day. + Ma puts his food before him and he settles in his place + An' then he props the paper up and we can't see his face; + We hear him blow his coffee and we hear him chew his toast, + But it's for the morning paper that he seems to care the most. + + Ma says that little children mighty grateful ought to be + To the folks that fixed the evening as the proper time for tea. + She says if meals were only served to people once a day, + An' that was in the morning just before Pa goes away, + We'd never know how father looked when he was in his place, + Coz he'd always have the morning paper stuck before his face. + + He drinks his coffee steamin' hot, an' passes Ma his cup + To have it filled a second time, an' never once looks up. + He never has a word to say, but just sits there an' reads, + An' when she sees his hand stuck out Ma gives him what he needs. + She guesses what it is he wants, coz it's no use to ask: + Pa's got to read his paper an' sometimes that's quite a task. + + One morning we had breakfast an' his features we could see, + But his face was long an' solemn an' he didn't speak to me, + An' we couldn't get him laughin' an' we couldn't make him smile, + An' he said the toast was soggy an' the coffee simply vile. + Then Ma said: "What's the matter? Why are you so cross an' glum?" + An' Pa 'most took her head off coz the paper didn't come. + +{52} + + CAN'T + + _Can't_ is the worst word that's written or spoken; + Doing more harm here than slander and lies; + On it is many a strong spirit broken, + And with it many a good purpose dies. + It springs from the lips of the thoughtless each morning + And robs us of courage we need through the day: + It rings in our ears like a timely-sent warning + And laughs when we falter and fall by the way. + + _Can't_ is the father of feeble endeavor, + The parent of terror and half-hearted work; + It weakens the efforts of artisans clever, + And makes of the toiler an indolent shirk. + It poisons the soul of the man with a vision, + It stifles in infancy many a plan; + It greets honest toiling with open derision + And mocks at the hopes and the dreams of a man. + + _Can't_ is a word none should speak without blushing; + To utter it should be a symbol of shame; + Ambition and courage it daily is crushing; + It blights a man's purpose and shortens his aim. + Despise it with all of your hatred of error; + Refuse it the lodgment it seeks in your brain; + Arm against it as a creature of terror, + And all that you dream of you some day shall gain. + + _Can't_ is the word that is foe to ambition, + An enemy ambushed to shatter your will; + Its prey is forever the man with a mission + And bows but to courage and patience and skill. + Hate it, with hatred that's deep and undying, + For once it is welcomed 'twill break any man; + Whatever the goal you are seeking, keep trying + And answer this demon by saying: "I _can_." + +{54} + + JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY + + _Written July 22, 1916, when the + world lost its "Poet of Childhood."_ + + There must be great rejoicin' on the Golden + Shore to-day, + An' the big an' little angels must be feelin' + mighty gay: + Could we look beyond the curtain now I fancy + we should see + Old Aunt Mary waitin', smilin', for the coming + that's to be, + An' Little Orphant Annie an' the whole excited + pack + Dancin' up an' down an' shoutin': "Mr. Riley's + comin' back!" + + There's a heap o' real sadness in this good old + world to-day; + There are lumpy throats this morning now that + Riley's gone away; + There's a voice now stilled forever that in + sweetness only spoke + An' whispered words of courage with a faith that + never broke. + There is much of joy and laughter that we + mortals here will lack, + But the angels must be happy now that Riley's + comin' back. + + The world was gettin' dreary, there was too + much sigh an' frown + In this vale o' mortal strivin', so God sent Jim + Riley down, + An' He said: "Go there an' cheer 'em in your + good old-fashioned way, + With your songs of tender sweetness, but don't + make your plans to stay, + Coz you're needed up in Heaven. I am lendin' + you to men + Just to help 'em with your music, but I'll want + you back again." + + An' Riley came, an' mortals heard the music of + his voice + An' they caught his songs o' beauty an' they + started to rejoice; + An' they leaned on him in sorrow, an' they + shared with him their joys, + An' they walked with him the pathways that + they knew when they were boys. + But the heavenly angels missed him, missed his + tender, gentle knack + Of makin' people happy, an' they wanted Riley + back. + + There must be great rejoicin' on the streets of + Heaven to-day + An' all the angel children must be troopin' + down the way, + Singin' heavenly songs of welcome an' preparin' + now to greet + The soul that God had tinctured with an + ever-lasting sweet; + The world is robed in sadness an' is draped in + sombre black; + But joy must reign in Heaven now that Riley's + comin' back. + +{56} + + RESULTS AND ROSES + + The man who wants a garden fair, + Or small or very big, + With flowers growing here and there, + Must bend his back and dig. + + The things are mighty few on earth + That wishes can attain. + Whate'er we want of any worth + We've got to work to gain. + + It matters not what goal you seek + Its secret here reposes: + You've got to dig from week to week + To get Results or Roses. + +{57} + + THE OTHER FELLOW + + Are you fond of your wife and your children fair? + So is the other fellow. + Do you crave pleasures for them to share? + So does the other fellow. + Does your heart rejoice when your own are glad? + And are you troubled when they are sad? + Well, it's that way, too, in this life, my lad, + That way with the other fellow. + + Do you want the best for your own to know? + So does the other fellow. + Do you stoop to kiss them before you go? + So does the other fellow. + When your baby lies on a fevered bed, + Does your heart run cold with a silent dread? + Well, it's that way, too, where all mortals tread-- + That way with the other fellow. + + Does it hurt when they want what you cannot buy? + It does with the other fellow. + Do you for their comfort yourself deny? + So does the other fellow. + Would you wail aloud if your babe should die + For the lack of care you could not supply? + Well, it's that way, too, as he travels by, + That way with the other fellow. + +{58} + + OUR DUTY TO OUR FLAG + + Less hate and greed + Is what we need + And more of service true; + More men to love + The flag above + And keep it first in view. + + Less boast and brag + About the flag, + More faith in what it means; + More heads erect, + More self-respect, + Less talk of war machines. + + The time to fight + To keep it bright + Is not along the way, + Nor 'cross the foam, + But here at home + Within ourselves--to-day. + + 'Tis we must love + That flag above + With all our might and main; + For from our hands, + Not distant lands, + Shall come dishonor's stain. + + If that flag be + Dishonored, we + Have done it, not the foe; + If it shall fall + We first of all + Shall be to strike a blow. + +{59} + + THE HUNTER + + Cheek that is tanned to the wind of the north. + Body that jests at the bite of the cold, + Limbs that are eager and strong to go forth + Into the wilds and the ways of the bold; + Red blood that pulses and throbs in the veins, + Ears that love silences better than noise; + Strength of the forest and health of the plains; + These the rewards that the hunter enjoys. + + Forests were ever the cradles of men; + Manhood is born of a kinship with trees. + Whence shall come brave hearts and stout + muscles, when + Woods have made way for our cities of ease? + Oh, do you wonder that stalwarts return + Yearly to hark to the whispering oaks? + 'Tis for the brave days of old that they yearn: + These are the splendors the hunter invokes. + +{60} + + IT'S SEPTEMBER + + It's September, and the orchards are afire with + red and gold, + And the nights with dew are heavy, and the + morning's sharp with cold; + Now the garden's at its gayest with the salvia + blazing red + And the good old-fashioned asters laughing + at us from their bed; + Once again in shoes and stockings are the children's + little feet, + And the dog now does his snoozing on the + bright side of the street. + + It's September, and the cornstalks are as high + as they will go, + And the red cheeks of the apples everywhere + begin to show; + Now the supper's scarcely over ere the darkness + settles down + And the moon looms big and yellow at the + edges of the town; + Oh, it's good to see the children, when their + little prayers are said, + Duck beneath the patchwork covers when they + tumble into bed. + + It's September, and a calmness and a sweetness + seem to fall + Over everything that's living, just as though it + hears the call + Of Old Winter, trudging slowly, with his pack + of ice and snow, + In the distance over yonder, and it somehow + seems as though + Every tiny little blossom wants to look its very + best + When the frost shall bite its petals and it droops + away to rest. + + It's September! It's the fullness and the ripeness + of the year; + All the work of earth is finished, or the final + tasks are near, + But there is no doleful wailing; every living + thing that grows, + For the end that is approaching wears the + finest garb it knows. + And I pray that I may proudly hold my head + up high and smile + When I come to my September in the golden + afterwhile. + +{62} + + HOW DO YOU TACKLE YOUR WORK? + + How do you tackle your work each day? + Are you scared of the job you find? + Do you grapple the task that comes your way + With a confident, easy mind? + Do you stand right up to the work ahead + Or fearfully pause to view it? + Do you start to toil with a sense of dread + Or feel that you're going to do it? + + You can do as much as you think you can, + But you'll never accomplish more; + If you're afraid of yourself, young man, + There's little for you in store. + For failure comes from the inside first, + It's there if we only knew it, + And you can win, though you face the worst, + If you feel that you're going to do it. + + Success! It's found in the soul of you, + And not in the realm of luck! + The world will furnish the work to do, + But you must provide the pluck. + You can do whatever you think you can, + It's all in the way you view it. + It's all in the start that you make, young man: + You must feel that you're going to do it. + + How do you tackle your work each day? + With confidence clear, or dread? + What to yourself do you stop and say + When a new task lies ahead? + What is the thought that is in your mind? + Is fear ever running through it? + If so, just tackle the next you find + By thinking you're going to do it. + +{63} + + LIFE + + Life is a gift to be used every day, + Not to be smothered and hidden away; + It isn't a thing to be stored in the chest + Where you gather your keepsakes and treasure your best; + It isn't a joy to be sipped now and then + And promptly put back in a dark place again. + + Life is a gift that the humblest may boast of + And one that the humblest may well make the most of. + Get out and live it each hour of the day, + Wear it and use it as much as you may; + Don't keep it in niches and corners and grooves, + You'll find that in service its beauty improves. + +{64} + + STORY TELLING + + Most every night when they're in bed, + And both their little prayers have said, + They shout for me to come upstairs + And tell them tales of gypsies bold, + And eagles with the claws that hold + A baby's weight, and fairy sprites + That roam the woods on starry nights. + + And I must illustrate these tales, + Must imitate the northern gales + That toss the Indian's canoe, + And show the way he paddles, too. + If in the story comes a bear, + I have to pause and sniff the air + And show the way he climbs the trees + To steal the honey from the bees. + + And then I buzz like angry bees + And sting him on his nose and knees + And howl in pain, till mother cries: + "That pair will never shut their eyes, + While all that noise up there you make; + You're simply keeping them awake." + And then they whisper: "Just one more," + And once again I'm forced to roar. + + New stories every night they ask. + And that is not an easy task; + I have to be so many things, + The frog that croaks, the lark that sings, + The cunning fox, the frightened hen; + But just last night they stumped me, when + They wanted me to twist and squirm + And imitate an angle worm. + + At last they tumble off to sleep, + And softly from their room I creep + And brush and comb the shock of hair + I tossed about to be a bear. + Then mother says: "Well, I should say + You're just as much a child as they." + But you can bet I'll not resign + That story telling job of mine. + +{66} + + CANNING TIME + + There's a wondrous smell of spices + In the kitchen, + Most bewitchin'; + There are fruits cut into slices + That just set the palate itchin'; + There's the sound of spoon on platter + And the rattle and the clatter; + And a bunch of kids are hastin' + To the splendid joy of tastin': + It's the fragrant time of year + When fruit-cannin' days are here. + + There's a good wife gayly smilin' + And perspirin' + Some, and tirin'; + And while jar on jar she's pilin' + And the necks o' them she's wirin' + I'm a-sittin' here an' dreamin' + Of the kettles that are steamin', + And the cares that have been troublin' + All have vanished in the bubblin'. + I am happy that I'm here + At the cannin' time of year. + + Lord, I'm sorry for the feller + That is missin' + All the hissin' + Of the juices, red and yeller, + + And can never sit and listen + To the rattle and the clatter + Of the sound of spoon on platter. + I am sorry for the single, + For they miss the thrill and tingle + Of the splendid time of year + When the cannin' days are here. + +{67} + + THE DULL ROAD + + It's the dull road that leads to the gay road; + The practice that leads to success; + The work road that leads to the play road; + It is trouble that breeds happiness. + + It's the hard work and merciless grinding + That purchases glory and fame; + It's repeatedly doing, nor minding + The drudgery drear of the game. + + It's the passing up glamor or pleasure + For the sake of the skill we may gain, + And in giving up comfort or leisure + For the joy that we hope to attain. + + It's the hard road of trying and learning, + Of toiling, uncheered and alone, + That wins us the prizes worth earning, + And leads us to goals we would own. + +{68} + + THE APPLE TREE + + When an apple tree is ready for the world to + come and eat, + There isn't any structure in the land that's + "got it beat." + There's nothing man has builded with the + beauty or the charm + That can touch the simple grandeur of the + monarch of the farm. + There's never any picture from a human + being's brush + That has ever caught the redness of a single apple's blush. + + When an apple tree's in blossom it is glorious + to see, + But that's just a hint, at springtime, of the + better things to be; + That is just a fairy promise from the Great + Magician's wand + Of the wonders and the splendors that are + waiting just beyond + The distant edge of summer; just a forecast + of the treat + When the apple tree is ready for the world + to come and eat. + + Architects of splendid vision long have labored + on the earth, + And have raised their dreams in marble and + we've marveled at their worth; + Long the spires of costly churches have looked + upward at the sky; + Rich in promise and in the beauty, they have + cheered the passer-by. + But I'm sure there's nothing finer for the eye + of man to meet + Than an apple tree that's ready for the world + to come and eat. + + There's the promise of the apples, red and + gleaming in the