I Ain't Dead Yet

Time was I used to worry and I'd sit around an' sigh, And think with every ache I got that I was goin' to die, I'd see disaster comin' from a dozen different ways An' prophesy calamity an' dark and dreary days. But I've come to this conclusion, that it's foolishness to fret; I've had my share o' sickness, but I Ain't Dead Yet!

Wet springs have come to grieve me an' I've grumbled at the showers, But I can't recall a June-time that forgot to bring the flowers. I've had my business troubles, and looked failure in the face, But the crashes I expected seemed to pass right by the place. So I'm takin' life more calmly, pleased with everything I get, An' not over-hurt by losses, 'cause I Ain't Dead Yet!

I've feared a thousand failures an' a thousand deaths I've died, I've had this world in ruins by the gloom I've prophesied. But the sun shines out this mornin' an' the skies above are blue, An' with all my griefs an' trouble, I have somehow lived 'em through. There may be cares before me, much like those that I have met; Death will come some day an' take me, but I Ain't Dead Yet!



The Cure for Weariness

Seemed like I couldn't stand it any more, The factory whistles blowin' day by day, An' men an' children hurryin' by the door, An' street cars clangin' on their busy way. The faces of the people seemed to be Washed pale by tears o' grief an' strife an' care, Till everywhere I turned to I could see The same old gloomy pictures of despair.

The windows of the shops all looked the same, Decked out with stuff their owners wished to sell; When visitors across our doorway came I could recite the tales they'd have to tell. All things had lost their old-time power to please; Dog-tired I was an' irritable, too, An' so I traded chimney tops for trees, An' shingled roof for open skies of blue.

I dropped my tools an' took my rod an' line An' tackle box an' left the busy town; I found a favorite restin' spot of mine Where no one seeks for fortune or renown. I whistled to the birds that flew about, An' built a lot of castles in my dreams; I washed away the stains of care an' doubt An' thanked the Lord for woods an' running streams.

I've cooked my meals before an open fire, I've had the joy of green smoke in my face, I've followed for a time my heart's desire An' now the path of duty I retrace. I've had my little fishin' trip, an' go Once more contented to the haunts of men; I'm ready now to hear the whistles blow An' see the roofs an' chimney tops again.



To an Old Friend

When we have lived our little lives and wandered all their byways through, When we've seen all that we shall see and finished all that we must do, When we shall take one backward look off yonder where our journey ends, I pray that you shall be as glad as I shall be that we were friends.

Time was we started out to find the treasures and the joys of life; We sought them in the land of gold through many days of bitter strife. When we were young we yearned for fame; in search of joy we went afar, Only to learn how very cold and distant all the strangers are.

When we have met all we shall meet and know what destiny has planned, I shall rejoice in that last hour that I have known your friendly hand; I shall go singing down the way off yonder as my sun descends As one who's had a happy life, made glorious by the best of friends.



Satisfied With Life

I have known the green trees and the skies overhead And the blossoms of spring and the fragrance they shed; I have known the blue sea, and the mountains afar And the song of the pines and the light of a star; And should I pass now, I could say with a smile That my pilgrimage here has been well worth my while.

I have known the warm handclasp of friends who were true; I have shared in their pleasures and wept with them, too; I have heard the gay laughter which sweeps away care And none of the comrades I've made could I spare; And should this be all, I could say ere I go, That life is worth while just such friendships to know.

I have builded a home where we've loved and been glad; I have known the rich joy of a girl and a lad; I have had their caresses through storm and through shine, And watched them grow lovely, those youngsters of mine; And I think as I hold them at night on my knee, That life has been generous surely to me.



Autumn Evenings

Apples on the table an' the grate-fire blazin' high, Oh, I'm sure the whole world hasn't any happier man than I; The Mother sittin' mendin' little stockin's, toe an' knee, An' tellin' all that's happened through the busy day to me: Oh, I don't know how to say it, but these cosy autumn nights Seem to glow with true contentment an' a thousand real delights.

