INCLUDING 
 YOU AND ME
 
 INCLUDING 
 YOU AND ME 
 
 BY 
 STRICKLAND GILLILAN 
 
 Author of 
 "Including Finnigin" 
 
 CHICAGO 
 FORBES & COMPANY 
 
 1916
 
 Copyright, 1916, by 
 Forbes and Company
 
 DEDICATED TO 
 
 THE SAME LADY MENTIONED IN MY OTHER BOOK 
 WITH THE SAME SENTIMENTS 
 
 2129SRS
 
 Now I haven't just tried to be " funny" 
 And I haven't just tried to be " smart" 
 Nor yet is it only for money 
 *Tis largely a matter of heart! 
 Long after the laughter has ended, 
 Years after the income is spent, 
 May the laughs and the loves I have blended 
 Still deepen some human's content.
 
 PREFACE 
 
 The more than kindly reception accorded 
 my other collection of verses ("Including 
 Finnigin") so encouraged my publishers that 
 they dared to produce another volume; this 
 time excluding the piece that had given my 
 stuff its first vogue, but including a lot of 
 mighty intimate discussions of things pertain- 
 ing to those two delightful folks you and me. 
 
 (The foregoing is a longer sentence than the 
 one beginning the preface to my previous book, 
 but you know the second offense always brings 
 a longer sentence. ) 
 
 One time there was a prophet (know your 
 Bible?) who was sharply scolded for presum- 
 ing to call "common" or "unclean" a lot of 
 familiar, every-day things. For myself I have 
 always held that the mere fact that a thing 
 was primitively human, and well-known by all 
 of us, was not just for that necessarily to be 
 treated with scorn or neglect. That very com- 
 monness (maybe I'd better say universality) 
 made the thing, in my stubborn way of think-
 
 ing, all the finer made it a sort of mental and 
 emotional solder to weld us somewhat cantank- 
 erous humans into a warm-hearted, sympa- 
 thetic brotherhood the pass-word or distress- 
 sign of a world-wide, race-long "lodge." 
 
 So that is the sort of thing I have handled in 
 the verses included in this new volume ; and it 
 was with that idea imbedded in my mind and 
 heart that I wrote them in the first place. 
 
 I hope you'll like them ; that they may warm 
 the "cockles of your heart" and make you feel 
 closer to a lot of folks you had thought inferior 
 to you. And I also humanly hope I've ap- 
 pealed to your vanity enough, by telling you 
 things you already knew, to make you clasp the 
 little volume more closely and say : 
 
 "My, that fellow's smart! Why, he knows 
 the very same things I know !" 
 
 STRICKLAND GILLILAN.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A BABY'S SORROW 142 
 