sun, + Like the medals worn by mortals as rewards + for labors done; + And the big arms stretched wide open, with a + welcome warm and true + In a way that sets you thinking it's intended + just for you. + There is nothing with a beauty so entrancing, + so complete, + As an apple tree that's ready for the world to + come and eat. + +{70} + + THE HOME-TOWN + + Some folks leave home for money + And some leave home for fame, + Some seek skies always sunny, + And some depart in shame. + I care not what the reason + Men travel east and west, + Or what the month or season-- + The home-town is the best. + + The home-town is the glad town + Where something real abides; + 'Tis not the money-mad town + That all its spirit hides. + Though strangers scoff and flout it + And even jeer its name, + It has a charm about it + No other town can claim. + + The home-town skies seem bluer + Than skies that stretch away, + The home-town friends seem truer + And kinder through the day; + And whether glum or cheery + Light-hearted or depressed, + Or struggle-fit or weary, + I like the home-town best. + + Let him who will, go wander + To distant towns to live, + Of some things I am fonder + Than all they have to give. + The gold of distant places + Could not repay me quite + For those familiar faces + That keep the home-town bright. + +{71} + + TAKE HOME A SMILE + + Take home a smile; forget the petty cares, + The dull, grim grind of all the day's affairs; + The day is done, come be yourself awhile: + To-night, to those who wait, take home a smile. + + Take home a smile; don't scatter grief and gloom + Where laughter and light hearts should always + bloom; + What though you've traveled many a dusty mile, + Footsore and weary, still take home a smile. + + Take home a smile--it is not much to do, + But much it means to them who wait for you; + You can be brave for such a little while; + The day of doubt is done--take home a smile. + +{72} + + COURAGE + + Courage isn't a brilliant dash, + A daring deed in a moment's flash; + It isn't an instantaneous thing + Born of despair with a sudden spring + It isn't a creature of flickered hope + Or the final tug at a slipping rope; + But it's something deep in the soul of man + That is working always to serve some plan. + + Courage isn't the last resort + In the work of life or the game of sport; + It isn't a thing that a man can call + At some future time when he's apt to fall; + If he hasn't it now, he will have it not + When the strain is great and the pace is hot. + For who would strive for a distant goal + Must always have courage within his soul. + + Courage isn't a dazzling light + That flashes and passes away from sight; + It's a slow, unwavering, ingrained trait + With the patience to work and the strength to wait. + It's part of a man when his skies are blue, + It's part of him when he has work to do. + The brave man never is freed of it. + He has it when there is no need of it. + + Courage was never designed for show; + It isn't a thing that can come and go; + It's written in victory and defeat + And every trial a man may meet. + It's part of his hours, his days and his years, + Back of his smiles and behind his tears. + Courage is more than a daring deed: + It's the breath of life and a strong man's creed. + +{73} + + GREATNESS + + We can be great by helping one another; + We can be loved for very simple deeds; + Who has the grateful mention of a brother + Has really all the honor that he needs. + + We can be famous for our works of kindness-- + Fame is not born alone of strength or skill; + It sometimes comes from deafness and from + blindness + To petty words and faults, and loving still. + + We can be rich in gentle smiles and sunny: + A jeweled soul exceeds a royal crown. + The richest men sometimes have little money, + And Croesus oft's the poorest man in town. + +{74} + + THE EPICURE + + I've sipped a rich man's sparkling wine, + His silverware I've handled. + I've placed these battered legs of mine + 'Neath tables gayly candled. + I dine on rare and costly fare + Whene'er good fortune lets me, + But there's no meal that can compare + With those the missus gets me. + + I've had your steaks three inches thick + With all your Sam Ward trimming, + I've had the breast of milk-fed chick + In luscious gravy swimming. + To dine in swell cafe or club + But irritates and frets me; + Give me the plain and wholesome grub-- + The grub the missus gets me. + + Two kiddies smiling at the board, + The cook right at the table, + The four of us, a hungry horde, + To beat that none is able. + A big meat pie, with flaky crust! + 'Tis then that joy besets me; + Oh, I could eat until I "bust," + Those meals the missus gets me. + +{75} + + THE GENTLE GARDENER + + I'd like to leave but daffodills to mark my little + way, + To leave but tulips red and white behind me as + I stray; + I'd like to pass away from earth and feel I'd + left behind + But roses and forget-me-nots for all who come + to find. + + I'd like to sow the barren spots with all the + flowers of earth, + To leave a path where those who come should + find but gentle mirth; + And when at last I'm called upon to join the + heavenly throng + I'd like to feel along my way I'd left no sign + of wrong. + + And yet the cares are many and the hours of + toil are few; + There is not time enough on earth for all I'd + like to do; + But, having lived and having toiled, I'd like the + world to find + Some little touch of beauty that my soul had + left behind. + +{76} + + THE FINEST AGE + + When he was only nine months old, + And plump and round and pink of cheek, + A joy to tickle and to hold, + Before he'd even learned to speak, + His gentle mother used to say: + "It is too bad that he must grow. + If I could only have my way + His baby ways we'd always know." + + And then the year was turned, and he + Began to toddle round the floor + And name the things that he could see + And soil the dresses that he wore. + Then many a night she whispered low: + "Our baby now is such a joy + I hate to think that he must grow + To be a wild and heedless boy." + + But on he went and sweeter grew, + And then his mother, I recall, + Wished she could keep him always two, + For that's the finest age of all. + She thought the selfsame thing at three, + And now that he is four, she sighs + To think he cannot always be + The youngster with the laughing eyes. + + Oh, little boy, my wish is not + Always to keep you four years old. + Each night I stand beside your cot + And think of what the years may hold; + And looking down on you I pray + That when we've lost our baby small, + The mother of our man will say + "This is the finest age of all." + +{77} + + SUCCESS AND FAILURE + + I do not think all failure's undeserved, + And all success is merely someone's luck; + Some men are down because they were unnerved, + And some are up because they kept their pluck. + Some men are down because they chose to shirk; + Some men are high because they did their work. + + I do not think that all the poor are good, + That riches are the uniform of shame; + The beggar might have conquered if he would, + And that he begs, the world is not to blame. + Misfortune is not all that comes to mar; + Most men, themselves, have shaped the things + they are. + +{78} + + CARE-FREE YOUTH + + The skies are blue and the sun is out and the + grass is green and soft + And the old charm's back in the apple tree + and it calls a boy aloft; + And the same low voice that the old don't hear, + but the care-free youngsters do, + Is calling them to the fields and streams and + the joys that once I knew. + And if youth be wild desire for play and care + is the mark of men, + Beneath the skin that Time has tanned I'm a + madcap youngster then. + + Far richer than king with his crown of gold and + his heavy weight of care + Is the sunburned boy with his stone-bruised feet + and his tousled shock of hair; + For the king can hear but the cry of hate or the + sickly sound of praise, + And lost to him are the voices sweet that called + in his boyhood days. + Far better than ruler, with pomp and power + and riches, is it to be + The urchin gay in his tattered clothes that is + climbing the apple tree. + + Oh, once I heard all the calls that come to the + quick, glad ears of boys, + And a certain spot on the river bank told me of + its many joys, + And certain fields and certain trees were loyal + friends to me, + And I knew the birds, and I owned a dog, and + we both could hear and see. + Oh, never from tongues of men have dropped + such messages wholly glad + As the things that live in the great outdoors + once told to a little lad. + + And I'm sorry for him who cannot hear what + the tall trees have to say, + Who is deaf to the call of a running stream + and the lanes that lead to play. + The boy that shins up the faithful elm or + sprawls on a river bank + Is more richly blessed with the joys of life than + any old man of rank. + For youth is the golden time of life, and this + battered old heart of mine + Beats fast to the march of its old-time joys, + when the sun begins to shine. + +{80} + + MY PAW SAID SO + + Foxes can talk if you know how to listen, + My Paw said so. + Owls have big eyes that sparkle an' glisten, + My Paw said so. + Bears can turn flip-flaps an' climb ellum trees, + An' steal all the honey away from the bees, + An' they never mind winter becoz they don't + freeze; + My Paw said so. + + Girls is a-scared of a snake, but boys ain't, + My Paw said so. + They holler an' run; an' sometimes they faint, + My Paw said so. + But boys would be 'shamed to be frightened + that way + When all that the snake wants to do is to play; + You've got to believe every word that I say, + My Paw said so. + + Wolves ain't so bad if you treat 'em all right, + My Paw said so. + They're as fond of a game as they are of a fight, + My Paw said so. + An' all of the animals found in the wood + Ain't always ferocious. Most times they are + good. + + The trouble is mostly they're misunderstood, + My Paw said so. + You can think what you like, but I stick to it + when + My Paw said so. + An' I'll keep right on sayin', again an' again, + My Paw said so. + Maybe foxes don't talk to such people as you, + An' bears never show you the tricks they can do, + But I know that the stories I'm tellin' are true, + My Paw said so. + +{81} + + PREPAREDNESS + + Right must not live in idleness, + Nor dwell in smug content; + It must be strong, against the throng + Of foes, on evil bent. + + Justice must not a weakling be + But it must guard its own, + And live each day, that none can say + Justice is overthrown. + + Peace, the sweet glory of the world, + Faces a duty, too; + Death is her fate, leaves she one gate + For war to enter through. + + +{82} + + THE PEACEFUL WARRIORS + + Let others sing their songs of war + And chant their hymns of splendid death, + Let others praise the soldiers' ways + And hail the cannon's flaming breath. + Let others sing of Glory's fields + Where blood for Victory is paid, + I choose to sing some simple thing + To those who wield not gun or blade-- + The peaceful warriors of trade. + + Let others choose the deeds of war + For symbols of our nation's skill, + The blood-red coat, the rattling throat, + The regiment that charged the hill, + The boy who died to serve the flag, + Who heard the order and obeyed, + But leave to me the gallantry + Of those who labor unafraid-- + The peaceful warriors of trade. + + Aye, let me sing the splendid deeds + Of those who toil to serve mankind, + The men who break old ways and make + New paths for those who come behind. + And face their problems, unafraid, + Who think and plan to lift for man + The burden that on him is laid-- + The splendid warriors of trade. + + I sing of battles with disease + And victories o'er death and pain, + Of ships that fly the summer sky, + And glorious deeds of strength and brain. + The call for help that rings through space + By which a vessel's course is stayed, + Thrills me far more than fields of gore, + Or heroes decked in golden braid-- + I sing the warriors of trade. + +{83} + + FAILURES + + 'Tis better to have tried in vain, + Sincerely striving for a goal, + Than to have lived upon the plain + An idle and a timid soul. + + 'Tis better to have fought and spent + Your courage, missing all applause, + Than to have lived in smug content + And never ventured for a cause. + + For he who tries and fails may be + The founder of a better day; + Though never his the victory, + From him shall others learn the way. + +{84} + + RAISIN PIE + + There's a heap of pent-up goodness in the yellow + bantam corn, + And I sort o' like to linger round a berry patch + at morn; + Oh, the Lord has set our table with a stock o' + things to eat + An' there's just enough o' bitter in the blend + to cut the sweet, + But I run the whole list over, an' it seems + somehow that I + Find the keenest sort o' pleasure in a chunk + o' raisin pie. + + There are pies that start the water circulatin' in + the mouth; + There are pies that wear the flavor of the warm + an' sunny south; + Some with oriental spices spur the drowsy appetite + An' just fill a fellow's being with a thrill o' + real delight; + But for downright solid goodness that comes + drippin' from the sky + There is nothing quite the equal of a chunk o' + raisin pie. + + I'm admittin' tastes are diff'runt, I'm not settin' + up myself + As the judge an' final critic of the good things + on the shelf. + I'm sort o' payin' tribute to a simple joy on + earth, + Sort o' feebly testifyin' to its lasting charm an' + worth, + An' I'll hold to this conclusion till it comes my + time to die, + That there's no dessert that's finer than a chunk + o' raisin pie. + +{85} + + LIFE'S TESTS + + If never a sorrow came to us, and never a care + we knew; + If every hope were realized, and every dream + came true; + If only joy were found on earth, and no one + ever sighed, + And never a friend proved false to us, and never + a loved one died, + And never a burden bore us down, soul-sick and + weary, too, + We'd yearn for tests to prove our worth and + tasks for us to do. + +{86} + + THE READY ARTISTS + + The green is in the meadow and the blue is in + the sky, + And all of Nature's artists have their colors + handy by; + With a few days bright with sunshine and a + few nights free from frost + They will start to splash their colors quite + regardless of the cost. + There's an artist waiting ready at each bleak + and dismal spot + To paint the flashing tulip or the meek forget-me-not. + + May is lurking in the distance and her lap is + filled with flowers, + And the choicest of her blossoms very shortly + will be ours. + There is not a lane so dreary or a field so dark + with gloom + But that soon will be resplendent with its little + touch of bloom. + There's an artist keen and eager to make beautiful + each scene + And remove with colors gorgeous every trace of + of what has been. + + Oh, the world is now in mourning; round about + us all are spread + The ruins and the symbols of the winter that + is dead. + But the bleak and barren picture very shortly + now will pass, + For the halls of life are ready for their velvet + rugs of grass; + And the painters now are waiting with their + magic to replace + This dullness with a beauty that no mortal hand + can trace. + + The green is in the meadow and the blue is in + the sky; + The chill of death is passing, life will shortly + greet the eye. + We shall revel soon in colors only Nature's + artists make + And the humblest plant that's sleeping unto + beauty shall awake. + For there's not a leaf forgotten, not a twig + neglected there, + And the tiniest of pansies shall the royal purple + wear. + +{88} + + THE HAPPIEST DAYS + + You do not know it, little man, + In your summer coat of tan + And your legs bereft of hose + And your peeling, sunburned nose, + With a