The dog sprawled out before me knows that huntin' days are here, 'Cause he dreams and seems to whimper that a flock o' quail are near; An' the children playin' checkers till it's time to go to bed, Callin' me to settle questions whether black is beatin' red; Oh, these nights are filled with gladness, an' I puff my pipe an' smile, An' tell myself the struggle an' the work are both worth while.

The flames are full o' pictures that keep dancin' to an' fro, Bringin' back the scenes o' gladness o' the happy long ago, An' the whole wide world is silent an' I tell myself just this— That within these walls I cherish, there is all my world there is! Can I keep the love abiding in these hearts so close to me, An' the laughter of these evenings, I shall gain life's victory.



Memorial Day

These did not pass in selfishness; they died for all mankind; They died to build a better world for all who stay behind; And we who hold their memory dear, and bring them flowers to-day, Should consecrate ourselves once more to live and die as they.

These were defenders of the faith and guardians of the truth; That you and I might live and love, they gladly gave their youth; And we who set this day apart to honor them who sleep Should pledge ourselves to hold the faith they gave their lives to keep.

If tears are all we shed for them, then they have died in vain; If flowers are all we bring them now, forgotten they remain; If by their courage we ourselves to courage are not led, Then needlessly these graves have closed above our heroes dead.

To symbolize our love with flowers is not enough to do; We must be brave as they were brave, and true as they were true. They died to build a better world, and we who mourn to-day Should consecrate ourselves once more to live and die as they.



The Happy Man

If you would know a happy man, Go find the fellow who Has had a bout with trouble grim And just come smiling through.

The load is off his shoulders now, Where yesterday he frowned And saw no joy in life, to-day He laughs his way around.

He's done the very thing he thought That he could never do; His sun is shining high to-day And all his skies are blue.

He's stronger than he was before; Should trouble come anew He'll know how much his strength can bear And how much he can do.

To-day he has the right to smile, And he may gaily sing, For he has conquered where he feared The pain of failure's sting.

Comparison has taught him, too, The sweetest hours are those Which follow on the heels of care, With laughter and repose.

If you would meet a happy man, Go find the fellow who Has had a bout with trouble grim And just come smiling through.



The Song of the Builder

I sink my piers to the solid rock, And I send my steel to the sky, And I pile up the granite, block by block Full twenty stories high; Nor wind nor weather shall wash away The thing that I've builded, day by day.

Here's something of mine that shall ever stand Till another shall tear it down; Here is the work of my brain and hand, Towering above the town. And the idlers gay in their smug content, Have nothing to leave for a monument.

Here from my girders I look below At the throngs which travel by, For little that's real will they leave to show When it comes their time to die. But I, when my time of life is through, Will leave this building for men to view.

Oh, the work is hard and the days are long, But hammers are tools for men, And granite endures and steel is strong, Outliving both brush and pen. And ages after my voice is stilled, Men shall know I lived by the things I build.



Old Years and New

Old years and new years, all blended into one, The best of what there is to be, the best of what is gone— Let's bury all the failures in the dim and dusty past And keep the smiles of friendship and laughter to the last.

Old years and new years, life's in the making still; We haven't come to glory yet, but there's the hope we will; The dead old year was twelve months long, but now from it we're free, And what's one year of good or bad to all the years to be?

Old years and new years, we need them one and all To reach the dome of character and build its sheltering wall; Past failures tried the souls of us, but if their tests we stood. The sum of what we are to be may yet be counted good.

Old years and new years, with all their pain and strife, Are but the bricks and steel and stone with which we fashion life; So put the sin and shame away, and keep the fine and true, And on the glory of the past let's build the better new.



When We're All Alike

I've trudged life's highway up and down; I've watched the lines of men march by; I've seen them in the busy town, And seen them under country sky; I've talked with toilers in the ranks, And walked with men whose hands were white, And learned, when closed were stores and banks, We're nearly all alike at night.

Just find the wise professor when He isn't lost in ancient lore, And he, like many other men, Romps with his children on the floor. He puts his gravity aside To share in innocent delight. Stripped of position's pomp and pride, We're nearly all the same at night.

Serving a common cause, we go Unto our separate tasks by day, And rich or poor or great or low, Regardless of their place or pay, Cherish the common dreams of men— A home where love and peace unite. We serve the self-same end and plan, We're all alike when it is night.

