The Fun of Forgiving
Sometimes I'm almost glad to hear when I get home that they've been bad;
And though I try to look severe, within my heart I'm really glad
When mother sadly tells to me the list of awful things they've done,
Because when they come tearfully, forgiving them is so much fun.
And though I try to look severe, within my heart I'm really glad
When mother sadly tells to me the list of awful things they've done,
Because when they come tearfully, forgiving them is so much fun.
I like to have them all alone, with no one near to hear or see,
Then as their little faults they own, I like to take them on my knee
And talk it over and pretend the whipping soon must be begun;
And then to kiss them at the end—forgiving them is so much fun.
Then as their little faults they own, I like to take them on my knee
And talk it over and pretend the whipping soon must be begun;
And then to kiss them at the end—forgiving them is so much fun.
Within the world there's no such charm as children penitent and sad,
Who put two soft and chubby arms around your neck, when they've been bad.
And as you view their trembling lips, away your temper starts to run,
And from your mind all anger slips—forgiving them is so much fun.
Who put two soft and chubby arms around your neck, when they've been bad.
And as you view their trembling lips, away your temper starts to run,
And from your mind all anger slips—forgiving them is so much fun.
If there were nothing to forgive I wonder if we'd love them so;
If they were wise enough to live as grown-ups do, and always go
Along the pleasant path of right, with ne'er a fault from sun to sun,
A lot of joys we'd miss at night—forgiving them is so much fun.
If they were wise enough to live as grown-ups do, and always go
Along the pleasant path of right, with ne'er a fault from sun to sun,
A lot of joys we'd miss at night—forgiving them is so much fun.
Tonsils
One day the doctor came because my throat was feeling awful sore,
And when he looked inside to see he said: "It's like it was before;
It's tonserlitis, sure enough. You'd better tell her Pa to-day
To make his mind up now to have that little party right away."
And when he looked inside to see he said: "It's like it was before;
It's tonserlitis, sure enough. You'd better tell her Pa to-day
To make his mind up now to have that little party right away."
I'd heard him talk that way before when Bud was sick, and so I knew
That what they did to him that time, to me they planned to come and do.
An' when my Pa came home that night Ma said: "She can't grow strong and stout
Until the doctor comes an' takes her addynoids an' tonsils out."
That what they did to him that time, to me they planned to come and do.
An' when my Pa came home that night Ma said: "She can't grow strong and stout
Until the doctor comes an' takes her addynoids an' tonsils out."
An' then Pa took me on his knee and kissed me solemn-like an' grave,
An' said he guessed it was the best, an' then he asked me to be brave.
Ma said: "Don't look at her like that, it's nothing to be scared about";
An' Pa said: "True, but still I wish she needn't have her tonsils out."
An' said he guessed it was the best, an' then he asked me to be brave.
Ma said: "Don't look at her like that, it's nothing to be scared about";
An' Pa said: "True, but still I wish she needn't have her tonsils out."
Next morning when I woke, Ma said I couldn't have my breakfast then,
Because the doctors and the nurse had said they would be here by ten.
When they got here the doctor smiled an' gave me some perfume to smell,
An' told me not to cry at all, coz pretty soon I would be well.
Because the doctors and the nurse had said they would be here by ten.
When they got here the doctor smiled an' gave me some perfume to smell,
An' told me not to cry at all, coz pretty soon I would be well.
When I woke up Ma smiled an' said: "It's all right now"; but in my head
It seemed like wheels were buzzing round and everywhere I looked was red.
An' I can't eat hard cookies yet, nor use my voice at all to shout,
But Pa an' Ma seem awful glad that I have had my tonsils out.
It seemed like wheels were buzzing round and everywhere I looked was red.
An' I can't eat hard cookies yet, nor use my voice at all to shout,
But Pa an' Ma seem awful glad that I have had my tonsils out.
At Dawn
They come to my room at the break of the day,
With their faces all smiles and their minds full of play;
They come on their tip-toes and silently creep
To the edge of the bed where I'm lying asleep,
And then at a signal, on which they agree,
With a shout of delight they jump right onto me.
With their faces all smiles and their minds full of play;
They come on their tip-toes and silently creep
To the edge of the bed where I'm lying asleep,
And then at a signal, on which they agree,
With a shout of delight they jump right onto me.