stone bruise on your toe, + Almost limping as you go + Running on your way to play + Through another summer day, + Friend of birds and streams and trees, + That your happiest days are these. + + Little do you think to-day, + As you hurry to your play, + That a lot of us, grown old + In the chase for fame and gold, + Watch you as you pass along + Gayly whistling bits of song, + And in envy sit and dream + Of a long-neglected stream, + Where long buried are the joys + We possessed when we were boys. + + Little chap, you cannot guess + All your sum of happiness; + Little value do you place + On your sunburned freckled face; + And if some shrewd fairy came + Offering sums of gold and fame + For your summer days of play, + You would barter them away + And believe that you had made + There and then a clever trade. + + Time was we were boys like you, + Bare of foot and sunburned, too, + And, like you, we never guessed + All the riches we possessed; + We'd have traded them back then + For the hollow joys of men; + We'd have given them all to be + Rich and wise and forty-three. + For life never teaches boys + Just how precious are their joys. + + Youth has fled and we are old. + Some of us have fame and gold; + Some of us are sorely scarred, + For the way of age is hard; + And we envy, little man, + You your splendid coat of tan, + Envy you your treasures rare, + Hours of joy beyond compare; + For we know, by teaching stern, + All that some day you must learn. + +{90} + + THE REAL BAIT + + To gentle ways I am inclined; + I have no wish to kill. + To creatures dumb I would be kind; + I like them all, but still + Right now I think I'd like to be + Beside some rippling brook, + And grab a worm I'd brought with me + And slip him on a hook. + + I'd like to put my hand once more + Into a rusty can + And turn those squirmy creatures o'er + Like nuggets in a pan; + And for a big one, once again, + With eager eyes I'd look, + As did a boy I knew, and then + Impale it on a hook. + + I've had my share of fishing joy, + I've fished with patent bait, + With chub and minnow, but the boy + Is lord of sport's estate. + And no such pleasure comes to man + So rare as when he took + A worm from a tomato can + And slipped it on a hook. + + I'd like to gaze with glowing eyes + Upon that precious bait, + To view each fat worm as a prize + To be accounted great. + And though I've passed from boyhood's term, + And opened age's book, + I still would like to put a worm + That wriggled on a hook. + +{91} + + TRUE NOBILITY + + Who does his task from day to day + And meets whatever comes his way, + Believing God has willed it so, + Has found real greatness here below. + + Who guards his post, no matter where, + Believing God must need him there, + Although but lowly toil it be, + Has risen to nobility. + + For great and low there's but one test: + 'Tis that each man shall do his best. + Who works with all the strength he can + Shall never die in debt to man. + +{92} + + THE SULKERS + + The world's too busy now to pause + To listen to a whiner's cause; + It has no time to stop and pet + The sulker in a peevish fret, + Who wails he'll neither work nor play + Because things haven't gone his way. + + The world keeps plodding right along + And gives its favors right or wrong + To all who have the grit to work + Regardless of the fool or shirk. + The world says this to every man: + "Go out and do the best you can." + + The world's too busy to implore + The beaten one to try once more; + 'Twill help him if he wants to rise, + And boost him if he bravely tries, + And shows determination grim; + But it won't stop to baby him. + + The world is occupied with men + Who fall but quickly rise again; + But those who whine because they're hit + And step aside to sulk a bit + Are doomed some day to wake and find + The world has left them far behind. + +{93} + + PURPOSE + + Not for the sake of the gold, + Not for the sake of the fame, + Not for the prize would I hold + Any ambition or aim: + I would be brave and be true + Just for the good I can do. + + I would be useful on earth, + Serving some purpose or cause, + Doing some labor of worth, + Giving no thought to applause. + Thinking less of the gold or the fame + Than the joy and the thrill of the game. + + Medals their brightness may lose, + Fame be forgotten or fade, + Any reward we may choose + Leaves the account still unpaid. + But little real happiness lies + In fighting alone for a prize. + + Give me the thrill of the task, + The joy of the battle and strife, + Of being of use, and I'll ask + No greater reward from this life. + Better than fame or applause + Is striving to further a cause. + +{94} + + MOTHER'S GLASSES + + I've told about the times that Ma can't find + her pocketbook, + And how we have to hustle round for it to help + her look, + But there's another care we know that often + comes our way, + I guess it happens easily a dozen times a day. + It starts when first the postman through the + door a letter passes, + And Ma says: "Goodness gracious me! Wherever + are my glasses?" + + We hunt 'em on the mantelpiece an' by the + kitchen sink, + Until Ma says: "Now, children, stop, an' give + me time to think + Just when it was I used 'em last an' just + exactly where. + Yes, now I know--the dining room. I'm sure + you'll find 'em there." + We even look behind the clock, we busy boys + an' lasses, + Until somebody runs across Ma's missing pair of + glasses. + + We've found 'em in the Bible, an' we've found + 'em in the flour, + We've found 'em in the sugar bowl, an' once + we looked an hour + Before we came across 'em in the padding of + her chair; + An' many a time we've found 'em in the topknot + of her hair. + It's a search that ruins order an' the home + completely wrecks, + For there's no place where you may not find + poor Ma's elusive specs. + + But we're mighty glad, I tell you, that the + duty's ours to do, + An' we hope to hunt those glasses till our time + of life is through; + It's a little bit of service that is joyous in its + thrill, + It's a task that calls us daily an' we hope it + always will. + Rich or poor, the saddest mortals of all the + joyless masses + Are the ones who have no mother dear to lose + her reading glasses. + +{96} + + THE PRINCESS PAT'S + + _Written when the Canadian regiment + known as the "Princess Pat's," + left for the front._ + + A touch of the plain and the prairie, + A bit of the Motherland, too; + A strain of the fur-trapper wary, + A blend of the old and the new; + A bit of the pioneer splendor + That opened the wilderness' flats, + A touch of the home-lover, tender, + You'll find in the boys they call Pat's. + + The glory and grace of the maple, + The strength that is born of the wheat, + The pride of a stock that is staple, + The bronze of a midsummer heat; + A blending of wisdom and daring, + The best of a new land, and that's + The regiment gallantly bearing + The neat little title of Pat's. + + A bit of the man who has neighbored + With mountains and forests and streams, + A touch of the man who has labored + To model and fashion his dreams; + The strength of an age of clean living, + Of right-minded fatherly chats, + The best that a land could be giving + Is there in the breasts of the Pat's. + +{97} + + BE A FRIEND + + Be a friend. You don't need money; + Just a disposition sunny; + Just the wish to help another + Get along some way or other; + Just a kindly hand extended + Out to one who's unbefriended; + Just the will to give or lend, + This will make you someone's friend. + + Be a friend. You don't need glory. + Friendship is a simple story. + Pass by trifling errors blindly, + Gaze on honest effort kindly, + Cheer the youth who's bravely trying, + Pity him who's sadly sighing; + Just a little labor spend + On the duties of a friend. + + Be a friend. The pay is bigger + (Though not written by a figure) + Than is earned by people clever + In what's merely self-endeavor. + You'll have friends instead of neighbors + For the profits of your labors; + You'll be richer in the end + Than a prince, if you're a friend. + +{98} + + THANKSGIVING + + Thankful for the glory of the old Red, White + and Blue, + For the spirit of America that still is staunch + and true, + For the laughter of our children and the sunlight + in their eyes, + And the joy of radiant mothers and their evening + lullabies; + And thankful that our harvests wear no taint + of blood to-day, + But were sown and reaped by toilers who were + light of heart and gay. + + Thankful for the riches that are ours to claim + and keep, + The joy of honest labor and the boon of happy + sleep, + For each little family circle where there is no + empty chair + Save where God has sent the sorrow for the + loving hearts to bear; + And thankful for the loyal souls and brave + hearts of the past + Who builded that contentment should be with + us to the last. + + Thankful for the plenty that our peaceful land + has blessed, + For the rising sun that beckons every man to + do his best, + For the goal that lies before him and the promise + when he sows + That his hand shall reap the harvest, undisturbed + by cruel foes; + For the flaming torch of justice, symbolizing + as it burns: + Here none may rob the toiler of the prize he + fairly earns. + + To-day our thanks we're giving for the riches + that are ours, + For the red fruits of the orchards and the + perfume of the flowers, + For our homes with laughter ringing and our + hearthfires blazing bright, + For our land of peace and plenty and our land + of truth and right; + And we're thankful for the glory of the old + Red, White and Blue, + For the spirit of our fathers and a manhood + that is true. + +{100} + + MA AND HER CHECK BOOK + + Ma has a dandy little book that's full of narrow + slips, + An' when she wants to pay a bill a page from + it she rips; + She just writes in the dollars and the cents and + signs her name + An' that's as good as money, though it doesn't + look the same. + When she wants another bonnet or some + feathers for her neck, + She promptly goes an' gets 'em, an' she writes + another check. + I don't just understand it, but I know she + sputters when + Pa says to her at supper: "Well! You're + overdrawn again!" + + Ma's not a business woman, she is much too + kind of heart + To squabble over pennies or to play a selfish + part, + An' when someone asks for money, she's not + one to stop an' think + Of a little piece of paper an' the cost of pen + an' ink. + She just tells him very sweetly if he'll only + wait a bit + An' be seated in the parlor, she will write a + check for it. + She can write one out for twenty just as easily + as ten, + An' forgets that Pa may grumble: "Well, + you're overdrawn again!" + + Pa says it looks as though he'll have to start in + workin' nights + To gather in the money for the checks that + mother writes. + He says that every morning when he's summoned + to the phone, + He's afraid the bank is calling to make mother's + shortage known. + He tells his friends if ever anything our fortune + wrecks + They can trace it to the moment mother started + writing checks. + He's got so that he trembles when he sees her + fountain pen + An' he mutters: "Do be careful! You'll be + overdrawn again!" + +{102} + + THE FISHING CURE + + There's nothing that builds up a toil-weary soul + Like a day on a stream, + Back on the banks of the old fishing hole + Where a fellow can dream. + There's nothing so good for a man as to flee + From the city and lie + Full length in the shade of a whispering tree + And gaze at the sky. + + Out there where the strife and the greed are forgot + And the struggle for pelf, + A man can get rid of each taint and each spot + And clean up himself; + He can be what he wanted to be when a boy, + If only in dreams; + And revel once more in the depths of a joy + That's as real as it seems. + + The things that he hates never follow him there-- + The jar of the street, + The rivalries petty, the struggling unfair-- + For the open is sweet. + In purity's realm he can rest and be clean, + Be he humble or great, + And as peaceful his soul may become as the scene + That his eyes contemplate. + + It is good for the world that men hunger to go + To the banks of a stream, + And weary of sham and of pomp and of show + They have somewhere to dream. + For this life would be dreary and sordid and base + Did they not now and then + Seek refreshment and calm in God's wide, open space + And come back to be men. + +{103} + + THE HAPPY SLOW THINKER + + Full many a time a thought has come + That had a bitter meaning in it. + And in the conversation's hum + I lost it ere I could begin it. + + I've had it on my tongue to spring + Some poisoned quip that I thought clever; + Then something happened and the sting + Unuttered went, and died forever. + + A lot of bitter thoughts I've had + To silence fellows and to flay 'em, + But next day always I've been glad + I wasn't quick enough to say 'em. + +{104} + + OUT-OF-DOORS + + The kids are out-of-doors once more; + The heavy leggins that they wore, + The winter caps that covered ears + Are put away, and no more tears + Are shed because they cannot go + Until they're bundled up just so. + No more she wonders when they're gone + If they have put their rubbers on; + No longer are they hourly told + To guard themselves against a cold; + Bareheaded now they romp and run + Warmed only by the kindly sun. + + She's put their heavy clothes away + And turned the children out to play, + And all the morning long they race + Like madcaps round about the place. + The robins on the fences sing + A gayer song of welcoming, + And seems as though they had a share + In all the fun they're having there. + The wrens and sparrows twitter, too, + A louder and a noisier crew, + As though it pleased them all to see + The youngsters out of doors and free. + + Outdoors they scamper to their play + With merry din the livelong day, + And hungrily they jostle in + The favor of the maid to win; + Then, armed with cookies or with cake, + Their way into the yard they make, + And every feathered playmate comes + To gather up his share of crumbs. + The finest garden that I know + Is one where little children grow, + Where cheeks turn brown and eyes are bright, + And all is laughter and delight. + + Oh, you may brag of gardens fine, + But let the children race in mine; + And let the roses, white and red, + Make gay the ground whereon they tread. + And who for bloom perfection seeks, + Should mark the color on their cheeks; + No music that the robin spouts + Is equal to their merry shouts; + There is no foliage to compare + With youngsters' sun-kissed, tousled hair: + Spring's greatest joy beyond a doubt + Is when it brings the children out. + +{106} + + REAL SINGING + + You can talk about your music, and your + operatic airs, + And your phonographic record that Caruso's + tenor bears; + But there isn't any music that such wondrous + joy can bring + Like the concert when the kiddies and their + mother start to sing. + + When the supper time is over, then the mother + starts to play + Some simple little ditty, and our concert's under + way. + And I'm happier and richer than a millionaire + or king + When I listen to the kiddies and their mother + as they sing. + + There's a sweetness most appealing in the trilling + of their notes: + It is innocence that's pouring from their little + baby throats; + And I gaze at them enraptured, for my joy's + a real thing + Every evening when the kiddies and their mother + start to sing. + +{107} + + THE BUMPS AND BRUISES DOCTOR + + I'm the bumps and bruises doctor; + I'm the expert that they seek + When their rough and tumble playing + Leaves a scar on leg or cheek. + I'm the rapid, certain curer + For the wounds of every fall; + I'm the pain eradicator; + I can always heal them all. + + Bumps on little people's foreheads + I can quickly smooth