Each for his loved ones wants to do His utmost. Brothers are we all, When we have run the work-day through, In romping with our children small; Rich men and poor delight in play When care and caste have taken flight. At home, in all we think and say, We're very much the same at night.



The Things You Can't Forget

They ain't much, seen from day to day— The big elm tree across the way, The church spire, an' the meetin' place Lit up by many a friendly face. You pass 'em by a dozen times An' never think o' them in rhymes, Or fit for poet's singin'. Yet They're all the things you can't forget; An' they're the things you'll miss some day If ever you should go away.

The people here ain't much to see— Jes' common folks like you an' me, Doin' the ordinary tasks Which life of everybody asks: Old Dr. Green, still farin' 'round To where his patients can be found, An' Parson Hill, serene o' face, Carryin' God's message every place, An' Jim, who keeps the grocery store— Yet they are folks you'd hunger for.

They seem so plain when close to view— Bill Barker, an' his brother too, The Jacksons, men of higher rank Because they chance to run the bank, Yet friends to every one round here, Quiet an' kindly an' sincere, Not much to sing about or praise, Livin' their lives in modest ways— Yet in your memory they'd stay If ever you should go away.

These are things an' these the men Some day you'll long to see again. Now it's so near you scarcely see The beauty o' that big elm tree, But some day later on you will An' wonder if it's standin' still, An' if the birds return to sing An' make their nests there every spring. Mebbe you scorn them now, but they Will bring you back again some day.



The Making of Friends

If nobody smiled and nobody cheered and nobody helped us along, If each every minute looked after himself and good things all went to the strong, If nobody cared just a little for you, and nobody thought about me, And we stood all alone to the battle of life, what a dreary old world it would be!

If there were no such a thing as a flag in the sky as a symbol of comradeship here, If we lived as the animals live in the woods, with nothing held sacred or dear, And selfishness ruled us from birth to the end, and never a neighbor had we, And never we gave to another in need, what a dreary old world it would be!

Oh, if we were rich as the richest on earth and strong as the strongest that lives, Yet never we knew the delight and the charm of the smile which the other man gives, If kindness were never a part of ourselves, though we owned all the land we could see, And friendship meant nothing at all to us here, what a dreary old world it would be!

Life is sweet just because of the friends we have made and the things which in common we share; We want to live on not because of ourselves, but because of the people who care; It's giving and doing for somebody else—on that all life's splendor depends, And the joy of this world, when you've summed it all up, is found in the making of friends.



The Deeds of Anger

I used to lose my temper an' git mad an' tear around An' raise my voice so wimmin folks would tremble at the sound; I'd do things I was ashamed of when the fit of rage had passed, An' wish I hadn't done 'em, an' regret 'em to the last; But I've learned from sad experience how useless is regret, For the mean things done in anger are the things you can't forget.

'Tain't no use to kiss the youngster once your hand has made him cry; You'll recall the time you struck him till the very day you die; He'll forget it an' forgive you an' to-morrow seem the same, But you'll keep the hateful picture of your sorrow an' your shame, An' it's bound to rise to taunt you, though you long have squared the debt, For the things you've done in meanness are the things you can't forget.

Lord, I sometimes sit an' shudder when some scene comes back to me, Which shows me big an' brutal in some act o' tyranny, When some triflin' thing upset me an' I let my temper fly, An' was sorry for it after—but it's vain to sit an' sigh. So I'd be a whole sight happier now my sun begins to set, If it wasn't for the meanness which I've done an' can't forget.

Now I think I've learned my lesson an' I'm treadin' gentler ways, An' I try to build my mornings into happy yesterdays; I don't let my temper spoil 'em in the way I used to do An' let some splash of anger smear the record when it's through; I want my memories pleasant, free from shame or vain regret, Without any deeds of anger which I never can forget.



I'd Rather Be a Failure

I'd rather be a failure than the man who's never tried; I'd rather seek the mountain-top than always stand aside. Oh, let me hold some lofty dream and make my desperate fight, And though I fail I still shall know I tried to serve the right.