They lift up my eyelids and tickle my nose,
And scratch at my cheeks with their little pink toes;
And sometimes to give them a laugh and a scare
I snap and I growl like a cinnamon bear;
Then over I roll, and with three kids astride
I gallop away on their feather-bed ride.
And scratch at my cheeks with their little pink toes;
And sometimes to give them a laugh and a scare
I snap and I growl like a cinnamon bear;
Then over I roll, and with three kids astride
I gallop away on their feather-bed ride.
I've thought it all over. Man's biggest mistake
Is in wanting to sleep when his babes are awake;
When they come to his room for that first bit of fun
He should make up his mind that his sleeping is done;
He should share in the laughter they bring to his side
And start off the day with that feather-bed ride.
Is in wanting to sleep when his babes are awake;
When they come to his room for that first bit of fun
He should make up his mind that his sleeping is done;
He should share in the laughter they bring to his side
And start off the day with that feather-bed ride.
Oh they're fun at their breakfast and fun at their lunch;
Any hour of the day they're a glorious bunch!
When they're togged up for Sundays they're certainly fine,
And I'm glad in my heart I can call them all mine,
But I think that the time that I like them the best
Is that hour in the morning before they are dressed.
Any hour of the day they're a glorious bunch!
When they're togged up for Sundays they're certainly fine,
And I'm glad in my heart I can call them all mine,
But I think that the time that I like them the best
Is that hour in the morning before they are dressed.
Names and Faces
I do not ask a store of wealth,
Nor special gift of power;
I hope always for strength and health
To brave each troubled hour.
But life would be distinctly good,
However low my place is,
Had I a memory that could
Remember names and faces.
Nor special gift of power;
I hope always for strength and health
To brave each troubled hour.
But life would be distinctly good,
However low my place is,
Had I a memory that could
Remember names and faces.
I am not troubled by the fact
That common skill is mine;
I care not that my life has lacked
The glory of the fine.
But, oh, when someone speaks to me,
My cheeks grow red with shame
Because I'm sure that he must see
That I have lost his name.
That common skill is mine;
I care not that my life has lacked
The glory of the fine.
But, oh, when someone speaks to me,
My cheeks grow red with shame
Because I'm sure that he must see
That I have lost his name.
Embarrassment, where'er I go,
Pursues me night and day;
I hear some good friend's glad "Hello,"
And stop a word to say.
His voice melodiously may ring,
But that's all lost on me,
For all the time I'm wondering
Whoever can he be.
Pursues me night and day;
I hear some good friend's glad "Hello,"
And stop a word to say.
His voice melodiously may ring,
But that's all lost on me,
For all the time I'm wondering
Whoever can he be.
I envy no man's talent rare
Save his who can repeat
The names of men, no matter where
It is they chance to meet.
For he escapes the bitter blow,
The sorrow and regret,
Of greeting friends he ought to know
As though they'd never met.
Save his who can repeat
The names of men, no matter where
It is they chance to meet.
For he escapes the bitter blow,
The sorrow and regret,
Of greeting friends he ought to know
As though they'd never met.
I do not ask a store of gold,
High station here, or fame;
I have no burning wish to hold
The popular acclaim;
Life's lanes I'd gladly journey through,
Nor mind the stony places,
Could I but do as others do
And know men's names and faces!
High station here, or fame;
I have no burning wish to hold
The popular acclaim;
Life's lanes I'd gladly journey through,
Nor mind the stony places,
Could I but do as others do
And know men's names and faces!
Pleasing Dad
When I was but a little lad, not more than two or three,
I noticed in a general way my dad was proud of me.
He liked the little ways I had, the simple things I said;
Sometimes he gave me words of praise, sometimes he stroked my head;
And when I'd done a thing worth while, the thought that made me glad
Was always that I'd done my best, and that would please my dad.
I noticed in a general way my dad was proud of me.
He liked the little ways I had, the simple things I said;
Sometimes he gave me words of praise, sometimes he stroked my head;
And when I'd done a thing worth while, the thought that made me glad
Was always that I'd done my best, and that would please my dad.
I can look back to-day and see how proud he used to be
When I'd come home from school and say they'd recommended me.