away; + I take splinters out of fingers + Without very much delay. + Little sorrows I can banish + With the magic of my touch; + I can fix a bruise that's dreadful + So it isn't hurting much. + + I'm the bumps and bruises doctor, + And I answer every call, + And my fee is very simple, + Just a kiss, and that is all. + And I'm sitting here and wishing + In the years that are to be, + When they face life's real troubles + That they'll bring them all to me. + +{108} + + WHEN PA COUNTS + + Pa's not so very big or brave; he can't lift + weights like Uncle Jim; + His hands are soft like little girls'; most anyone + could wallop him. + Ma weighs a whole lot more than Pa. When + they go swimming, she could stay + Out in the river all day long, but Pa gets frozen + right away. + But when the thunder starts to roll, an' lightnin' + spits, Ma says, "Oh, dear, + I'm sure we'll all of us be killed. I only wish + your Pa was here." + + Pa's cheeks are thin an' kinder pale; he couldn't + rough it worth a cent. + He couldn't stand the hike we had the day the + Boy Scouts camping went. + He has to hire a man to dig the garden, coz his + back gets lame, + An' he'd be crippled for a week, if he should + play a baseball game. + But when a thunder storm comes up, Ma sits an' + shivers in the gloam + An' every time the thunder rolls, she says: "I + wish your Pa was home." + + I don't know just what Pa could do if he were + home, he seems so frail, + But every time the skies grow black I notice Ma + gets rather pale. + An' when she's called us children in, an' locked + the windows an' the doors, + She jumps at every lightnin' flash an' trembles + when the thunder roars. + An' when the baby starts to cry, she wrings her + hands an' says: "Oh, dear, + It's terrible! It's terrible! I only wish your + Pa was here." + +{109} + + PEACE + + A man must earn his hour of peace, + Must pay for it with hours of strife and care, + Must win by toil the evening's sweet release, + The rest that may be portioned for his share; + The idler never knows it, never can. + Peace is the glory ever of a man. + + A man must win contentment for his soul, + Must battle for it bravely day by day; + The peace he seeks is not a near-by goal; + To claim it he must tread a rugged way. + The shirker never knows a tranquil breast; + Peace but rewards the man who does his best. + +{110} + + NO PLACE TO GO + + The happiest nights + I ever know + Are those when I've + No place to go, + And the missus says + When the day is through: + "To-night we haven't + A thing to do." + + Oh, the joy of it, + And the peace untold + Of sitting 'round + In my slippers old, + With my pipe and book + In my easy chair, + Knowing I needn't + Go anywhere. + + Needn't hurry + My evening meal + Nor force the smiles + That I do not feel, + But can grab a book + From a near-by shelf, + And drop all sham + And be myself. + + Oh, the charm of it + And the comfort rare; + Nothing on earth + With it can compare; + And I'm sorry for him + Who doesn't know + The joy of having + No place to go. + +{111} + + DEFEAT + + No one is beat till he quits, + No one is through till he stops, + No matter how hard Failure hits, + No matter how often he drops, + A fellow's not down till he lies + In the dust and refuses to rise. + + Fate can slam him and bang him around, + And batter his frame till he's sore, + But she never can say that he's downed + While he bobs up serenely for more. + A fellow's not dead till he dies, + Nor beat till no longer he tries. + +{112} + + A PATRIOTIC WISH + + I'd like to be the sort of man the flag could boast about; + I'd like to be the sort of man it cannot live without; + I'd like to be the type of man + That really is American: + The head-erect and shoulders-square, + Clean-minded fellow, just and fair, + That all men picture when they see + The glorious banner of the free. + + I'd like to be the sort of man the flag now typifies, + The kind of man we really want the flag to symbolize; + The loyal brother to a trust, + The big, unselfish soul and just, + The friend of every man oppressed, + The strong support of all that's best, + The sturdy chap the banner's meant, + Where'er it flies, to represent. + + I'd like to be the sort of man the flag's supposed to mean, + The man that all in fancy see wherever it is seen, + The chap that's ready for a fight + Whenever there's a wrong to right, + The friend in every time of need, + The doer of the daring deed, + The clean and generous handed man + That is a real American. + +{113} + + THE PRICE OF JOY + + You don't begrudge the labor when the roses + start to bloom; + You don't recall the dreary days that won you + their perfume; + You don't recall a single care + You spent upon the garden there; + And all the toil + Of tilling soil + Is quite forgot the day the first + Pink rosebuds into beauty burst. + + You don't begrudge the trials grim when joy + has come to you; + You don't recall the dreary days when all your + skies are blue; + And though you've trod a weary mile + The ache of it was all worth while; + And all the stings + And bitter flings + Are wiped away upon the day + Success comes dancing down the way. + +{114} + + THE THINGS THAT MAKE A SOLDIER GREAT + + The things that make a soldier great and send + him out to die, + To face the flaming cannon's mouth nor ever + question why, + Are lilacs by a little porch, the row of tulips + red, + The peonies and pansies, too, the old petunia bed, + The grass plot where his children play, the roses + on the wall: + 'Tis these that make a soldier great. He's fighting + for them all. + + 'Tis not the pomp and pride of kings that make + a soldier brave; + 'Tis not allegiance to the flag that over him may + wave; + For soldiers never fight so well on land or on + the foam + As when behind the cause they see the little + place called home. + Endanger but that humble street whereon his + children run, + You make a soldier of the man who never bore + a gun. + + What is it through the battle smoke the valiant + solider sees? + The little garden far away, the budding apple + trees, + The little patch of ground back there, the children + at their play, + Perhaps a tiny mound behind the simple church + of gray. + The golden thread of courage isn't linked to + castle dome + But to the spot, where'er it be--the humblest spot + called home. + + And now the lilacs bud again and all is lovely + there + And homesick soldiers far away know spring + is in the air; + The tulips come to bloom again, the grass + once more is green, + And every man can see the spot where all his + joys have been. + He sees his children smile at him, he hears the + bugle call, + And only death can stop him now--he's fighting + for them all. + +{116} + + THE JOY OF A DOG + + Ma says no, it's too much care + An' it will scatter germs an' hair, + An' it's a nuisance through and through. + An' barks when you don't want it to; + An' carries dirt from off the street, + An' tracks the carpets with its feet. + But it's a sign he's growin' up + When he is longin' for a pup. + + Most every night he comes to me + An' climbs a-straddle of my knee + An' starts to fondle me an' pet, + Then asks me if I've found one yet. + An' ma says: "Now don't tell him yes; + You know they make an awful mess." + An' starts their faults to catalogue. + But every boy should have a dog. + + An' some night when he comes to me, + Deep in my pocket there will be + The pup he's hungry to possess + Or else I sadly miss my guess. + For I remember all the joy + A dog meant to a little boy + Who loved it in the long ago, + The joy that's now his right to know. + +{117} + + HOMESICK + + It's tough when you are homesick in a strange + and distant place; + It's anguish when you're hungry for an + old-familiar face. + And yearning for the good folks and the joys + you used to know, + When you're miles away from friendship, is a + bitter sort of woe. + But it's tougher, let me tell you, and a stiffer + discipline + To see them through the window, and to know + you can't go in. + + Oh, I never knew the meaning of that red sign + on the door, + Never really understood it, never thought of it + before; + But I'll never see another since they've tacked + one up on mine + But I'll think about the father that is barred + from all that's fine. + And I'll think about the mother who is prisoner + in there + So her little son or daughter shall not miss a + mother's care. + And I'll share a fellow feeling with the saddest + of my kin, + The dad beside the gateway of the home he + can't go in. + + Oh, we laugh and joke together and the mother + tries to be + Brave and sunny in her prison, and she thinks + she's fooling me; + And I do my bravest smiling and I feign a + merry air + In the hope she won't discover that I'm + burdened down with care. + But it's only empty laughter, and there's nothing + in the grin + When you're talking through the window of the + home you can't go in. + +{118} + + THE PERFECT DINNER TABLE + + A table cloth that's slightly soiled + Where greasy little hands have toiled; + The napkins kept in silver rings, + And only ordinary things + From which to eat, a simple fare, + And just the wife and kiddies there, + And while I serve, the clatter glad + Of little girl and little lad + Who have so very much to say + About the happenings of the day. + + Four big round eyes that dance with glee, + Forever flashing joys at me, + Two little tongues that race and run + To tell of troubles and of fun; + The mother with a patient smile + Who knows that she must wait awhile + Before she'll get a chance to say + What she's discovered through the day. + She steps aside for girl and lad + Who have so much to tell their dad. + + Our manners may not be the best; + Perhaps our elbows often rest + Upon the table, and at times + That very worst of dinner crimes, + That very shameful act and rude + Of speaking ere you've downed your food, + Too frequently, I fear, is done, + So fast the little voices run. + Yet why should table manners stay + Those tongues that have so much to say? + + At many a table I have been + Where wealth and luxury were seen, + And I have dined in halls of pride + Where all the guests were dignified; + But when it comes to pleasure rare + The perfect dinner table's where + No stranger's face is ever known: + The dinner hour we spend alone, + When little girl and little lad + Run riot telling things to dad. + +{120} + + TO-MORROW + + He was going to be all that a mortal should be + To-morrow. + No one should be kinder or braver than he + To-morrow. + A friend who was troubled and weary he knew, + Who'd be glad of a lift and who needed it, too; + On him he would call and see what he could do + To-morrow. + + Each morning he stacked up the letters he'd + write + To-morrow. + And thought of the folks he would fill with + delight + To-morrow. + It was too bad, indeed, he was busy to-day, + And hadn't a minute to stop on his way; + More time he would have to give others, he'd + say, + To-morrow. + + The greatest of workers this man would have + been + To-morrow. + The world would have known him, had he ever + seen + To-morrow. + But the fact is he died and he faded from view, + And all that he left here when living was + through + Was a mountain of things he intended to do + To-morrow. + +{121} + + A PRAYER + + God grant me kindly thought + And patience through the day, + And in the things I've wrought + Let no man living say + That hate's grim mark has stained + What little joy I've gained. + + God keep my nature sweet, + Teach me to bear a blow, + Disaster and defeat, + And no resentment show. + If failure must be mine + Sustain this soul of mine. + + God grant me strength to face + Undaunted day or night; + To stoop to no disgrace + To win my little fight; + Let me be, when it is o'er, + As manly as before. + +{122} + + TO THE LADY IN THE ELECTRIC + + Lady in the show case carriage, + Do not think that I'm a bear; + Not for worlds would I disparage + One so gracious and so fair; + Do not think that I am blind to + One who has a smile seraphic; + You I'd never be unkind to, + But you are impeding traffic. + + If I had some way of knowing + What you are about to do, + Just exactly where you're going, + If I could depend on you, + I could keep my engine churning, + Travel on and never mind you. + Lady, when you think of turning, + Why not signal us behind you? + + Lady, free from care and worry, + Riding in your plate-glass car, + Some of us are in a hurry; + Some of us must travel far. + I, myself, am eager, very, + To be journeying on my way; + Lady, is it necessary + To monopolize the highway? + + Lady, at the handle, steering, + Why not keep a course that's straight? + Know you not that wildly veering + As you do, is tempting fate? + Do not think my horn I'm blowing + Just on purpose to harass you, + It is just a signal showing + That I'd safely like to pass you. + + Lady, there are times a duty + Must be done, however saddening; + It is hard to tell a beauty + That she's very often maddening. + And I would not now be saying + Harsh and cruel words to fuss you, + But when traffic you're delaying + You are forcing men to cuss you. + +{124} + + THE MAN WHO COULDN'T SAVE + + He spent what he made, or he gave it away, + Tried to save money, and would for a day, + Started a bank-account time an' again, + Got a hundred or so for a nest egg, an' then + Some fellow that needed it more than he did, + Who was down on his luck, with a sick wife or kid, + Came along an' he wasted no time till he went + An' drew out the coin that for saving was meant. + + They say he died poor, and I guess that is so: + To pile up a fortune he hadn't a show; + He worked all the time and good money he made, + Was known as an excellent man at his trade. + But he saw too much, heard too much, felt too much here + To save anything by the end of the year, + An' the shabbiest wreck the Lord ever let live + Could get money from him if he had it to give. + + I've seen him slip dimes to the bums on the street + Who told him they hungered for something to eat, + An' though I remarked they were going for drink + He'd say: "Mebbe so. But I'd just hate to think + That fellow was hungry an' I'd passed him by; + I'd rather be fooled twenty times by a lie + Than wonder if one of 'em I wouldn't feed + Had told me the truth an' was really in need." + + Never stinted his family out of a thing: + They had everything that his money could bring; + Said he'd rather be broke and just know they were glad, + Than rich, with them pining an' wishing they had + Some of the pleasures his money would buy; + Said he never could look a bank book in the eye + If he knew it had grown on the pleasures and joys + That he'd robbed from his wife and his girls + and his boys. + + Queer sort of notion he had, I confess, + Yet many a rich man on earth is mourned less. + All who had known him came back to his side + To honor his name on the day that he died. + Didn't leave much in the bank, it is true, + But did leave a fortune in people who knew + The big heart of him, an' I'm willing to swear + That to-day he is one of the richest up there. + +{126} + + ANSWERING HIM + + "When shall I be a man?" he said, + As I was putting him to bed. + "How many years will have to be + Before Time makes a man of me? + And will I be a man when I + Am grown up big?" I heaved a sigh, + Because it called for careful thought + To give the answer that he sought. + + And so I sat him on my knee, + And said to him: "A man you'll be + When you have learned that honor brings + More joy than all the crowns of kings; + That it is better to be true + To all who know and trust in you + Than all the gold of earth to gain + If winning it shall leave a stain. + + "When you can fight for victory sweet, + Yet bravely swallow down defeat, + And cling to hope and keep the right, + Nor use deceit instead of might; + When you are