The idlers line the ways of life and they are quick to sneer; They note the failing strength of man and greet it with a jeer; But there is something deep inside which scoffers fail to view— They never see the glorious deed the failure tried to do.

Some men there are who never leave the city's well-worn streets; They never know the dangers grim the bold adventurer meets; They never seek a better way nor serve a nobler plan; They never risk with failure to advance the cause of man.

Oh, better 'tis to fail and fall in sorrow and despair, Than stand where all is safe and sure and never face a care; Yes, stamp me with the failure's brand and let men sneer at me, For though I've failed the Lord shall know the man I tried to be.



Couldn't Live Without You

You're just a little fellow with a lot of funny ways, Just three-foot-six of mischief set with eyes that fairly blaze; You're always up to something with those busy hands o' yours, And you leave a trail o' ruin on the walls an' on the doors, An' I wonder, as I watch you, an' your curious tricks I see, Whatever is the reason that you mean so much to me.

You're just a chubby rascal with a grin upon your face, Just seven years o' gladness, an' a hard and trying case; You think the world's your playground, an' in all you say an' do You fancy everybody ought to bow an' scrape to you; Dull care's a thing you laugh at just as though 'twill never be, So I wonder, little fellow, why you mean so much to me.

Now your face is smeared with candy or perhaps it's only dirt, An' it's really most alarming how you tear your little shirt; But I have to smile upon you, an' with all your wilful ways, I'm certain that I need you 'round about me all my days; Yes, I've got to have you with me, for somehow it's come to be That I couldn't live without you, for you're all the world to me.



Just a Boy

Get to understand the lad— He's not eager to be bad; If the right he always knew, He would be as old as you. Were he now exceeding wise, He'd be just about your size; When he does things that annoy, Don't forget, he's just a boy.

Could he know and understand, He would need no guiding hand; But he's young and hasn't learned How life's corners must be turned; Doesn't know from day to day There is more in life than play, More to face than selfish joy— Don't forget he's just a boy.

Being just a boy, he'll do Much you will not want him to; He'll be careless of his ways, Have his disobedient days, Wilful, wild and headstrong, too, Just as, when a boy, were you; Things of value he'll destroy, But, reflect, he's just a boy.

Just a boy who needs a friend, Patient, kindly to the end, Needs a father who will show Him the things he wants to know; Take him with you when you walk, Listen when he wants to talk, His companionship enjoy, Don't forget, he's just a boy!



What Home's Intended For

When the young folks gather 'round in the good old-fashioned way, Singin' all the latest songs gathered from the newest play, Or they start the phonograph an' shove the chairs back to the wall An' hold a little party dance, I'm happiest of all. Then I sorter settle back, plumb contented to the core, An' I tell myself most proudly, that's what home's intended for.

When the laughter's gaily ringin' an' the room is filled with song, I like, to sit an' watch 'em, all that glad an' merry throng, For the ragtime they are playin' on the old piano there Beats any high-toned music where the bright lights shine an' glare, An' the racket they are makin' stirs my pulses more and more, So I whisper in my gladness: that's what home's intended for.

Then I smile an' say to Mother, let 'em move the chairs about, Let 'em frolic in the parlor, let 'em shove the tables out, Jus' so long as they are near us, jus' so long as they will stay By the fireplace we are keepin', harm will never come their way, An' you'll never hear me grumble at the bills that keep me poor, It's the finest part o' livin'—that's what home's intended for.



Safe at Home

Let the old fire blaze An' the youngsters shout An' the dog on the rug Sprawl full length out, An' Mother an' I Sort o' settle down— An' it's little we care For the noisy town.

Oh, it's little we care That the wind may blow, An' the streets grow white With the drifted snow; We'll face the storm With the break o' day, But to-night we'll dream An' we'll sing an' play.

We'll sit by the fire Where it's snug an' warm, An' pay no heed To the winter storm; With a sheltering roof Let the blizzard roar; We are safe at home— Can a king say more?

That's all that counts When the day is done: The smiles of love And the youngsters' fun, The cares put down With the evening gloam— Here's the joy of all: To be safe at home.