I didn't understand it then, for school boys never do,
But in a vague and general way it seems to me I knew
That father took great pride in me, and wanted me to shine,
And that it meant a lot to him when I'd done something fine.
When I'd come home from school and say they'd recommended me.
I didn't understand it then, for school boys never do,
But in a vague and general way it seems to me I knew
That father took great pride in me, and wanted me to shine,
And that it meant a lot to him when I'd done something fine.
Then one day out of school I went, amid the great world's hum,
An office boy, and father watched each night to see me come.
And I recall how proud he was of me that wondrous day
When I could tell him that, unasked, the firm had raised my pay.
I still can feel that hug he gave, I understand the joy
It meant to him to learn that men were trusting in his boy.
An office boy, and father watched each night to see me come.
And I recall how proud he was of me that wondrous day
When I could tell him that, unasked, the firm had raised my pay.
I still can feel that hug he gave, I understand the joy
It meant to him to learn that men were trusting in his boy.
I wonder will it please my dad? How oft the thought occurs
When I am stumbling on the paths, beset with briars and burrs!
He isn't here to see me now, alone my race I run,
And yet some day I'll go to him and tell him all I've done.
And oh I pray that when we meet beyond life's stormy sea
That he may claim the old-time joy of being proud of me.
When I am stumbling on the paths, beset with briars and burrs!
He isn't here to see me now, alone my race I run,
And yet some day I'll go to him and tell him all I've done.
And oh I pray that when we meet beyond life's stormy sea
That he may claim the old-time joy of being proud of me.
Living Flowers
"I'm never alone in the garden," he said. "I'm never alone with the flowers.
It seems like I'm meeting the wonderful dead out here with these blossoms of ours.
An' there's never a bush or a plant or a tree, but somebody loved it of old.
An' the souls of the angels come talkin' to me through the petals of crimson an' gold.
It seems like I'm meeting the wonderful dead out here with these blossoms of ours.
An' there's never a bush or a plant or a tree, but somebody loved it of old.
An' the souls of the angels come talkin' to me through the petals of crimson an' gold.
"The lilacs in spring bring the mother once more, an' she lives in the midsummer rose.
She smiles in the peony clump at the door, an' sings when the four o'clocks close.
She loved every blossom God gave us to own, an' daily she gave it her care.
So never I walk in the garden alone, for I feel that the mother's still there.
She smiles in the peony clump at the door, an' sings when the four o'clocks close.
She loved every blossom God gave us to own, an' daily she gave it her care.
So never I walk in the garden alone, for I feel that the mother's still there.
"These are the pinks that a baby once kissed, still spicy with fragrance an' fair.
The years have been long since her laughter I've missed, but her spirit is hovering there.
The roses that ramble and twine on the wall were planted by one that was kind
An' I'm sure as I stand here an' gaze on them all, that his soul has still lingered behind.
The years have been long since her laughter I've missed, but her spirit is hovering there.
The roses that ramble and twine on the wall were planted by one that was kind
An' I'm sure as I stand here an' gaze on them all, that his soul has still lingered behind.
"I'm never alone in the garden," he said, "I have many to talk with an' see,
For never a flower comes to bloom in its bed, but it brings back a loved one to me.
An' I fancy whenever I'm bendin' above these blossoms of crimson an' gold,
That I'm seein' an' hearin' the ones that I love, who lived in the glad days of old."
For never a flower comes to bloom in its bed, but it brings back a loved one to me.
An' I fancy whenever I'm bendin' above these blossoms of crimson an' gold,
That I'm seein' an' hearin' the ones that I love, who lived in the glad days of old."
The Common Joys
These joys are free to all who live,
The rich and poor, the great and low:
The charms which kindness has to give,
The smiles which friendship may bestow,
The honor of a well-spent life,
The glory of a purpose true,
High courage in the stress of strife,
And peace when every task is through.
The rich and poor, the great and low:
The charms which kindness has to give,
The smiles which friendship may bestow,
The honor of a well-spent life,
The glory of a purpose true,
High courage in the stress of strife,
And peace when every task is through.
Nor class nor caste nor race nor creed,
Nor greater might can take away
The splendor of an honest deed.
Who nobly serves from day to day
Shall walk the road of life with pride,
With friends who recognize his worth,
For never are these joys denied
Unto the humblest man on earth.