 A CONFIDENTIAL PRAYER 134 
 
 A CONSOLATION . . 136 
 
 A DEFI TO TROUBLE 154 
 
 A DISMAL FAILURE 53 
 
 A DIXIE LULLABY 65 
 
 A FACIAL STUDY . 97 
 
 AFTER SCHOOL 21 
 
 A GENUINE MAN 135 
 
 A HOPE SONG 58 
 
 A HUMAN HUNGER 125 
 
 ALL OF Us 81 
 
 ALONG THE EIVER 34 
 
 A MIDDLE-AGE KEFLECTION 83 
 
 "AND SHUT THY DOOR" 123 
 
 "ARE You THERE?" 133 
 
 A SAFE PLAN 14 
 
 ASLEEP AMONG His TOYS 169 
 
 A SUMMER OCCUPATION 155 
 
 A TALK TO THE BOY 23 
 
 BACK-FIRES 59 
 
 BECOMING A MAN 103 
 
 BEFORE AND THEN 149 
 
 BEWARE! 137 
 
 BOOK FOR ALL TIME, THE 117 
 
 BOY DREAMS 165 
 
 BROTHER'S FAULTS , . 163
 
 Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CHILDREN ALL 164 
 
 COMRADESHIP 157 
 
 CONCENTRATION 160 
 
 DAUGHTER 36 
 
 EASIER TASK, THE 115 
 
 ELDER BROTHER, THE 189 
 
 ETERNAL BEGINNING, THE 112 
 
 EVER NEW, THE 67 
 
 EXCEPTION, THE 119 
 
 EYES 57 
 
 FOLKS NEED A LOT OF LOVING 19 
 
 FORGETTING THE BOY 71 
 
 " FORGIVE ME " 127 
 
 FUN OF LIVING, THE 89 
 
 GENERAL STORE, THE 109 
 
 " GET TO " VERSUS " GOT TO " 41 
 
 GET UP AND Go ON 55 
 
 GOING A PIECE 190 
 
 GREATEST GIFT, THE 35 
 
 HARDENING PROCESS, THE 93 
 
 HE KNEW MY FATHER 49 
 
 HIDDEN PLAYMATES, THE 105 
 
 His DOLLAR 161 
 
 His LITTLE GIRL 39 
 
 HUSBAND'S INQUISITION, THE 128 
 
 INEXPRESSIBLE LINCOLN, THE 92 
 
 IN SIGHT OF HOME 37 
 
 Is IT LONG? 124 
 
 " IT DIDN'T HURT " 187 
 
 "JUST FINE" 74 
 
 JUST NOTHIN' 99 
 
 KEENEST PLEASURE, THE 167
 
 Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 LIFE'S ANESTHETIC 140 
 
 LIFE'S OTHER DIMENSIONS 145 
 
 LIFE'S SMELTER 176 
 
 LITTLE LOCAL TRAIN, THE 51 
 
 'LOWANCE, THE 179 
 
 MAN OR BABY 43 
 
 MY CHRISTMAS SUPREME 69 
 
 NEARER LOVES, THE 121 
 
 NIGHTLY TRANSFER, THE 168 
 
 "NOT WORTH FOOLING WITH" 151 
 
 ONE'S OWN 75 
 
 OUR CAPACITY 63 
 
 OUT FOR A WALK 47 
 
 PRECEDENT 173 
 
 PUT TO THE TEST 91 
 
 RELATIVELY SPEAKING 28 
 
 KICE AMONG THE LOWLY 177 
 
 'BOUND FATHER'S GRIP 61 
 
 " SACREDNESS " OF SOME MOTHERHOOD, THE . . . 143 
 
 SAYIN' HOWDY 15 
 
 SHE HAS HER POINTS 78 
 
 SHE LIKES TO DRIVE 17 
 
 SOMETHING SWEET TO EEMEMBER 90 
 
 SONG OF THE FAMILY MAN 116 
 
 SONGS OF MEN, THE 77 
 
 SPORT 107 
 
 STAIR-STEP CHILDREN, THE 183 
 
 STRAWBERRY MOUNTAINS 181 
 
 THEIR CHIEF REGRET 25 
 
 THEIR HERITAGE 33 
 
 THEN AND Now 146 
 
 THIS DAY . . .131
 
 Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THIS Is FINAL 20 
 
 THOSE NIGHTS OP BROKEN SLEEP 130 
 
 To A BABY GIRL 129 
 
 ,To A WIFE 68 
 
 To THE LOW-BROW 152 
 
 TRIFLINGEST JOB, THE 101 
 
 Two WOMEN -. 171 
 
 "UNBELIEVERS," THE 87 
 
 UNCONSCIOUS MISSIONARY, THE 45 
 
 UNIVERSAL LESSON, THE 147 
 
 UNPARDONABLE 113 
 
 VITAL ACCOMPANIMENT, THE 150 
 
 WATCH PICTURES 27 
 
 WE CAN ALWAYS LEARN 31 
 
 WERE I WEALTHY 29 
 
 WHAT OF YOUR FIGHT ? 95 
 
 WHAT VERDICT? 159 
 
 WHEN FATHER COOKS 148 
 
 WHAT WE PRAY FOR 141 
 
 WHEN I AM WRONG 64 
 
 WHEN SATAN WAS PUZZLED 79 
 
 WHEN THE KIDS ARE AWAY 85 
 
 WHEN WORK Is THROUGH 13 
 
 "WORKING Too HARD" 188 
 
 WORST THING, THE 48 
 
 WHY WE Do So , 73 
 
 WIFEY'S WAY 174 
 
 WISE MAN, THE 185 
 
 You AND ME BOTH 22 
 
 You CAN'T MISTAKE 42 
 
 YOUNG-OLDS, THE 139
 
 INCLUDING YOU AND ME 
 
 WHEN" WOKK IS THROUGH 
 
 WHAT joy to have some honest, self-support- 
 ing work to do 
 And babes to run and meet us in the dusk when 
 
 we are through! 
 Great work, that helps our fellowman, that fills 
 
 the big world's need 
 Some work that serves a purpose far above our 
 
 human greed ! 
 Just that I want with honest pay, the same I 
 
 wish for you ; 
 And babes to run and meet you in the dusk when 
 
 work is through. 
 
 There may be higher aims, although I cannot un- 
 
 derstand 
 Just how they could be higher; whether soft or 
 
 calloused hand 
 Perform the task assigned by Fate and kindly 
 
 circumstance. 
 'Tis work like this and aims like this that make 
 
 the world advance. 
 The pay comes thrice food for your brood, joy 
 
 in the work you do, 
 And babes that run to meet you in the dusk when 
 
 work is through. 
 