kind and brave and clean, + And fair to all and never mean; + When there is good in all you plan, + That day, my boy, you'll be a man. + + "Some of us learn this truth too late; + That years alone can't make us great; + That many who are three-score, ten + Have fallen short of being men, + Because in selfishness they fought + And toiled without refining thought; + And whether wrong or whether right + They lived but for their own delight. + + "When you have learned that you must hold + Your honor dearer far than gold; + That no ill-gotten wealth or fame + Can pay you for your tarnished name; + And when in all you say or do + Of others you're considerate, too, + Content to do the best you can + By such a creed, you'll be a man." + +{128} + + FATHER AND SON + + Be more than his dad, + Be a chum to the lad; + Be a part of his life + Every hour of the day; + Find time to talk with him, + Take time to walk with him, + Share in his studies + And share in his play; + Take him to places, + To ball games and races, + Teach him the things + That you want him to know; + Don't live apart from him, + Don't keep your heart from him, + Be his best comrade, + He's needing you so! + + Never neglect him, + Though young, still respect him, + Hear his opinions + With patience and pride; + Show him his error, + But be not a terror, + Grim-visaged and fearful, + When he's at your side. + Know what his thoughts are, + Know what his sports are, + Know all his playmates, + It's easy to learn to; + Be such a father + That when troubles gather + You'll be the first one + For counsel, he'll turn to. + + You can inspire him + With courage, and fire him + Hot with ambition + For deeds that are good; + He'll not betray you + Nor illy repay you, + If you have taught him + The things that you should. + Father and son + Must in all things be one-- + Partners in trouble + And comrades in joy. + More than a dad + Was the best pal you had; + Be such a chum + As you knew, to your boy. + +{130} + + THE JUNE COUPLE + + She is fair to see and sweet, + Dainty from her head to feet, + Modest, as her blushing shows, + Happy, as her smiles disclose, + And the young man at her side + Nervously attempts to hide + Underneath a visage grim + That the fuss is bothering him. + + Pause a moment, happy pair! + This is not the station where + Romance ends, and wooing stops + And the charm from courtship drops; + This is but the outward gate + Where the souls of mortals mate, + But the border of the land + You must travel hand in hand. + + You who come to marriage, bring + All your tenderness, and cling + Steadfastly to all the ways + That have marked your wooing days. + You are only starting out + On life's roadways, hedged about + Thick with roses and with tares, + Sweet delights and bitter cares. + + Heretofore you've only played + At love's game, young man and maid; + Only known it at its best; + Now you'll have to face its test. + You must prove your love worth while, + Something time cannot defile, + Something neither care nor pain + Can destroy or mar or stain. + + You are now about to show + Whether love is real or no; + Yonder down the lane of life + You will find, as man and wife, + Sorrows, disappointments, doubt, + Hope will almost flicker out; + But if rightly you are wed + Love will linger where you tread. + + There are joys that you will share, + Joys to balance every care; + Arm in arm remain, and you + Will not fear the storms that brew, + If when you are sorest tried + You face your trials, side by side. + Now your wooing days are done, + And your loving years begun. + +{132} + + AT THE DOOR + + He wiped his shoes before his door, + But ere he entered he did more; + 'Twas not enough to cleanse his feet + Of dirt they'd gathered in the street; + He stood and dusted off his mind + And left all trace of care behind. + "In here I will not take," said he, + "The stains the day has brought to me. + + "Beyond this door shall never go + The burdens that are mine to know; + The day is done, and here I leave + The petty things that vex and grieve; + What clings to me of hate and sin + To them I will not carry in; + Only the good shall go with me + For their devoted eyes to see. + + "I will not burden them with cares, + Nor track the home with grim affairs; + I will not at my table sit + With soul unclean, and mind unfit; + Beyond this door I will not take + The outward signs of inward ache; + I will not take a dreary mind + Into this house for them to find." + + He wiped his shoes before his door, + But paused to do a little more. + He dusted off the stains of strife, + The mud that's incident to life, + The blemishes of careless thought, + The traces of the fight he'd fought, + The selfish humors and the mean, + And when he entered he was clean. + +{133} + + DUTY + + To do your little bit of toil, + To play life's game with head erect; + To stoop to nothing that would soil + Your honor or your self-respect; + To win what gold and fame you can, + But first of all to be a man. + + To know the bitter and the sweet, + The sunshine and the days of rain; + To meet both victory and defeat, + Nor boast too loudly nor complain; + To face whatever fates befall + And be a man throughout it all. + + To seek success in honest strife, + But not to value it so much + That, winning it, you go through life + Stained by dishonor's scarlet touch. + What goal or dream you choose, pursue, + But be a man whate'er you do! + +{134} + + A BEAR STORY + + There was a bear--his name was Jim, + An' children weren't askeered of him, + An' he lived in a cave, where he + Was confortubbul as could be, + An' in that cave, so my Pa said, + Jim always kept a stock of bread + An' honey, so that he could treat + The boys an' girls along his street. + + An' all that Jim could say was "Woof!" + An' give a grunt that went like "Soof!" + An' Pa says when his grunt went off + It sounded jus' like Grandpa's cough, + Or like our Jerry when he's mad + An' growls at peddler men that's bad. + While grown-ups were afraid of Jim, + Kids could do anything with him. + + One day a little boy like me + That had a sister Marjorie, + Was walking through the woods, an' they + Heard something "woofing" down that way, + An' they was scared an' stood stock still + An' wished they had a gun to kill + Whatever 'twas, but little boys + Don't have no guns that make a noise. + + An' soon the "woofing" closer grew, + An' then a bear came into view, + The biggest bear you ever saw-- + Ma's muff was smaller than his paw. + He saw the children an' he said: + "I ain't a-goin' to kill you dead; + You needn't turn away an' run; + I'm only scarin' you for fun." + + An' then he stood up just like those + Big bears in circuses an' shows, + An' danced a jig, an' rolled about + An' said "Woof! Woof!" which meant "Look + out!" + An' turned a somersault as slick + As any boy can do the trick. + Those children had been told of Jim + An' they decided it was him. + + They stroked his nose when they got brave, + An' followed him into his cave, + An' Jim asked them if they liked honey, + They said they did. Said Jim: "That's funny. + I've asked a thousand boys or so + That question, an' not one's said no." + What happened then I cannot say + 'Cause next I knew 'twas light as day. + +{136} + + AUTUMN AT THE ORCHARD + + The sumac's flaming scarlet on the edges o' the + lake, + An' the pear trees are invitin' everyone t' come + an' shake. + Now the gorgeous tints of autumn are appearin' + everywhere + Till it seems that you can almost see the Master + Painter there. + There's a solemn sort o' stillness that's pervadin' + every thing, + Save the farewell songs to summer that the + feathered tenors sing, + An' you quite forget the city where disgruntled + folks are kickin' + Off yonder with the Pelletiers, when spies are + ripe for pickin'. + + The Holsteins are a-posin' in a clearin' near a + wood, + Very dignified an' stately, just as though they + understood + That they're lending to life's pictures just the + touch the Master needs, + An' they're preachin' more refinement than a lot + o' printed creeds. + The orchard's fairly groanin' with the gifts o' + God to man, + Just as though they meant to shame us who + have doubted once His plan. + Oh, there's somethin' most inspirin' to a soul in + need o' prickin' + Off yonder with the Pelletiers when spies are + ripe fer pickin'. + + The frisky little Shetlands now are growin' + shaggy coats + An' acquirin' silken mufflers of their own to + guard their throats; + An' a Russian wolf-hound puppy left its mother + yesterday, + An' a tinge o' sorrow touched us as we saw it + go away. + For the sight was full o' meanin', an' we knew, + when it had gone, + 'Twas a symbol of the partin's that the years are + bringin' on. + Oh, a feller must be better--to his faith he can't + help stickin' + Off yonder with the Pelletiers when spies are ripe + fer pickin'. + + The year is almost over, now at dusk the valleys + glow + With the misty mantle chillin', that is hangin' + very low. + An' each mornin' sees the maples just a little + redder turned + Than they were the night we left 'em, an' the + elms are browner burned. + An' a feller can't help feelin', an' I don't care + who it is, + That the mind that works such wonders has a + greater power than his. + Oh, I know that I'll remember till life's last few + sparks are flickin' + The lessons out at Pelletiers when spies were ripe + for pickin'. + +{138} + + WHEN PA COMES HOME + + When Pa comes home, I'm at the door, + An' then he grabs me off the floor + An' throws me up an' catches me + When I come down, an' then, says he: + "Well, how'd you get along to-day? + An' were you good, an' did you play, + An' keep right out of mamma's way? + An' how'd you get that awful bump + Above your eye? My, what a lump! + An' who spilled jelly on your shirt? + An' where'd you ever find the dirt + That's on your hands? And my! Oh, my! + I guess those eyes have had a cry, + They look so red. What was it, pray? + What has been happening here to-day? + + An' then he drops his coat an' hat + Upon a chair, an' says: "What's that? + Who knocked that engine on its back + An' stepped upon that piece of track?" + An' then he takes me on his knee + An' says: "What's this that now I see? + Whatever can the matter be? + Who strewed those toys upon the floor, + An' left those things behind the door? + Who upset all those parlor chairs + An' threw those blocks upon the stairs? + I guess a cyclone called to-day + While I was workin' far away. + Who was it worried mamma so? + It can't be anyone I know." + + An' then I laugh an' say: "It's me! + Me did most ever'thing you see. + Me got this bump the time me tripped. + An' here is where the jelly slipped + Right off my bread upon my shirt, + An' when me tumbled down it hurt. + That's how me got all over dirt. + Me threw those building blocks downstairs, + An' me upset the parlor chairs, + Coz when you're playin' train you've got + To move things 'round an awful lot." + An' then my Pa he kisses me + An' bounces me upon his knee + An' says: "Well, well, my little lad, + What glorious fun you must have had!" + +{140} + + MOTHER'S DAY + + Gentle hands that never weary toiling in love's + vineyard sweet, + Eyes that seem forever cheery when our eyes + they chance to meet, + Tender, patient, brave, devoted, this is always + mother's way, + Could her worth in gold be quoted as you think + of her to-day? + + There shall never be another quite so tender, + quite so kind + As the patient little mother; nowhere on this + earth you'll find + Her affection duplicated; none so proud if you + are fine. + Could her worth be overstated? Not by any + words of mine. + + Death stood near the hour she bore us, agony + was hers to know, + Yet she bravely faced it for us, smiling in her + time of woe; + Down the years how oft we've tried her, often + selfish, heedless, blind, + Yet with love alone to guide her she was never + once unkind. + + Vain are all our tributes to her if in words + alone they dwell. + We must live the praises due her; there's no + other way to tell + Gentle mother that we love her. Would you say, + as you recall + All the patient service of her, you've been + worthy of it all? + +{141} + + DIVISION + + You cannot gather every rose, + Nor every pleasure claim, + Nor bask in every breeze that blows, + Nor play in every game. + + No millionaire could ever own + The world's supply of pearls, + And no man here has ever known + All of the pretty girls. + + So take what joy may come your way, + And envy not your brothers; + Enjoy your share of fun each day, + And leave the rest for others. + +{142} + + A MAN + + A man doesn't whine at his losses, + A man doesn't whimper and fret, + Or rail at the weight of his crosses + And ask life to rear him a pet. + A man doesn't grudgingly labor + Or look upon toil as a blight; + A man doesn't sneer at his neighbor + Or sneak from a cause that is right. + + A man doesn't sulk when another + Succeeds where his efforts have failed; + Doesn't keep all his praise for the brother + Whose glory is publicly hailed; + And pass by the weak and the humble + As though they were not of his clay; + A man doesn't ceaselessly grumble + When things are not going his way. + + A man looks on woman as tender + And gentle, and stands at her side + At all times to guard and defend her, + And never to scorn or deride. + A man looks on life as a mission. + To serve, just so far as he can; + A man holds his noblest ambition + On earth is to live as a man. + +{143} + + A VOW + + I might not ever scale the mountain heights + Where all the great men stand in glory now; + I may not ever gain the world's delights + Or win a wreath of laurel for my brow; + I may not gain the victories that men + Are fighting for, nor do a thing to boast of; + I may not get a fortune here, but then, + The little that I have I'll make the most of. + + I'll make my little home a palace fine, + My little patch of green a garden fair, + And I shall know each humble plant and vine + As rich men know their orchid blossoms rare. + My little home may not be much to see; + Its chimneys may not tower far above; + But it will be a mansion great to me, + For in its walls I'll keep a hoard of love. + + I will not pass my modest pleasures by + To grasp at shadows of more splendid things, + Disdaining what of joyousness is nigh + Because I am denied the joy of kings. + But I will laugh and sing my way along, + I'll make the most of what is mine to-day, + And if I never rise above the throng, + I shall have lived a full life anyway. + +{144} + + TREASURES + + Some folks I know, when friends drop in + To visit for awhile and chin, + Just lead them round the rooms and halls + And show them pictures on their walls, + And point to rugs and tapestries + The works of men across the seas; + Their loving cups they show with pride, + To eyes that soon are stretching wide + With wonder at the treasures rare + That have been bought and gathered there. + + But when folks come to call on me, + I've no such things for them to see. + No picture on my walls is great; + I have no ancient family plate; + No tapestry of rare design + Or costly woven rugs are mine; + I have no loving cup to show, + Or strange and valued curio; + But if my treasures they would see, + I bid them softly follow me. + + And then I lead them up the stairs + Through trains of cars and Teddy bears, + And to a little room we creep + Where both my youngsters lie asleep, + Close locked in one another's arms. + I let them gaze upon their charms, + I let them see the legs of brown + Curled up beneath a sleeping gown, + And whisper in my happiness: + "Behold the treasures I possess." + +{145} + + CHALLENGE + + Life is a challenge to the bold, + It flings its gauntlet down + And bids us, if we seek for gold + And glory and renown, + To come and _take_ them from its store, + It will not meekly