Nor greater might can take away
The splendor of an honest deed.
Who nobly serves from day to day
Shall walk the road of life with pride,
With friends who recognize his worth,
For never are these joys denied
Unto the humblest man on earth.
Not all may rise to world-wide fame,
Not all may gather fortune's gold,
Not all life's luxuries may claim;
In differing ways success is told.
But all may know the peace of mind
Which comes from service brave and true;
The poorest man can still be kind,
And nobly live till life is through.
Not all may gather fortune's gold,
Not all life's luxuries may claim;
In differing ways success is told.
But all may know the peace of mind
Which comes from service brave and true;
The poorest man can still be kind,
And nobly live till life is through.
These joys abound for one and all:
The pride of fearing no man's scorn,
Of standing firm, where others fall,
Of bearing well what must be borne.
He that shall do an honest deed
Shall win an honest deed's rewards;
For these, no matter race or creed,
Life unto every man affords.
The pride of fearing no man's scorn,
Of standing firm, where others fall,
Of bearing well what must be borne.
He that shall do an honest deed
Shall win an honest deed's rewards;
For these, no matter race or creed,
Life unto every man affords.
His Example
There are little eyes upon you, and they're watching night and day;
There are little ears that quickly take in every word you say;
There are little hands all eager to do everything you do,
And a little boy that's dreaming of the day he'll be like you.
There are little ears that quickly take in every word you say;
There are little hands all eager to do everything you do,
And a little boy that's dreaming of the day he'll be like you.
You're the little fellow's idol, you're the wisest of the wise;
In his little mind about you no suspicions ever rise;
He believes in you devoutly, holds that all you say and do
He will say and do in your way when he's grown up just like you.
In his little mind about you no suspicions ever rise;
He believes in you devoutly, holds that all you say and do
He will say and do in your way when he's grown up just like you.
Oh, it sometimes makes me shudder when I hear my boy repeat
Some careless phrase I've uttered in the language of the street;
And it sets my heart to grieving when some little fault I see
And I know beyond all doubting that he picked it up from me.
Some careless phrase I've uttered in the language of the street;
And it sets my heart to grieving when some little fault I see
And I know beyond all doubting that he picked it up from me.
There's a wide-eyed little fellow who believes you're always right,
And his ears are always open and he watches day and night;
You are setting an example every day in all you do
For the little boy who's waiting to grow up to be like you.
And his ears are always open and he watches day and night;
You are setting an example every day in all you do
For the little boy who's waiting to grow up to be like you.
The Change-Worker
A feller don't start in to think of himself, an' the part that he's playin' down here,
When there's nobody lookin' to him fer support, an' he don't give a thought to next year.
His faults don't seem big an' his habits no worse than a whole lot of others he knows,
An' he don't seem to care what his neighbors may say, as heedlessly forward he goes.
He don't stop to think if it's wrong or it's right; with his speech he is careless or glib,
Till the minute the nurse lets him into the room to see what's asleep in the crib.
When there's nobody lookin' to him fer support, an' he don't give a thought to next year.
His faults don't seem big an' his habits no worse than a whole lot of others he knows,
An' he don't seem to care what his neighbors may say, as heedlessly forward he goes.
He don't stop to think if it's wrong or it's right; with his speech he is careless or glib,
Till the minute the nurse lets him into the room to see what's asleep in the crib.
An' then as he looks at that bundle o' red, an' the wee little fingers an' toes,
An' he knows it's his flesh an' his blood that is there, an' will be just like him when it grows,
It comes in a flash to a feller right then, there is more here than pleasure or pelf,
An' the sort of a man his baby will be is the sort of a man he's himself.
Then he kisses the mother an' kisses the child, an' goes out determined that he
Will endeavor to be just the sort of a man that he's wantin' his baby to be.
An' he knows it's his flesh an' his blood that is there, an' will be just like him when it grows,
It comes in a flash to a feller right then, there is more here than pleasure or pelf,
An' the sort of a man his baby will be is the sort of a man he's himself.
Then he kisses the mother an' kisses the child, an' goes out determined that he
Will endeavor to be just the sort of a man that he's wantin' his baby to be.