When Friends Drop In

It may be I'm old-fashioned, but the times I like the best Are not the splendid parties with the women gaily dressed, And the music tuned for dancing and the laughter of the throng, With a paid comedian's antics or a hired musician's song, But the quiet times of friendship, with the chuckles and the grin, And the circle at the fireside when a few good friends drop in.

There's something 'round the fireplace that no club can imitate, And no throng can ever equal just a few folks near the grate; Though I sometimes like an opera, there's no music quite so sweet As the singing of the neighbors that you're always glad to meet; Oh, I know when they come calling that the fun will soon begin, And I'm happiest those evenings when a few good friends drop in.

There's no pomp of preparation, there's no style or sham or fuss; We are glad to welcome callers who are glad to be with us, And we sit around and visit or we start a merry game, And we show them by our manner that we're mighty pleased they came, For there's something real about it, and the yarns we love to spin, And the time flies, Oh, so swiftly when a few good friends drop in.

Let me live my life among them, cheerful, kindly folks and true, And I'll ask no greater glory till my time of life is through; Let me share the love and favor of the few who know me best, And I'll spend my time contented till my sun sinks in the west; I will take what fortune sends me and the little I may win, And be happy on those evenings when a few good friends drop in.



The Book of Memory

Turn me loose and let me be Young once more and fancy free; Let me wander where I will, Down the lane and up the hill, Trudging barefoot in the dust In an age that knows no "must," And no voice insistently Speaks of duty unto me; Let me tread the happy ways Of those by-gone yesterdays.

Fame had never whispered then, Making slaves of eager men; Greed had never called me down To the gray walls of the town, Offering frankincense and myrrh If I'd be its prisoner; I was free to come and go Where the cherry blossoms blow, Free to wander where I would, Finding life supremely good.

But I turned, as all must do, From the happiness I knew To the land of care and strife, Seeking for a fuller life; Heard the lure of fame and sought That renown so dearly bought; Listened to the voice of greed Saying: "These the things you need," Now the gray town holds me fast, Prisoner to the very last.

Age has stamped me as its own; Youth to younger hearts has flown; Still the cherry blossoms blow In the land loused to know; Still the fragrant clover spills Perfume over dales and hills, But I'm not allowed to stray Where the young are free to play; All the years will grant to me Is the book of memory.



Pretending Not to See

Sometimes at the table, when He gets misbehavin', then Mother calls across to me: "Look at him, now! Don't you see What he's doin', sprawlin.' there! Make him sit up in his chair. Don't you see the messy way That he's eating?" An' I say: "No. He seems all right just now. What's he doing anyhow?"

Mother placed him there by me, An' she thinks I ought to see Every time he breaks the laws An' correct him, just because There will come a time some day When he mustn't act that way. But I can't be all along Scoldin' him for doin' wrong. So if something goes astray, I jus' look the other way.

Mother tells me now an' then I'm the easiest o' men, An' in dealin' with the lad I will never see the bad That he does, an' I suppose Mother's right for Mother knows; But I'd hate to feel that I'm Here to scold him all the time. Little faults might spoil the day, So I look the other way.

Look the other way an' try Not to let him catch my eye, Knowin' all the time that he Doesn't mean so bad to be; Knowin', too, that now an' then I am not the best o' men; Hopin', too, the times I fall That the Father of us all, Lovin', watchin' over me, Will pretend He doesn't see.



The Joys of Home

Curling smoke from a chimney low, And only a few more steps to go, Faces pressed at a window pane Watching for someone to come again, And I am the someone they wait to see— These are the joys life gives to me.

What has my neighbor excelling this: A good wife's love and a baby's kiss? What if his chimneys tower higher? Peace is found at our humble fire. What if his silver and gold are more? Rest is ours when the day is o'er.

Strive for fortune and slave for fame, You find that joy always stays the same: Rich man and poor man dream and pray For a home where laughter shall ever stay, And the wheels go round and men spend their might For the few glad hours they may claim at night.

Home, where the kettle shall gaily sing, Is all that matters with serf or king; Gold and silver and laurelled fame Are only sweet when the hearth's aflame With a cheerful fire, and the loved ones there Are unafraid of the wolves of care.