 13
 
 A SAFE PLAN 
 
 YOU can't go wrong in this : When you discern 
 In some one's work or life a clever turn 
 Or worthy deed, go to him and declare 
 Your feelings on the subject, then and there. 
 Don't sit around and whisper, " That is good ! " 
 Go say it make your pleasure understood. 
 Your word of approbation oft may come 
 When with discouragement his heart is numb. 
 
 Be not afraid you'll make the fellow vain. 
 
 If in his skull reside a trace of brain 
 
 He knows enough that others can not know 
 
 About his weaknesses, to dull the glow 
 
 Of vaunting pride within him. So your word 
 
 Of cheer will come as song of springtime bird 
 
 To winter-sick humanity; and he 
 
 Will thank his God for you, on bended knee. 
 
 Go to the worker, praise him as it seems 
 To you he has deserved. And then his dreams 
 Will grow more tangible. His strengthened hand 
 Take on the touch of those who understand 
 Themselves and their full power. He will grow 
 As ne'er he could have grown had you been slow 
 In voicing your approval. Shout the song 
 Of praise you think deserved you can't go 
 wrong!
 
 SAYIN' HOWDY 
 
 SAYIN' "Howdy," all th' day 
 To th' folks along th' way ! 
 That's the method he pursued 
 Whether glum or glad his mood. 
 Know 'em? Not by face or name, 
 But he knowed 'em just th' same. 
 Knowed that they was human things 
 Just as hoboes are, an' kings. 
 
 Sayin' " Howdy " when he met 
 Josey Smith, as black as jet, 
 Sayin' it in that same tone 
 When he met big Sam Malone, 
 With a dozen farms or so; 
 Chucklin' " Sam's as good as Joe 
 If he's careful " just that way, 
 Sayin' " Howdy," all th' day. 
 
 " When I git t' heaven," he 'lows, 
 
 " Where they's crowns on all th' brows, 
 
 If they's any that kin rise 
 
 With 'is right hand t' th' skies 
 
 An' declare I ever rode 
 
 'Long apast 'im on th' road 
 
 An' left out that < Howdy ' thing, 
 
 I'll give up my crown, by jing! " 
 
 Sayin' "Howdy," all th' day 
 To th' folks along th' way! 
 15
 
 Him nor us will never know 
 How he helped folks down below 
 By th' friendliness he showed 
 To th' folks beside th' road. 
 You can't find no better way 
 Than just Howdyin' folks all day I 
 
 16
 
 SHE LIKES TO DEIVE 
 
 likes to drive. We go out in the sleigh 
 And ere we've gone a noticeable way 
 She says : " Those gloves of yours are awful 
 
 thin 
 
 Just see what thick ones my two hands are in! 
 You'd better let me drive awhile until 
 You get your hands relieved of such a chill " 
 She likes to drive. 
 
 She likes to drive. And when I (knowing well 
 Just what she wants, although she wouldn't tell) 
 Give up the reins, she turns the horse's head 
 Into some road whence other sleighs have fled ; 
 And then one runner drops into a ditch 
 That somehow gives her lissome form a pitch 
 She likes to drive. 
 
 She likes to drive. And on that lonely way 
 When she, to keep the balance of the sleigh, 
 Has bent in my direction don't I know, 
 Or am I bashful still and shameful slow? 
 Then then she gives a well-bred little shriek 
 And says : " Don't that leaves wet spots on 
 my cheek " 
 
 She likes to drive. 
 
 She likes to drive. No matter if I wear 
 The thickest lamb's-wool mittens, she'll declare 
 
 17
 
 My poor hands must be freezing; and she'll take 
 The ribbons from my grasp, whereat I make 
 No murmur, but proceed to do my best 
 To please the maid my coldness has distressed 
 She likes to drive. 
 
 18
 
 FOLKS MED A LOT OF LOVING 
 
 FOLKS need a lot of loving in the morning; 
 The day is all before, with cares beset 
 The cares we know, and those that give no warn- 
 ing; 
 For love is God's own antidote for fret. 
 
 Folks need a heap of loving at the noontime 
 The battle lull, the moment snatched from 
 strife 
 
 Halfway between the waking and the croontime, 
 While bickering and worriment are rife. 
 
 Folks hunger so for loving at the nighttime, 
 When wearily they take them home to rest 
 
 At slumber-song and turning-out-the-light time 
 Of all the times for loving, that's the best ! 
 