A feller don't think that it matters so much what he does till a baby arrives;
He sows his wild oats an' he has his gay fling an' headlong in pleasure he dives;
An' a drink more or less doesn't matter much then, for life is a comedy gay,
But the moment a crib is put in the home, an' a baby has come there to stay,
He thinks of the things he has done in the past, an' it strikes him as hard as a blow,
That the path he has trod in the past is a path that he don't want his baby to go.
He sows his wild oats an' he has his gay fling an' headlong in pleasure he dives;
An' a drink more or less doesn't matter much then, for life is a comedy gay,
But the moment a crib is put in the home, an' a baby has come there to stay,
He thinks of the things he has done in the past, an' it strikes him as hard as a blow,
That the path he has trod in the past is a path that he don't want his baby to go.
I ain't much to preach, an' I can't just express in the way that your clever men can
The thoughts that I think, but it seems to me now that when God wants to rescue a man
From himself an' the follies that harmless appear, but which, under the surface, are grim,
He summons the angel of infancy sweet, an' sends down a baby to him.
For in that way He opens his eyes to himself, and He gives him the vision to see
That his duty's to be just the sort of a man that he's wantin' his baby to be.
The thoughts that I think, but it seems to me now that when God wants to rescue a man
From himself an' the follies that harmless appear, but which, under the surface, are grim,
He summons the angel of infancy sweet, an' sends down a baby to him.
For in that way He opens his eyes to himself, and He gives him the vision to see
That his duty's to be just the sort of a man that he's wantin' his baby to be.
A Convalescin' Woman
A convalescin' woman does the strangest sort o' things,
An' it's wonderful the courage that a little new strength brings;
O, it's never safe to leave her for an hour or two alone,
Or you'll find th' doctor's good work has been quickly overthrown.
There's that wife o' mine, I reckon she's a sample of 'em all;
She's been mighty sick, I tell you, an' to-day can scarcely crawl,
But I left her jes' this mornin' while I fought potater bugs,
An' I got back home an' caught her in the back yard shakin' rugs.
An' it's wonderful the courage that a little new strength brings;
O, it's never safe to leave her for an hour or two alone,
Or you'll find th' doctor's good work has been quickly overthrown.
There's that wife o' mine, I reckon she's a sample of 'em all;
She's been mighty sick, I tell you, an' to-day can scarcely crawl,
But I left her jes' this mornin' while I fought potater bugs,
An' I got back home an' caught her in the back yard shakin' rugs.
I ain't often cross with Nellie, an' I let her have her way,
But it made me mad as thunder when I got back home to-day
An' found her doin' labor that'd tax a big man's strength;
An' I guess I lost my temper, for I scolded her at length,
'Til I seen her teardrops fallin' an' she said: "I couldn't stand
To see those rugs so dirty, so I took 'em all in hand,
An' it ain't hurt me nuther—see, I'm gettin' strong again--"
An' I said: "Doggone it! can't ye leave sich work as that fer men?"
But it made me mad as thunder when I got back home to-day
An' found her doin' labor that'd tax a big man's strength;
An' I guess I lost my temper, for I scolded her at length,
'Til I seen her teardrops fallin' an' she said: "I couldn't stand
To see those rugs so dirty, so I took 'em all in hand,
An' it ain't hurt me nuther—see, I'm gettin' strong again--"
An' I said: "Doggone it! can't ye leave sich work as that fer men?"
Once I had her in a hospittle fer weeks an' weeks an' weeks,
An' she wasted most to nothin', an' th' roses left her cheeks;
An' one night I feared I'd lose her; 'twas the turnin' point, I guess,
Coz th' next day I remember that th' doctor said: "Success!"
Well, I brought her home an' told her that for two months she must stay
A-sittin' in her rocker an' jes' watch th' kids at play.
An' th' first week she was patient, but I mind the way I swore
On th' day when I discovered 'at she'd scrubbed th' kitchen floor.
An' she wasted most to nothin', an' th' roses left her cheeks;
An' one night I feared I'd lose her; 'twas the turnin' point, I guess,
Coz th' next day I remember that th' doctor said: "Success!"
Well, I brought her home an' told her that for two months she must stay
A-sittin' in her rocker an' jes' watch th' kids at play.