So let me come home at night to rest With those who know I have done my best; Let the wife rejoice and my children smile, And I'll know by their love that I am worthwhile, For this is conquest and world success— A home where abideth happiness.



We're Dreamers All

Oh, man must dream of gladness wherever his pathways lead, And a hint of something better is written in every creed; And nobody wakes at morning but hopes ere the day is o'er To have come to a richer pleasure than ever he's known before.

For man is a dreamer ever. He glimpses the hills afar And plans for the joys off yonder where all his to-morrows are; When trials and cares beset him, in the distance he still can see A hint of a future splendid and the glory that is to be.

There's never a man among us but cherishes dreams of rest; We toil for that something better than that which is now our best. Oh, what if the cup be bitter and what if we're racked with pain? There are wonderful days to follow when never we'll grieve again.

Back of the sound of the hammer, and back of the hissing steam, And back of the hand at the throttle is ever a lofty dream; All of us, great or humble, look over the present need To the dawn of the glad to-morrow which is promised in every creed.



What Is Success?

Success is being friendly when another needs a friend; It's in the cheery words you speak, and in the coins you lend; Success is not alone in skill and deeds of daring great; It's in the roses that you plant beside your garden gate.

Success is in the way you walk the paths of life each day; It's in the little things you do and in the things you say; Success is in the glad hello you give your fellow man; It's in the laughter of your home and all the joys you plan.

Success is not in getting rich or rising high to fame; It's not alone in winning goals which all men hope to claim; It's in the man you are each day, through happiness or care; It's in the cheery words you speak and in the smile you wear.

Success is being big of heart and clean and broad of mind; It's being faithful to your friends, and to the stranger, kind; It's in the children whom you love, and all they learn from you— Success depends on character and everything you do.



The Three Me's

I'd like to steal a day and be All alone with little me, Little me that used to run Everywhere in search of fun; Little me of long ago Who was glad and didn't know Life is freighted down with care For the backs of men to bear; Little me who thought a smile Ought to linger all the while— On his Mother's pretty face And a tear should never trace Lines of sorrow, hurt or care On those cheeks so wondrous fair.

I should like once more to be All alone with youthful me; Youthful me who saw the hills Where the sun its splendor spills And was certain that in time To the topmost height he'd climb; Youthful me, serene of soul, Who beheld a shining goal. And imagined he could gain Glory without grief or pain, Confident and quick with life, Madly eager for the strife, Knowing not that bitter care Waited for his coming there.

I should like to sit alone With the me now older grown, Like to lead the little me And the youth that used to be Once again along the ways Of our glorious yesterdays. We could chuckle soft and low At the things we didn't know, And could laugh to think how bold We had been in days of old, And how blind we were to care With its heartache and despair, We could smile away the tears And the pain of later years.



Brothers All

Under the toiler's grimy shirt, Under the sweat and the grease and dirt, Under the rough outside you view, Is a man who thinks and feels as you.

Go talk with him, Go walk with him, Sit down with him by a running stream, Away from the things that are hissing steam, Away from his bench, His hammer and wrench, And the grind of need And the sordid deed, And this you'll find As he bares his mind: In the things which count when this life is through He's as tender and big and as good as you.

Be fair with him, And share with him An hour of time in a restful place, Brother to brother and face to face, And he'll whisper low Of the long ago, Of a loved one dead And the tears he shed; And you'll come to see That in suffering he, With you, is hurt by the self-same rod And turns for help to the self-same God.

You hope as he, You dream of splendors, and so does he; His children must be as you'd have yours be; He shares your love For the Flag above, He laughs and sings For the self-same things; When he's understood He is mostly good, Thoughtful of others and kind and true, Brave, devoted—and much like you.

Under the toiler's grimy shirt, Under the sweat and the grease and dirt, Under the rough outside you view, Is a man who thinks and feels as you.



When We Understand the Plan

I reckon when the world we leave And cease to smile and cease to grieve, When each of us shall quit the strife And drop the working tools of life, Somewhere, somehow, we'll come to find Just what our Maker had in mind.