hand them o'er. + + Life is a challenge all must meet, + And nobly must we dare; + Its gold is tawdry when we cheat, + Its fame a bitter snare + If it be stolen from life's clutch; + Men must be true to prosper much. + + Life is a challenge and its laws + Are rigid ones and stern; + The splendid joy of real applause + Each man must nobly earn. + It makes us win its jewels rare, + But gives us paste, if we're unfair. + +{146} + + A TOAST TO HAPPINESS + + To happiness I raise my glass, + The goal of every human, + The hope of every clan and class + And every man and woman. + The daydreams of the urchin there, + The sweet theme of the maiden's prayer, + The strong man's one ambition, + The sacred prize of mothers sweet, + The tramp of soldiers on the street + Have all the selfsame mission. + Life here is nothing more or less + Than just a quest for happiness. + + Some seek it on the mountain top, + And some within a mine; + The widow in her notion shop + Expects its sun to shine. + The tramp that seeks new roads to fare, + Is one with king and millionaire + In this that each is groping + On different roads, in different ways, + To come to glad, contented days, + And shares the common hoping. + The sound of martial fife and drum + Is born of happiness to come. + + Yet happiness is always here + Had we the eyes to see it; + No breast but holds a fund of cheer + Had man the will to free it. + 'Tis there upon the mountain top, + Or in the widow's notion shop, + 'Tis found in homes of sorrow; + 'Tis woven in the memories + Of happier, brighter days than these, + The gift, not of to-morrow + But of to-day, and in our tears + Some touch of happiness appears. + + 'Tis not a joy that's born of wealth: + The poor man may possess it. + 'Tis not alone the prize of health: + No sickness can repress it. + 'Tis not the end of mortal strife, + The sunset of the day of life, + Or but the old should find it; + It is the bond twixt God and man, + The touch divine in all we plan, + And has the soul behind it. + And so this toast to happiness, + The seed of which we all possess. + +{148} + + GUESSING TIME + + It's guessing time at our house; every evening + after tea + We start guessing what old Santa's going to + leave us on our tree. + Everyone of us holds secrets that the others try + to steal, + And that eyes and lips are plainly having trouble + to conceal. + And a little lip that quivered just a bit the other + night + Was a sad and startling warning that I mustn't + guess it right. + + "Guess what you will get for Christmas!" is the + cry that starts the fun. + And I answer: "Give the letter with which the + name's begun." + Oh, the eyes that dance around me and the joyous + faces there + Keep me nightly guessing wildly: "Is it something + I can wear?" + I implore them all to tell me in a frantic sort + of way + And pretend that I am puzzled, just to keep them + feeling gay. + + Oh, the wise and knowing glances that across the + table fly + And the winks exchanged with mother, that they + think I never spy; + Oh, the whispered confidences that are poured + into her ear, + And the laughter gay that follows when I try + my best to hear! + Oh, the shouts of glad derision when I bet that + it's a cane, + And the merry answering chorus: "No, it's + not. Just guess again!" + + It's guessing time at our house, and the fun is + running fast, + And I wish somehow this contest of delight + could always last, + For the love that's in their faces and their + laughter ringing clear + Is their dad's most precious present when the + Christmas time is near. + And soon as it is over, when the tree is bare + and plain, + I shall start in looking forward to the time to + guess again. + +{150} + + UNDERSTANDING + + When I was young and frivolous and never + stopped to think, + When I was always doing wrong, or just upon + the brink; + When I was just a lad of seven and eight and + nine and ten, + It seemed to me that every day I got in trouble + then, + And strangers used to shake their heads and say + I was no good, + But father always stuck to me--it seems he + understood. + + I used to have to go to him 'most every night + and say + The dreadful things that I had done to worry + folks that day. + I know I didn't mean to be a turmoil round the + place, + And with the womenfolks about forever in disgrace; + To do the way they said I should, I tried the + best I could, + But though they scolded me a lot--my father + understood. + + He never seemed to think it queer that I should + risk my bones, + Or fight with other boys at times, or pelt a cat + with stones; + An' when I'd break a window pane, it used to + make him sad, + But though the neighbors said I was, he never + thought me bad; + He never whipped me, as they used to say to me + he should; + That boys can't always do what's right--it + seemed he understood. + + Now there's that little chap of mine, just full of + life and fun, + Comes up to me with solemn face to tell the + bad he's done. + It's natural for any boy to be a roguish elf, + He hasn't time to stop and think and figure for + himself, + And though the womenfolks insist that I should + take a hand, + They've never been a boy themselves, and they + don't understand. + + Some day I've got to go up there, and make a + sad report + And tell the Father of us all where I have fallen + short; + And there will be a lot of wrong I never meant + to do, + A lot of smudges on my sheet that He will have + to view. + And little chance for heavenly bliss, up there, + will I command, + Unless the Father smiles and says: "My boy, + I understand." + +{152} + + PEOPLE LIKED HIM + + People liked him, not because + He was rich or known to fame; + He had never won applause + As a star in any game. + His was not a brilliant style, + His was not a forceful way, + But he had a gentle smile + And a kindly word to say. + + Never arrogant or proud, + On he went with manner mild; + Never quarrelsome or loud, + Just as simple as a child; + Honest, patient, brave and true: + Thus he lived from day to day, + Doing what he found to do + In a cheerful sort of way. + + Wasn't one to boast of gold + Or belittle it with sneers, + Didn't change from hot to cold, + Kept his friends throughout the years, + Sort of man you like to meet + Any time or any place. + There was always something sweet + And refreshing in his face. + + Sort of man you'd like to be: + Balanced well and truly square; + Patient in adversity, + Generous when his skies were fair. + Never lied to friend or foe, + Never rash in word or deed, + Quick to come and slow to go + In a neighbor's time of need. + + Never rose to wealth or fame, + Simply lived, and simply died, + But the passing of his name + Left a sorrow, far and wide. + Not for glory he'd attained, + Nor for what he had of pelf, + Were the friends that he had gained, + But for what he was himself. + +{154} + + WHEN FATHER SHOOK THE STOVE + + 'Twas not so many years ago, + Say, twenty-two or three, + When zero weather or below + Held many a thrill for me. + Then in my icy room I slept + A youngster's sweet repose, + And always on my form I kept + My flannel underclothes. + Then I was roused by sudden shock + Though still to sleep I strove, + I knew that it was seven o'clock + When father shook the stove. + + I never heard him quit his bed + Or his alarm clock ring; + I never heard his gentle tread, + Or his attempts to sing; + The sun that found my window pane + On me was wholly lost, + Though many a sunbeam tried in vain + To penetrate the frost. + To human voice I never stirred, + But deeper down I dove + Beneath the covers, when I heard + My father shake the stove. + + To-day it all comes back to me + And I can hear it still; + He seemed to take a special glee + In shaking with a will. + He flung the noisy dampers back, + Then rattled steel on steel, + Until the force of his attack + The building seemed to feel. + Though I'd a youngster's heavy eyes + All sleep from them he drove; + It seemed to me the dead must rise + When father shook the stove. + + Now radiators thump and pound + And every room is warm, + And modern men new ways have found + To shield us from the storm. + The window panes are seldom glossed + The way they used to be; + The pictures left by old Jack Frost + Our children never see. + And now that he has gone to rest + In God's great slumber grove, + I often think those days were best + When father shook the stove. + +{156} + + HOUSE-HUNTING + + Time was when spring returned we went + To find another home to rent; + We wanted fresher, cleaner walls, + And bigger rooms and wider halls, + And open plumbing and the dome + That made the fashionable home. + + But now with spring we want to sell, + And seek a finer place to dwell. + Our thoughts have turned from dens and domes; + We want the latest thing in homes; + To life we'll not be reconciled + Until we have a bathroom tiled. + + A butler's pantry we desire, + Although no butler do we hire; + Nell's life will be one round of gloom + Without a closet for the broom, + And mine will dreary be and sour + Unless the bathroom has a shower. + + For months and months we've sat and dreamed + Of paneled walls and ceilings beamed + And built-in cases for the books, + An attic room to be the cook's. + No house will she consent to view + Unless it has a sun room, too. + + There must be wash bowls here and there + To save much climbing of the stair; + A sleeping porch we both demand-- + This fad has swept throughout the land-- + And, Oh, 'twill give her heart a wrench + Not to possess a few doors, French. + + I want to dig and walk around + At least full fifty feet of ground; + She wants the latest style in tubs; + I want more room for trees and shrubs, + And a garage, with light and heat, + That can be entered from the street. + + The trouble is the things we seek + Cannot be bought for ten-a-week. + And all the joys for which we sigh + Are just too rich for us to buy. + We have the taste to cut a dash: + The thing we're lacking most is cash. + +{158} + + AN EASY WORLD + + It's an easy world to live in if you choose to + make it so; + You never need to suffer, save the griefs that + all must know; + If you'll stay upon the level and will do the + best you can + You will never lack the friendship of a kindly + fellow man. + + Life's an easy road to travel if you'll only walk + it straight; + When the clouds begin to gather and your hopes + begin to fade, + If you've only toiled in honor you won't have + to call for aid. + + But if you've bartered friendship and the faith + on which it rests + For a temporary winning; if you've cheated in + the tests, + If with promises you've broken, you have chilled + the hearts of men; + It is vain to look for friendship for it will not + come again. + + Oh, the world is full of kindness, thronged with + men who want to be + Of some service to their neighbors and they'll + run to you or me + When we're needing their assistance if we've + lived upon the square, + But they'll spurn us in our trouble if we've + always been unfair. + + It's an easy world to live in; all you really need + to do + Is the decent thing and proper and then friends + will flock to you; + But let dishonor trail you and some stormy day + you'll find + To your heart's supremest sorrow that you've + made the world unkind. + +{160} + + THE STATES + + There is no star within the flag + That's brighter than its brothers, + And when of Michigan I brag, + I'm boasting of the others. + Just which is which no man can say-- + One star for every state + Gleams brightly on our flag to-day, + And every one is great. + + The stars that gem the skies at night + May differ in degree, + And some are pale and some are bright, + But in our flag we see + A sky of blue wherein the stars + Are equal in design; + Each has the radiance of Mars + And all are yours and mine. + + The glory that is Michigan's + Is Colorado's too; + The same sky Minnesota spans, + The same sun warms it through; + And all are one beneath the flag, + A common hope is ours; + Our country is the mountain crag, + The valley and its flowers. + + The land we love lies far away + As well as close at hand; + He has no vision who would say: + _This_ state's my native land. + Though sweet the charms he knows the best, + Deep down within his heart + The farthest east, the farthest west + Of him must be a part. + + There is no star within the flag + That's brighter than its brothers; + So when of Michigan I brag + I'm boasting of the others. + We share alike one purpose true; + One common end awaits; + We must in all we dream or do + Remain _United_ States. + +{162} + + THE OBLIGATION OF FRIENDSHIP + + You ought to be fine for the sake of the folks + Who think you are fine. + If others have faith in you doubly you're bound + To stick to the line. + It's not only on you that dishonor descends: + You can't hurt yourself without hurting your friends. + + You ought to be true for the sake of the folks + Who believe you are true. + You never should stoop to a deed that your friends + Think you wouldn't do. + If you're false to yourself, be the blemish but small, + You have injured your friends; you've been false to them all. + + For friendship, my boy, is a bond between men + That is founded on truth: + It believes in the best of the ones that it loves, + Whether old man or youth; + And the stern rule it lays down for me and for you + Is to be what our friends think we are, through and through. + +{163} + + UNDER THE SKIN OF MEN + + Did you ever sit down and talk with men + In a serious sort of a way, + On their views of life and ponder then + On all that they have to say? + If not, you should in some quiet hour; + It's a glorious thing to do: + For you'll find that back of the pomp and power + Most men have a goal in view. + + They'll tell you then that their aim is not + The clink of the yellow gold; + That not in the worldly things they've got + Would they have their stories told. + They'll say the joys that they treasure most + Are their good friends, tried and true, + And an honest name for their own to boast + And peace when the day is through. + + I've talked with men and I think I know + What's under the toughened skin. + I've seen their eyes grow bright and glow + With the fire that burns within. + And back of the gold and back of the fame + And back of the selfish strife, + In most men's breasts you'll find the flame + Of the nobler things of life. + +{164} + + THE FINER THOUGHT + + How fine it is at night to say: + "I have not wronged a soul to-day. + I have not by a word or deed, + In any breast sowed anger's seed, + Or caused a fellow being pain; + Nor is there on my crest a stain + That shame has left. In honor's way, + With head erect, I've lived this day." + + When night slips down and day departs + And rest returns to weary hearts, + How fine it is to close the book + Of records for the day, and look + Once more along the traveled mile + And find that all has been worth while; + To say: "In honor I have toiled; + My plume is spotless and unsoiled." + + Yet cold and stern a man may be + Retaining his integrity; + And he may pass from day to day + A spirit dead, in living clay, + Observing strictly morals, laws, + Yet serving but a selfish cause; + So it is not enough to say: + "I have not stooped to shame to-day!" + + It is a finer, nobler thought + When day is done and night has brought + The contemplative hours and sweet, + And rest to weary hearts and feet, + If man can stand in truth and say: + "I have been useful here to-day. + Back there is one I chanced to see + With hope newborn because of me. + + "This day in honor I have toiled; + My shining crest is still unsoiled; + But on the mile I leave behind + Is one who says that I was kind; + And someone hums a cheerful song + Because I chanced to come along." + Sweet rest at night that man shall own + Who has not lived his day alone. + +{166} + + STUCK + + I'm up against it day by day, + My ignorance is distressing; + The things I don't know on the way + I'm busily confessing. + Time was I used to think I knew + Some useful bits of knowledge + And could be sure of one or two + Real facts I'd gleaned in college. + But I'm unfitted for the task + Of answering things my boy can ask. + + Now, who can answer queries queer + That four-year-olds can think up? + And tell in simple phrase and clear + Why fishes do not drink up + The water in the streams and lakes, + Or where the wind is going, + And tell exactly how God makes + The roses that are growing? + I'm sure I cannot satisfy + Each little when, and how, and why. + + Had I the wisdom of a sage + Possessed of all the learning + That can be gleaned from printed page + From bookworm's closest turning, + That eager knowledge-seeking lad + That questions me so gayly + Could still go round and boast he had + With queries floored me daily. + He'll stick, I'll bet, in less than five + Brief minutes any man alive. + +{167} + + ETERNAL FRIENDSHIP + + Who once has had a friend has found + The link 'twixt mortal and divine; + Though now he sleeps in hallowed ground, + He lives in memory's sacred shrine; + And there he freely moves about, + A spirit that has quit the clay, + And in the times of stress and doubt + Sustains his friend throughout the day. + + No friend we love can ever die; + The outward form but disappears; + I know that all my friends are nigh + Whenever I am moved to tears. + And when my strength and hope are gone, + The friends, no more, that once I knew, + Return to cheer and urge me on + Just as they always used to do. + + They whisper to me in the dark + Kind words of counsel and of cheer; + When hope has flickered to a spark + I feel their gentle spirits near. + And Oh! because of them I strive + With all the strength that I can call + To keep their friendship still alive + And to be worthy of them all. + + Death does not end our friendships true; + We all are debtors to the dead; + There, wait on everything we do + The splendid souls who've gone ahead. + To them I hold that we are bound + By double pledges to be fine. + Who once has had a friend has found + The link 'twixt mortal and divine. + +{168} + + FAITH + + I believe in the world and its bigness and splendor: + That most of the hearts beating round us are tender; + That days are but footsteps and years are but miles + That lead us to beauty and singing and smiles: + That roses that blossom and toilers that plod + Are filled with the glorious spirit of God. + + I believe in the purpose of everything living: + That taking is but the forerunner of giving; + That strangers are friends that we some day may meet; + And not all the bitter can equal the sweet; + That creeds are but colors, and no man has said + That God loves the yellow rose more than the red. + + I believe in the path that to-day I am treading, + That I shall come safe through the dangers I'm dreading; + That even the scoffer shall turn from his ways + And some day be won back to trust and to praise; + That the leaf on the tree and the thing we call Man + Are sharing alike in His infinite plan. + + I believe that all things that are living and breathing + Some richness of beauty to earth are bequeathing; + That all that goes out of this world leaves behind + Some duty accomplished for mortals to find; + That the humblest of creatures our praise is deserving, + For it, with the wisest, the Master is serving. + +{170} + + I + + Nobody hates me more than I; + No enemy have I to-day + That I so bravely must defy; + There are no foes along my way, + However bitter they may be, + So powerful to injure me + As I am, nor as quick to spoil + The beauty of my bit of toil. + + Nobody harms me more than I; + No one is meaner unto me; + Of all the foes that pass me by + I am the worst one that I see. + I am the dangerous man to fear; + I am the cause of sorrow here; + Of all men 'gainst my hopes inclined + I am myself the most unkind. + + I do more harmful things to me + Than all the men who seem to hate; + I am the fellow that should be + More dreaded than the works of fate. + I am the one that I must fight + With all my will and all my might; + My foes are better friends to me + Than I have ever proved to be. + + I am the careless foe and mean; + I am the selfish rival too; + My enmity to me is seen + In almost everything I do. + More courage it requires to beat + Myself, than all the foes I meet; + I am more traitorous to me + Than other men could ever be. + + In every struggle I have lost + I am the one that was to blame; + My weaknesses cannot be glossed + By glib excuses. I was lame. + I that would dare for fame or pelf + Am far less daring with myself. + I care not who my foes may be, + I am my own worst enemy. + +{172} + + THE THINGS THAT HAVEN'T BEEN DONE BEFORE + + The things that haven't been done before, + Those are the things to try; + Columbus dreamed of an unknown shore + At the rim of the far-flung sky, + And his heart was bold and his faith was strong + As he ventured in dangers new, + And he paid no heed to the jeering throng + Or the fears of the doubting crew. + + The many will follow the beaten track + With guideposts on the way, + They live and have lived for ages back + With a chart for every day. + Someone has told them it's safe to go + On the road he has traveled o'er. + And all that they ever strive to know + Are the things that were known before. + + A few strike out, without map or chart, + Where never a man has been, + From the beaten paths they draw apart + To see what no man has seen. + There are deeds they hunger alone to do; + Though battered and bruised and sore, + They blaze the path for the many, who + Do nothing not done before. + + The things that haven't been done before, + Are the tasks worth while to-day; + Are you one of the flock that follows, or + Are you one that shall lead the way? + Are you one of the timid souls that quail + At the jeers of a doubting crew, + Or dare you, whether you win or fail, + Strike out for a goal that's new? + +{173} + + REVENGE + + If I had hatred in my heart toward my fellow + man, + If I were pressed to do him ill, to conjure up a + plan + To wound him sorely and to rob his days of all + their joy, + I'd wish his wife would go away and take their + little boy. + + I'd waste no time on curses vague, nor try to + take his gold, + Nor seek to shatter any plan that he might + dearly hold. + A crueler revenge than that for him I would + bespeak: + I'd wish his wife and little one might leave him + for a week. + + I'd wish him all the loneliness that comes with + loss of those + Who fill his life with laughter and contentment + and repose. + I'd wish him empty rooms at night and mocking + stairs to squeak + That neither wife nor little boy will greet him + for a week. + + If I despised my fellow man, I'd make my + hatred known + By wishing him a week or two of living all + alone; + I'd let him know the torture that is mine to + bear to-day, + For Buddy and his mother now are miles and + miles away. + +{174} + + PROMOTION + + Promotion comes to him who sticks + Unto his work and never kicks, + Who watches neither clock nor sun + To tell him when his task is done; + Who toils not by a stated chart, + Defining to a jot his part, + But gladly does a little more + Than he's remunerated for. + The man, in factory or shop, + Who rises quickly to the top, + Is he who gives what can't be bought: + Intelligent and careful thought. + + No one can say just when begins + The service that promotion wins, + Or when it ends; 'tis not defined + By certain hours or any kind + Of system that has been devised; + Merit cannot be systemized. + It is at work when it's at play; + It serves each minute of the day; + 'Tis always at its post, to see + New ways of help and use to be. + Merit from duty never slinks, + Its cardinal virtue is--it thinks! + + Promotion comes to him who tries + Not solely for a selfish prize, + But day by day and year by year + Holds his employer's interests dear. + Who measures not by what he earns + The sum of labor he returns, + Nor counts his day of toiling through + Till he's done all that he can do. + His strength is not of muscle bred, + But of the heart and of the head. + The man who would the top attain + Must demonstrate he has a brain. + +{176} + + EXPECTATION + + Most folks, as I've noticed, in pleasure an' strife, + Are always expecting too much out of life. + They wail an' they fret + Just because they don't get + The best o' the sunshine, the fairest o' flowers, + The finest o' features, the strongest o' powers; + They whine an' they whimper an' curse an' condemn, + Coz life isn't always being' partial to them. + + Notwithstandin' the pain an' the sufferin' they see, + They cling to the notion that they should go free: + That they shouldn't share + In life's trouble an' care + But should always be happy an' never perplexed, + An' never discouraged or beaten or vexed. + When life treats 'em roughly an' jolts 'em with care, + They seem to imagine it's bein' unfair. + + It's a curious notion folks hold in their pride, + That their souls should never be tested or tried; + That others must mourn + An' be sick an' forlorn + An' stand by the biers of their loved ones an' weep, + But life from such sorrows their bosoms must keep. + Oh, they mustn't know what it means to be sad, + Or they'll wail that the treatment they're gettin' + is bad. + + Now life as I view it means pleasure an' pain, + An' laughter an' weepin' an' sunshine an' rain, + An' takin' an' givin'; + An' all who are livin' + Must face it an' bear it the best that they can + Believin' great Wisdom is workin' the plan. + An' no one should ever complain it's unfair + Because at the moment he's tastin' despair. + +{177} + + HARD WORK + + One day, in ages dark and dim, + A toiler, weary, worn and faint, + Who found his task too much for him, + Gave voice unto a sad complaint. + And seeking emphasis to give + Unto his trials (day-starred!) + Coupled to "work" this adjective, + This little word of terror: _Hard_. + + And from that day to this has work + Its frightening description worn; + 'Tis spoken daily by the shirk, + The first cloud on the sky at morn. + To-day when there are tasks to do, + Save that we keep ourselves on guard + With fearful doubtings them we view, + And think and speak of them as hard. + + That little but ill-chosen word + Has wrought great havoc with men's souls, + Has chilled the hearts ambition stirred + And held the pass to splendid goals. + Great dreams have faded and been lost, + Fine youth by it been sadly marred + As plants beneath a withering frost, + Because men thought and whispered: "Hard." + + Let's think of work in terms of hope + And speak of it with words of praise, + And tell the joy it is to grope + Along the new, untrodden ways! + Let's break this habit of despair + And cheerfully our task regard; + The road to happiness lies there: + Why think or speak of it as hard? + +{179} + + GRATITUDE + + Be grateful for the kindly friends that walk + along your way; + Be grateful for the skies of blue that smile + from day to day; + Be grateful for the health you own, the work + you find to do, + For round about you there are men less + fortunate than you. + + Be grateful for the growing trees, the roses + soon to bloom, + The tenderness of kindly hearts that shared your + days of gloom; + Be grateful for the morning dew, the grass + beneath your feet, + The soft caresses of your babes and all their + laughter sweet. + + Acquire the grateful habit, learn to see how blest + you are, + How much there is to gladden life, how little + life to mar! + And what if rain shall fall to-day and you with + grief are sad; + Be grateful that you can recall the joys that + you have had. + +{180} + + A REAL MAN + + Men are of two kinds, and he + Was of the kind I'd like to be. + Some preach their virtues, and a few + Express their lives by what they do. + That sort was he. No flowery phrase + Or glibly spoken words of praise + Won friends for him. He wasn't cheap + Or shallow, but his course ran deep, + And it was pure. You know the kind. + Not many in a life you find + Whose deeds outrun their words so far + That more than what they seem they are. + + There are two kinds of lies as well: + The kind you live, the ones you tell. + Back through his years from age to youth + He never acted one untruth. + Out in the open light he fought + And didn't care what others thought + Nor what they said about his fight + If he believed that he was right. + The only deeds he ever hid + Were acts of kindness that he did. + + What speech he had was plain and blunt. + His was an unattractive front. + Yet children loved him; babe and boy + Played with the strength he could employ, + Without one fear, and they are fleet + To sense injustice and deceit. + No back door gossip linked his name + With any shady tale of shame. + He did not have to compromise + With evil-doers, shrewd and wise, + And let them ply their vicious trade + Because of some past escapade. + + Men are of two kinds, and he + Was of the kind I'd like to be. + No door at which he ever knocked + Against his manly form was locked. + If ever man on earth was free + And independent, it was he. + No broken pledge lost him respect, + He met all men with head erect, + And when he passed I think there went + A soul to yonder firmament + So white, so splendid and so fine + It came almost to God's design. + +{182} + + THE NEIGHBORLY MAN + + Some are eager to be famous, some are striving + to be great, + Some are toiling to be leaders of their nation + or their state, + And in every man's ambition, if we only understood, + There is much that's fine and splendid; every + hope is mostly good. + So I cling unto the notion that contented I + will be + If the men upon life's pathway find a needed + friend in me. + + I rather like to putter 'round the walks and + yards of life, + To spray at night the roses that are burned and + browned with strife; + To eat a frugal dinner, but always to have a + chair + For the unexpected stranger that my simple + meal would share. + I don't care to be a traveler, I would rather be + the one + Sitting calmly by the roadside helping weary + travelers on. + + I'd like to be a neighbor in the good old-fashioned way, + Finding much to do for others, but not over + much to say. + I like to read the papers, but I do not yearn + to see + What the journal of the morning has been + moved to say of me; + In the silences and shadows I would live my + life and die + And depend for fond remembrance on some + grateful passers-by. + + I guess I wasn't fashioned for the brilliant + things of earth, + Wasn't gifted much with talent or designed for + special worth, + But was just sent here to putter with life's little + odds and ends + And keep a simple corner where the stirring + highway bends, + And if folks should chance to linger, worn and + weary through the day, + To do some needed service and to cheer them + on their way. + +{184} + + ROSES + + When God first viewed the rose He'd made + He smiled, and thought it passing fair; + Upon the bloom His hands He laid, + And gently blessed each petal there. + He summoned in His artists then + And bade them paint, as ne'er before, + Each petal, so that earthly men + Might love the rose for evermore. + + With Heavenly brushes they began + And one with red limned every leaf, + To signify the love of man; + The first rose, white, betokened grief; + "My rose shall deck the bride," one said + And so in pink he dipped his brush, + "And it shall smile beside the dead + To typify the faded blush." + + And then they came unto His throne + And laid the roses at His feet, + The crimson bud, the bloom full blown, + Filling the air with fragrance sweet. + "Well done, well done!" the Master spake; + "Henceforth the rose