An' th' first week she was patient, but I mind the way I swore
On th' day when I discovered 'at she'd scrubbed th' kitchen floor.
O, you can't keep wimmin quiet, an' they ain't a bit like men;
They're hungerin' every minute jes' to get to work again;
An' you've got to watch 'em allus, when you know they're weak an' ill,
Coz th' minute that yer back is turned they'll labor fit to kill.
Th' house ain't cleaned to suit 'em an' they seem to fret an' fume
'Less they're busy doin' somethin' with a mop or else a broom;
An' it ain't no use to scold 'em an' it ain't no use to swear,
Coz th' next time they will do it jes' the minute you ain't there.
They're hungerin' every minute jes' to get to work again;
An' you've got to watch 'em allus, when you know they're weak an' ill,
Coz th' minute that yer back is turned they'll labor fit to kill.
Th' house ain't cleaned to suit 'em an' they seem to fret an' fume
'Less they're busy doin' somethin' with a mop or else a broom;
An' it ain't no use to scold 'em an' it ain't no use to swear,
Coz th' next time they will do it jes' the minute you ain't there.
The Doubtful To-Morrow
Whenever I walk through God's Acres of Dead
I wonder how often the mute voices said:
"I will do a kind deed or will lighten a sorrow
Or rise to a sacrifice splendid—to-morrow."
I wonder how often the mute voices said:
"I will do a kind deed or will lighten a sorrow
Or rise to a sacrifice splendid—to-morrow."
I wonder how many fine thoughts unexpressed
Were lost to the world when they went to their rest;
I wonder what beautiful deeds they'd have done
If they had but witnessed to-morrow's bright sun.
Were lost to the world when they went to their rest;
I wonder what beautiful deeds they'd have done
If they had but witnessed to-morrow's bright sun.
Oh, if the dead grieve, it is not for their fate,
For death comes to all of us early or late,
But their sighs of regret and their burdens of sorrow
Are born of the joys they'd have scattered to-morrow.
For death comes to all of us early or late,
But their sighs of regret and their burdens of sorrow
Are born of the joys they'd have scattered to-morrow.
Do the friends they'd have cheered know the thoughts of the dead?
Do they treasure to-day the last words that were said?
What mem'ries would sweeten, what hearts cease to burn,
If but for a day the dead friends could return!
Do they treasure to-day the last words that were said?
What mem'ries would sweeten, what hearts cease to burn,
If but for a day the dead friends could return!
We know not the hour that our summons shall come;
We know not the time that our voice shall be dumb,
Yet even as they, to our ultimate sorrow,
We leave much that's fine for that doubtful to-morrow.
We know not the time that our voice shall be dumb,
Yet even as they, to our ultimate sorrow,
We leave much that's fine for that doubtful to-morrow.
Tommy Atkins' Way
He was battle-scarred and ugly with the marks of shot and shell,
And we knew that British Tommy had a stirring tale to tell,
So we asked him where he got it and what disarranged his face,
And he answered, blushing scarlet: "In a nawsty little place."
And we knew that British Tommy had a stirring tale to tell,
So we asked him where he got it and what disarranged his face,
And he answered, blushing scarlet: "In a nawsty little place."
There were medals on his jacket, but he wouldn't tell us why.
"A bit lucky, gettin' this one," was the sum of his reply.
He had fought a horde of Prussians with his back against the wall,
And he told us, when we questioned: "H'it was nothing arfter h'all."
"A bit lucky, gettin' this one," was the sum of his reply.
He had fought a horde of Prussians with his back against the wall,
And he told us, when we questioned: "H'it was nothing arfter h'all."
Not a word of what he'd suffered, not a word of what he'd seen,
Not a word about the fury of the hell through which he'd been.
All he said was: "When you're cornered, h'and you've got no plyce to go,
You've just got to stand up to it! You cawn't 'elp yourself, you know.
Not a word about the fury of the hell through which he'd been.
All he said was: "When you're cornered, h'and you've got no plyce to go,
You've just got to stand up to it! You cawn't 'elp yourself, you know.
"H'it was just a bit unpleasant, when the shells were droppin' thick,"
And he tapped his leather leggins with his little bamboo stick.
"What did H'I do? Nothing, really! Nothing more than just my share;
Some one h'else would gladly do it, but H'I 'appened to be there."