Perhaps through clearer eyes than these We'll read life's hidden mysteries, And learn the reason for our tears— Why sometimes came unhappy years, And why our dearest joys were brief And bound so closely unto grief.

There is so much beyond our scope, As blindly on through life we grope, So much we cannot understand, However wisely we have planned, That all who walk this earth about Are constantly beset by doubt.

No one of us can truly say Why loved ones must be called away, Why hearts are hurt, or e'en explain Why some must suffer years of pain; Yet some day all of us shall know The reason why these things are so.

I reckon in the years to come, When these poor lips of clay are dumb, And these poor hands have ceased to toil, Somewhere upon a fairer soil God shall to all of us make clear The purpose of our trials here.



The Spoiler

With a twinkle in his eye He'd come gayly walkin' by An' he'd whistle to the children An' he'd beckon 'em to come, Then he'd chuckle low an' say, "Come along, I'm on my way, An' it's I that need your company To buy a little gum."

When his merry call they'd hear, All the children, far an' near, Would come flyin' from the gardens Like the chickens after wheat; When we'd shake our heads an' say: "No, you mustn't go to-day!" He'd beg to let him have 'em In a pack about his feet.

Oh, he spoiled 'em, one an' all; There was not a youngster small But was over-fed on candy An' was stuffed with lollypops, An' I think his greatest joy Was to get some girl or boy An' bring 'em to their parents All besmeared by chocolate drops.

Now the children's hearts are sore For he comes to them no more, And no more to them he whistles And no more for them he stops; But in Paradise, I think, With his chuckle and his wink, He is leading little angels To the heavenly candy shops.



A Vanished Joy

When I was but a little lad of six and seven and eight, One joy I knew that has been lost in customs up-to-date, Then Saturday was baking day and Mother used to make, The while I stood about and watched, the Sunday pies and cake; And I was there to have fulfilled a small boy's fondest wish, The glorious privilege of youth—to scrape the frosting dish!

On Saturdays I never left to wander far away— I hovered near the kitchen door on Mother's baking day; The fragrant smell of cooking seemed to hold me in its grip, And naught cared I for other sports while there were sweets to sip; I little cared that all my chums had sought the brook to fish; I chose to wait that moment glad when I could scrape the dish.

Full many a slice of apple I have lifted from a pie Before the upper crust went on, escaping Mother's eye; Full many a time my fingers small in artfulness have strayed Into some sweet temptation rare which Mother's hands had made; But eager-eyed and watery-mouthed, I craved the greater boon, When Mother let me clean the dish and lick the frosting spoon.

The baking days of old are gone, our children cannot know The glorious joys that childhood owned and loved so long ago. New customs change the lives of all and in their heartless way They've robbed us of the glad event once known as baking day. The stores provide our every need, yet many a time I wish Our kids could know that bygone thrill and scrape the frosting dish.



"Carry On"

They spoke it bravely, grimly, in their darkest hours of doubt; They spoke it when their hope was low and when their strength gave out; We heard it from the dying in those troubled days now gone, And they breathed it as their slogan for the living: "Carry on!"

Now the days of strife are over, and the skies are fair again, But those two brave words of courage on our lips should still remain; In the trials which beset us and the cares we look upon, To our dead we should be faithful—we have still to "carry on!"

"Carry on!" through storm and danger, "carry on" through dark despair, "Carry on" through hurt and failure, "carry on" through grief and care; 'Twas the slogan they bequeathed us as they fell beside the way, And for them and for our children, let us "carry on!" to-day.



Life's Single Standard

There are a thousand ways to cheat and a thousand ways to sin; There are ways uncounted to lose the game, but there's only one way to win; And whether you live by the sweat of your brow or in luxury's garb you're dressed, You shall stand at last, when your race is run, to be judged by the single test.

Some men lie by the things they make; some lie in the deeds they do; And some play false for a woman's love, and some for a cheer or two; Some rise to fame by the force of skill, grow great by the might of power, Then wreck the temple they toiled to build, in a single, shameful hour.

