Chapter 5
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.
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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."
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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!
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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.
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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'.
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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!"
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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?
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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."
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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."
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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.