And he tapped his leather leggins with his little bamboo stick.
"What did H'I do? Nothing, really! Nothing more than just my share;
Some one h'else would gladly do it, but H'I 'appened to be there."
When this sturdy British Tommy quits the battlefields of earth
And St. Peter asks his spirit to recount his deeds of worth,
I fancy I can hear him, with his curious English drawl,
Saying: "Nothing, nothing really, that's worth mentioning at h'all."
And St. Peter asks his spirit to recount his deeds of worth,
I fancy I can hear him, with his curious English drawl,
Saying: "Nothing, nothing really, that's worth mentioning at h'all."
The Right Family
With time our notions allus change,
An' years make old idees seem strange—
Take Mary there—time was when she
Thought one child made a family,
An' when our eldest, Jim, was born
She used to say, both night an' morn':
"One little one to love an' keep,
To guard awake, an' watch asleep;
To bring up right an' lead him through
Life's path is all we ought to do."
An' years make old idees seem strange—
Take Mary there—time was when she
Thought one child made a family,
An' when our eldest, Jim, was born
She used to say, both night an' morn':
"One little one to love an' keep,
To guard awake, an' watch asleep;
To bring up right an' lead him through
Life's path is all we ought to do."
Two years from then our Jennie came,
But Mary didn't talk the same;
"Now that's just right," she said to me,
"We've got the proper family—
A boy an' girl, God sure is good;
It seems as though He understood
That I've been hopin' every way
To have a little girl some day;
Sometimes I've prayed the whole night through—
One ain't enough; we needed two."
But Mary didn't talk the same;
"Now that's just right," she said to me,
"We've got the proper family—
A boy an' girl, God sure is good;
It seems as though He understood
That I've been hopin' every way
To have a little girl some day;
Sometimes I've prayed the whole night through—
One ain't enough; we needed two."
Then as the months went rollin' on,
One day the stork brought little John,
An' Mary smiled an' said to me;
"The proper family is three;
Two boys, a girl to romp an' play—
Jus' work enough to fill the day.
I never had enough to do,
The months that we had only two;
Three's jus' right, pa, we don't want more."
Still time went on an' we had four.
One day the stork brought little John,
An' Mary smiled an' said to me;
"The proper family is three;
Two boys, a girl to romp an' play—
Jus' work enough to fill the day.
I never had enough to do,
The months that we had only two;
Three's jus' right, pa, we don't want more."
Still time went on an' we had four.
An' that was years ago, I vow,
An' we have six fine children now;
An' Mary's plumb forgot the day
She used to sit an' sweetly say
That one child was enough for her
To love an' give the proper care;
One, two or three or four or five—
Why, goodness gracious, sakes alive,
If God should send her ten to-night,
She'd vow her fam'ly was jus' right!
An' we have six fine children now;
An' Mary's plumb forgot the day
She used to sit an' sweetly say
That one child was enough for her
To love an' give the proper care;
One, two or three or four or five—
Why, goodness gracious, sakes alive,
If God should send her ten to-night,
She'd vow her fam'ly was jus' right!
A Lesson from Golf
He couldn't use his driver any better on the tee
Than the chap that he was licking, who just happened to be me;
I could hit them with a brassie just as straight and just as far,
But I piled up several sevens while he made a few in par;
And he trimmed me to a finish, and I know the reason why:
He could keep his temper better when he dubbed a shot than I.
Than the chap that he was licking, who just happened to be me;
I could hit them with a brassie just as straight and just as far,
But I piled up several sevens while he made a few in par;
And he trimmed me to a finish, and I know the reason why:
He could keep his temper better when he dubbed a shot than I.
His mashie stroke is choppy, without any follow through;
I doubt if he will ever, on a short hole, cop a two,
But his putts are straight and deadly, and he doesn't even frown
When he's tried to hole a long one and just fails to get it down.
On the fourteenth green I faded; there he put me on the shelf,
And it's not to his discredit when I say I licked myself.
I doubt if he will ever, on a short hole, cop a two,
But his putts are straight and deadly, and he doesn't even frown
When he's tried to hole a long one and just fails to get it down.
On the fourteenth green I faded; there he put me on the shelf,
And it's not to his discredit when I say I licked myself.