The follies outnumber the virtues good; sin lures in a thousand ways; But slow is the growth of man's character and patience must mark his days; For only those victories shall count, when the work of life is done, Which bear the stamp of an honest man, and by courage and faith were won.

There are a thousand ways to fail, but only one way to win! Sham cannot cover the wrong you do nor wash out a single sin, And never shall victory come to you, whatever of skill you do, Save you've done your best in the work of life and unto your best were true.



Learn to Smile

The good Lord understood us when He taught us how to smile; He knew we couldn't stand it to be solemn all the while; He knew He'd have to shape us so that when our hearts were gay, We could let our neighbors know it in a quick and easy way.

So He touched the lips of Adam and He touched the lips of Eve, And He said: "Let these be solemn when your sorrows make you grieve, But when all is well in Eden and your life seems worth the while, Let your faces wear the glory and the sunshine of a smile.

"Teach the symbol to your children, pass it down through all the years. Though they know their share of sadness and shall weep their share of tears, Through the ages men and women shall prove their faith in Me By the smile upon their faces when their hearts are trouble-free."

The good Lord understood us when He sent us down to earth, He knew our need for laughter and for happy signs of mirth; He knew we couldn't stand it to be solemn all the while, But must share our joy with others—so He taught us how to smile.



The True Man

This is the sort of a man was he: True when it hurt him a lot to be; Tight in a corner an' knowin' a lie Would have helped him out, but he wouldn't buy His freedom there in so cheap a way— He told the truth though he had to pay.

Honest! Not in the easy sense, When he needn't worry about expense— We'll all play square when it doesn't count And the sum at stake's not a large amount— But he was square when the times were bad, An' keepin' his word took all he had.

Honor is something we all profess, But most of us cheat—some more, some less— An' the real test isn't the way we do When there isn't a pinch in either shoe; It's whether we're true to our best or not When the right thing's certain to hurt a lot.

That is the sort of a man was he: Straight when it hurt him a lot to be; Times when a lie would have paid him well, No matter the cost, the truth he'd tell; An' he'd rather go down to a drab defeat Than save himself if he had to cheat.



Cleaning the Furnace

Last night Pa said to Ma: "My dear, it's gettin' on to fall, It's time I did a little job I do not like at all. I wisht 'at I was rich enough to hire a man to do The dirty work around this house an' clean up when he's through, But since I'm not, I'm truly glad that I am strong an' stout, An' ain't ashamed to go myself an' clean the furnace out."

Then after supper Pa put on his overalls an' said He'd work down in the cellar till 'twas time to go to bed. He started in to rattle an' to bang an' poke an' stir, An' the dust began a-climbin' up through every register Till Ma said: "Goodness gracious; go an' shut those things up tight Or we'll all be suffocated an' the house will be a sight."

Then he carted out the ashes in a basket an' a pail, An' from cellar door to alley he just left an ashy trail. Then he pulled apart the chimney, an' 'twas full of something black, An' he skinned most all his knuckles when he tried to put it back. We could hear him talkin' awful, an' Ma looked at us an' said: "I think it would be better if you children went to bed."

When he came up from the cellar there were ashes in his hair, There were ashes in his eyebrows—but he didn't seem to care— There were ashes in his mustache, there were ashes in his eyes, An' we never would have known him if he'd took us by surprise. "Well, I got it clean," he sputtered, and Ma said: "I guess that's true; Once the dirt was in the furnace, but now most of it's on you."



Trouble Brings Friends

It's seldom trouble comes alone. I've noticed this: When things go wrong An' trouble comes a-visitin', it always brings a friend along; Sometimes it's one you've known before, and then perhaps it's someone new Who stretches out a helping hand an' stops to see what he can do.

If never trials came to us, if grief an' sorrow passed us by, If every day the sun came out an' clouds were never in the sky, We'd still have neighbors, I suppose, each one pursuin' selfish ends, But only neighbors they would be—we'd never know them as our friends.

Out of the troubles I have had have come my richest friendships here, Kind hands have helped to bear my care, kind words have fallen on my ear; An' so I say when trouble comes I know before the storm shall end That I shall find my bit of care has also brought to me a friend.

THE END