shall bloom on earth: + One fairer blossom I will make," + And then a little babe had birth. + + On earth a loving mother lay + Within a rose-decked room and smiled, + But from the blossoms turned away + To gently kiss her little child, + And then she murmured soft and low, + "For beauty, here, a mother seeks. + None but the Master made, I know, + The roses in a baby's cheeks." + +{185} + + THE JUNK BOX + + My father often used to say: + "My boy don't throw a thing away: + You'll find a use for it some day." + + So in a box he stored up things, + Bent nails, old washers, pipes and rings, + And bolts and nuts and rusty springs. + + Despite each blemish and each flaw, + Some use for everything he saw; + With things material, this was law. + + And often when he'd work to do, + He searched the junk box through and through + And found old stuff as good as new. + + And I have often thought since then, + That father did the same with men; + He knew he'd need their help again. + + It seems to me he understood + That men, as well as iron and wood, + May broken be and still be good. + + Despite the vices he'd display + He never threw a man away, + But kept him for another day. + + A human junk box is this earth + And into it we're tossed at birth, + To wait the day we'll be of worth. + + Though bent and twisted, weak of will, + And full of flaws and lacking skill, + Some service each can render still. + +{186} + + THE BOY THAT WAS + + When the hair about the temples starts to show + the signs of gray, + And a fellow realizes that he's wandering far + away + From the pleasures of his boyhood and his + youth, and never more + Will know the joy of laughter as he did in days + of yore, + Oh, it's then he starts to thinking of a stubby + little lad + With a face as brown as berries and a soul + supremely glad. + + When a gray-haired dreamer wanders down the + lanes of memory + And forgets the living present for the time of + "used-to-be," + He takes off his shoes and stockings, and he + throws his coat away, + And he's free from all restrictions, save the rules + of manly play. + He may be in richest garments, but bareheaded + in the sun + He forgets his proud successes and the riches + he has won. + + Oh, there's not a man alive but that would give + his all to be + The stubby little fellow that in dreamland he + can see, + And the splendors that surround him and the + joys about him spread + Only seem to rise to taunt him with the boyhood + that has fled. + When the hair about the temples starts to show + Time's silver stain, + Then the richest man that's living yearns to be + a boy again. + +{188} + + AS FALL THE LEAVES + + As fall the leaves, so drop the days + In silence from the tree of life; + Born for a little while to blaze + In action in the heat of strife, + And then to shrivel with Time's blast + And fade forever in the past. + + In beauty once the leaf was seen; + To all it offered gentle shade; + Men knew the splendor of its green + That cheered them so, would quickly fade: + And quickly, too, must pass away + All that is splendid of to-day. + + To try to keep the leaves were vain: + Men understand that they must fall; + Why should they bitterly complain + When sorrows come to one and all? + Why should they mourn the passing day + That must depart along the way? + + + + + INDEX + + Answering Him....................... 126 + Apple Tree, The..................... 68 + As Fall the Leaves.................. 188 + At the Door......................... 132 + Autumn at the Orchard............... 136 + + Be a Friend......................... 97 + Bear Story, A....................... 134 + Boy That Was, The................... 186 + Breakfast Time, At.................. 50 + Bumps and Bruises Doctor, The....... 107 + + Canning Time........................ 66 + Can't............................... 52 + Care-Free Youth..................... 78 + Challenge........................... 145 + Courage............................. 72 + + Defeat.............................. 111 + Division............................ 141 + Dull Road, The...................... 67 + Duty................................ 133 + Duty to Our Flag, Our............... 58 + + Easy World, An...................... 158 + Epicure, The........................ 74 + Eternal Friendship.................. 167 + Expectation......................... 176 + + Failures............................ 83 + Faith............................... 168 + Father.............................. 46 + Father and Son...................... 128 + Fishing Cure, The................... 102 + Finer Thought, The.................. 164 + Finest Age, The..................... 76 + Folks............................... 36 + Friend's Greeting, A................ 32 + + Gentle Gardener, The................ 75 + Going Home for Christmas, On........ 24 + Gratitude........................... 179 + Greatness........................... 73 + Guessing Time....................... 148 + + Happiest Days, The.................. 88 + Happy Slow Thinker, The............. 103 + Hard Knocks......................... 43 + Hard Work........................... 177 + Home................................ 28 + Homesick............................ 117 + Home-Town, The...................... 70 + House-Hunting....................... 156 + How Do You Tackle Your Work?........ 62 + Hunter, The......................... 59 + + I................................... 170 + It Isn't Costly..................... 14 + It's September...................... 60 + + James Whitcomb Riley................ 54 + Joy of a Dog, The................... 116 + June Couple, The.................... 130 + Junk Box, The....................... 185 + + Laddies............................. 48 + Lady in the Electric, To the........ 122 + Life................................ 63 + Life's Tests........................ 85 + Little Master Mischievous........... 38 + Living Beauties, The................ 49 + + Ma and Her Check Book............... 100 + Ma and the Auto..................... 22 + Man, A.............................. 142 + Man, A Real......................... 180 + Man Who Couldn't Save, The.......... 124 + Mother.............................. 19 + Mother's Day........................ 140 + Mother's Glasses.................... 94 + My Creed............................ 15 + My Paw Said So...................... 80 + + Neighborly Man, The................. 182 + No Place to Go...................... 110 + + Obligation of Friendship, The....... 162 + Old Friends......................... 34 + Only a Dad.......................... 42 + Opportunity......................... 39 + Other Fellow, The................... 57 + Out-of-Doors........................ 104 + + Path That Leads to Home, The........ 30 + Patriotic Wish, A................... 112 + Peace............................... 109 + Peaceful Warriors, The.............. 82 + People Liked Him.................... 152 + Perfect Dinner Table, The........... 118 + Prayer, A........................... 121 + Preparedness........................ 81 + Price of Joy, The................... 113 + Princess Pat's, The................. 96 + Promotion........................... 174 + Purpose............................. 93 + + Raisin Pie.......................... 84 + Ready Artists, The.................. 86 + Real Bait, The...................... 90 + Real Singing........................ 106 + Results and Roses................... 56 + Revenge............................. 173 + Rich................................ 21 + Roses............................... 184 + Rough Little Rascal, The............ 13 + + Selfish............................. 20 + Song, A............................. 33 + Sorrow Tugs, The.................... 40 + Spring in the Trenches.............. 44 + States, The......................... 160 + Story Telling....................... 64 + Stuck............................... 166 + Success and Failure................. 77 + Sugar Camp, At...................... 26 + Sulkers, The........................ 92 + + Take Home a Smile................... 71 + Thanksgiving........................ 98 + Things That Haven't Been Done Before 172 + Things That Make Soldier Great, The. 114 + Toast to Happiness, A............... 146 + To-morrow........................... 120 + Treasures........................... 144 + True Nobility....................... 91 + + Understanding....................... 150 + Under the Skin of Men............... 163 + + Vow, A.............................. 143 + + Wish, A............................. 16 + What a Baby Costs................... 18 + When Father Shook the Stove......... 154 + When Pa Comes Home.................. 138 + When Pa Counts...................... 108 + When You Know a Fellow.............. 11 + + + + + INDEX OF FIRST LINES + + A man doesn't whine at his losses............. 142 + A man must earn his hour of peace............. 109 + Are you fond of your wife and your children... 57 + As fall the leaves, so drop the days.......... 188 + A smudge on his nose and a smear on his + cheek....................................... 13 + A table cloth that slightly soiled............ 118 + A touch of the plain and the prairie.......... 96 + At Sugar Camp the cook is kind................ 26 + + Be a friend. You don't need money............. 97 + Before we take an auto ride Pa says to Ma..... 22 + Be grateful for the kindly friends............ 179 + Be more than his dad.......................... 128 + + Can't is the worst word that's written........ 52 + Cheek that is tanned by the wind of the north. 59 + Courage isn't a brilliant dash................ 72 + + Did you ever sit down and talk with men....... 163 + Does the grouch get richer quicker............ 14 + + Foxes can talk if you know how to listen...... 80 + Full many a time a thought has come........... 103 + + Gentle hands that never weary................. 140 + God grant me kindly thought................... 121 + + He little knew the sorrow that was in his + vacant chair................................ 24 + He spent what he made, or he gave it away..... 124 + He was going to be all that a mortal should... 120 + He wiped his shoes before his door............ 132 + How do you tackle your work each day.......... 62 + How fine it is at night to say................ 164 + "How much do babies cost?" said he............ 18 + + I am selfish in my wishin' every sort o' joy.. 20 + I believe in the world........................ 168 + I'd like to be a boy again.................... 16 + I'd like to be the sort of friend............. 32 + I'd like to be the sort of man................ 112 + I'd like to leave but daffodills.............. 75 + I do not say new friends are not considerate.. 34 + I do not think all failure's undeserved....... 77 + If I had hatred in my heart................... 173 + If never a sorrow came to us.................. 85 + I might not ever scale the mountain heights... 143 + I'm not the man to say that failure's sweet... 43 + I'm the bumps and bruises doctor.............. 107 + I'm up against it day by day.................. 166 + I never knew, until they went................. 49 + It's an easy world to live in if you choose... 158 + It's coming time for planting................. 44 + It's guessing time at our house............... 148 + It's September, and the orchards are afire.... 60 + It's the dull road that leads to the gay road. 67 + It's tough when you are homesick.............. 117 + It takes a heap o' livin' in a house to make + it home..................................... 28 + I've sipped a rich man's sparkling wine....... 74 + I've told about the times that Ma can't find + her pocketbook.............................. 94 + + Lady in the show case carriage................ 122 + Less hate and greed........................... 58 + Let others sing their songs of war............ 82 + Life is a challenge to the bold............... 145 + Life is a gift to be used every day........... 63 + Little Master Mischievous, that's the name.... 38 + + Ma has a dandy little book.................... 100 + Ma says no, it's too much care................ 116 + Men are of two kind, and he................... 180 + Most every night when they're in bed.......... 64 + Most folks, as I've noticed, in pleasure an' + strife...................................... 176 + My father often used to say................... 185 + My Pa he eats his breakfast................... 50 + + Never a sigh for the cares that she bore...... 19 + Nobody hates me more than I................... 170 + None knows the day that friends must part..... 33 + No one is beat till he quits.................. 111 + Not for the sake of the gold.................. 93 + + One day, in ages dim and dark................. 177 + Only a dad with a tired face.................. 42 + + Pa's not so very big or brave................. 108 + People liked him, not because................. 152 + Promotion comes to him who sticks............. 174 + + Right must not live in idleness............... 85 + + She is fair to see and sweet.................. 130 + So long as men shall be on earth.............. 39 + Some are eager to be famous................... 182 + Some folks leave home for money............... 70 + Some folks I know, when friends drop in....... 144 + + Take home a smile; forget the petty cares..... 71 + Thankful for the glory of the old Red, White + and Blue.................................... 98 + The happiest nights........................... 110 + The green is in the meadow.................... 86 + The kids are out-of-doors once more........... 104 + The little path that leads to home............ 30 + The man who wants a garden fair............... 56 + There is no star within the flag.............. 160 + There must be great rejoicin' on the Golden + Shore to-day................................ 54 + There's a heap of pent-up goodness............ 84 + There's a lot of joy in the smiling world..... 40 + There's a wondrous smell of spices............ 66 + There's nothing that builds up a toil-weary + soul........................................ 102 + There was a bear--his name was Jim.......... 134 + The skies are blue and the sun is out......... 78 + The sumac's flaming scarlet................... 136 + The things that haven't been done before...... 172 + The things that make a soldier great.......... 114 + The world's too busy now to pause............. 92 + 'Tis better to have tried in vain............. 83 + To do your little bit of toil................. 133 + To gentle ways I am inclined.................. 90 + To happiness I raise my glass................. 146 + To live as gently as I can.................... 15 + Time was when spring returned we went......... 156 + 'Twas not so many years ago................... 154 + + Used to wonder just why father................ 46 + + We can be great by helping one another........ 73 + We was speakin' of folks, jes' common folks... 36 + When an apple tree is ready for the world..... 68 + When God first viewed the rose He'd made...... 184 + When he was only nine months old.............. 76 + When I was young and frivolous................ 150 + When Pa comes home, I'm at the door........... 138 + "When shall I be a man?" he said.............. 126 + When the hair about the temples starts to + show the signs of gray...................... 186 + When you get to know a fellow................. 11 + Who does his task from day to day............. 91 + Who has a troop of romping youth.............. 21 + Who once has had a friend has found........... 167 + + You cannot gather every rose.................. 141 + You can talk about your music................. 106 + You do not know it, little man................ 88 + You don't begrudge the labor.................. 113 + You ought to be fine for the sake of the folks 162 + + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Heap o' Livin', by Edgar A. 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