He never whined or whimpered when a shot of his went wrong;
Never kicked about his troubles, but just plodded right along.
When he flubbed an easy iron, though I knew that he was vexed,
He merely shrugged his shoulders, and then coolly played the next,
While I flew into a frenzy over every dub I made
And was loud in my complaining at the dismal game I played.
Never kicked about his troubles, but just plodded right along.
When he flubbed an easy iron, though I knew that he was vexed,
He merely shrugged his shoulders, and then coolly played the next,
While I flew into a frenzy over every dub I made
And was loud in my complaining at the dismal game I played.
Golf is like the game of living; it will show up what you are;
If you take your troubles badly you will never play to par.
You may be a fine performer when your skies are bright and blue
But disaster is the acid that shall prove the worth of you;
So just meet your disappointments with a cheery sort of grin,
For the man who keeps his temper is the man that's sure to win.
If you take your troubles badly you will never play to par.
You may be a fine performer when your skies are bright and blue
But disaster is the acid that shall prove the worth of you;
So just meet your disappointments with a cheery sort of grin,
For the man who keeps his temper is the man that's sure to win.
Father's Chore
My Pa can hit his thumbnail with a hammer and keep still;
He can cut himself while shaving an' not swear;
If a ladder slips beneath him an' he gets a nasty spill
He can smile as though he really didn't care.
But the pan beneath the ice-box—when he goes to empty that—
Then a sound-proof room the children have to hunt;
For we have a sad few minutes in our very pleasant flat
When the water in it splashes down his front.
He can cut himself while shaving an' not swear;
If a ladder slips beneath him an' he gets a nasty spill
He can smile as though he really didn't care.
But the pan beneath the ice-box—when he goes to empty that—
Then a sound-proof room the children have to hunt;
For we have a sad few minutes in our very pleasant flat
When the water in it splashes down his front.
My Pa believes his temper should be all the time controlled;
He doesn't rave at every little thing;
When his collar-button underneath the chiffonier has rolled
A snatch of merry ragtime he will sing.
But the pan beneath the ice box—when to empty that he goes—
As he stoops to drag it out we hear a grunt;
From the kitchen comes a rumble, an' then everybody knows
That he splashed the water in it down his front.
He doesn't rave at every little thing;
When his collar-button underneath the chiffonier has rolled
A snatch of merry ragtime he will sing.
But the pan beneath the ice box—when to empty that he goes—
As he stoops to drag it out we hear a grunt;
From the kitchen comes a rumble, an' then everybody knows
That he splashed the water in it down his front.
Now the distance from the ice box to the sink's not very far—
I'm sure it isn't over twenty feet—
But though very short the journey, it is long enough for Pa
As he travels it disaster grim to meet.
And it's seldom that he makes it without accident, although
In the summer time it is his nightly stunt;
And he says a lot of language that no gentleman should know
When the water in it splashes down his front.
I'm sure it isn't over twenty feet—
But though very short the journey, it is long enough for Pa
As he travels it disaster grim to meet.
And it's seldom that he makes it without accident, although
In the summer time it is his nightly stunt;
And he says a lot of language that no gentleman should know
When the water in it splashes down his front.
The March o' Man
Down to work o' mornings, an' back to home at nights,
Down to hours o' labor, an' home to sweet delights;
Down to care an' trouble, an' home to love an' rest,
With every day a good one, an' every evening blest.
Down to hours o' labor, an' home to sweet delights;
Down to care an' trouble, an' home to love an' rest,
With every day a good one, an' every evening blest.
Down to dreary dollars, an' back to home to play,
From love to work an' back to love, so slips the day away.
From babies back to business an' back to babes again,
From parting kiss to welcome kiss, this marks the march o' men.
From love to work an' back to love, so slips the day away.
From babies back to business an' back to babes again,
From parting kiss to welcome kiss, this marks the march o' men.
Some care between our laughter, a few hours filled with strife,
A time to stand on duty, then home to babes and wife;
The bugle sounds o' mornings to call us to the fray,
But sweet an' low 'tis love that calls us home at close o' day.
A time to stand on duty, then home to babes and wife;
The bugle sounds o' mornings to call us to the fray,
But sweet an' low 'tis love that calls us home at close o' day.