Chapter 5
Can't be happy till he knows: "Where's Mamma?" So he begs us to disclose "Where's Mamma?" And it often seems to me, As I hear his anxious plea, That no sweeter phrase can be: "Where's Mamma?"
Like to hear it day by day; "Where's Mamma?" Loveliest phrase that lips can say: "Where's Mamma?" And I pray as time shall flow, And the long years come and go, That he'll always want to know "Where's Mamma?"
Summer Dreams
Drowsy old summer, with nothing to do, I'd like to be drowsin' an' dreamin' with you; I'd like to stretch out in the shade of a tree, An' fancy the white clouds were ships out at sea, Or castles with turrets and treasures and things, And peopled with princesses, fairies and kings, An' just drench my soul with the glorious joy Which was mine to possess as a barefooted boy.
Drowsy old summer, your skies are as blue As the skies which a dreamy-eyed youngster once knew, An' I fancy to-day all the pictures are there-- The ships an' the pirates an' princesses fair, The red scenes of battle, the gay, cheering throngs Which greeted the hero who righted all wrongs; But somehow or other, these old eyes of mine Can't see what they did as a youngster of nine.
Drowsy old summer, I'd like to forget Some things which I've learned an' some hurts I have met; I'd like the old visions of splendor an' joy Which were mine to possess as a barefooted boy When I dreamed of the glorious deeds I would do As soon as I'd galloped my brief boyhood through; I'd like to come back an' look into your skies With that wondrous belief an' those far-seeing eyes.
Drowsy old summer, my dream days have gone; Only things which are real I must now look upon; No longer I see in the skies overhead The pictures that were, for the last one has fled. I have learned that not all of our dreams can come true; That the toilers are many and heroes are few; But I'd like once again to look up there an' see The man that I fancied some day I might be.
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.