 Folks want a lot of loving every minute 
 The sympathy of others and their smile ! 
 
 Till life's end, from the moment they begin it, 
 Folks need a lot of loving all the while. 
 
 19
 
 THIS IS FINAL 
 
 WHEN" you are a fool, you're as big a fool 
 As ever the other fellow 
 Appears to your eyes and you so wise ! 
 
 When his cerebrum's mellow. 
 This is hard to say in a pleasant way, 
 
 But it's genuine information 
 Just tamp that down in your calabash 
 And start a conflagration. 
 
 When you are wrong you're just as wrong 
 
 As the biggest fool you know 
 When he's not right you may want to fight, 
 
 But this statement's got to go. 
 I liate to be snippy and sassy and lippy 
 
 To one in your dignified station, 
 But shove that down in your jimmy-pipe 
 
 And start incineration. 
 
 To a man up a tree you're as foolish as me, 
 
 I'm fallible even as you. 
 Every self-centered cuss knows he's wiser than us, 
 
 We'll never admit that it's true. 
 We can none of us boast who's least brainy or most. 
 
 No reason for self-gratulation. 
 Let's put that down in our clay dudeens 
 
 And start a conflagration. 
 
 20
 
 AFTER SCHOOL 
 
 WHEN home from school's long day he 
 drifts 
 
 And to my gaze his fresh face lifts, 
 I read the tale of all the joys 
 And sorrows that are every boy's 
 I knew them once. I feel them yet, 
 Through later living's deeper fret. 
 But still I hold him close, and say 
 " Son, tell me all about your day." 
 
 He tells me whimpering o'er each grief, 
 
 And laughing next in swift relief : 
 
 The big, bad boy who hid his hat ; 
 
 The girl who slipped from where she sat, 
 
 To meet with Teacher's well-earned frown ; 
 
 And how the littlest boy fell down ! 
 
 I list not that I do not know, 
 
 But only that I love him so. 
 
 When, at life's troublous school day's close, 
 Each world-worn pupil homeward goes, 
 Straight to the Father's eyes we'll raise 
 Our own, prepared for blame or praise. 
 He'll slip an arm around, and say : 
 " Child, tell me all about your day." 
 "Not that Our Father does not know, 
 But only that He loves us so. 
 
 21
 
 YOU AND ME BOTH 
 
 I HAVE a lot of grievous faults. 
 My pilgrim way is filled with halts 
 And limps and stoppings by the road. 
 When discipline applies her goad 
 I wince. I often note (with grief 
 That holds no prospect of relief 
 Through future mornings, nights and noons) 
 That every one is full of prunes, 
 Including me. But I cheer up 
 And feel joy brimming in my cup 
 When I look closer still and see 
 How patient I have been with me ! 
 
 I know of none from whom I would 
 
 So much of foolishness have stood, 
 
 As I have daily borne when I 
 
 Was the offender. Should I try, 
 
 I could not take from others what 
 
 I've stood from me, without a swat 
 
 On the offender's eye or nose. 
 
 You'd find it hard to presuppose 
 
 How many things I can excuse 
 
 Whene'er the miscreant wears my shoes. 
 
 'Twould make old Job seem peeved, to see 
 
 How patient I can be with me ! 
 
 22
 
 A TALK TO THE BOY 
 
 COME, boy, to your dad. Let me tell you 
 some things 
 
 Of the man who loved me as I'm now loving you. 
 For the heart is a pendulum, heavy, that swings 
 
 Aye forward and back, as all pendulums do. 
 And tonight, mine has swung far away to the time 
 When your dad had a dad just as you have, 
 
 my son ; 
 
 A dad to whose arms I was welcome to climb 
 When his day in the cornfield or meadow was 
 done. 
 
 I crept into arms that were stronger, my lad ; 
 And his hands O, so tender ! were harder 
 
 than mine. 
 For the world had been harsh with the dad of your 
 
 dad. 
 
 Yet I wish that my soul were as gentle and fine 
 As the one roughly clad in that body of his 
 
 That so lavishly gave of its strength for the one 
 Who now shelters you. And my prayer's burden 
 
 is 
 That you may think thus of your father, my son. 
 
 What I've gained, I have gained ; his the heavier 
 
 cost. 
 
 He, in embryo, held all the things I have done. 
 23
 
 Yet I fear gravely fear there are things I have 
 lost 
 
 That sadly diminish the triumph, my son. 
 So lie close, little man; there's so little we know 
 
 Except that I love you and you can love me. 
 And I smile with content that you're loving me so, 
 
 And am glad in that love, as my dad used to be. 
 
 24
 
 THEIR CHIEF REGRET 
 
 WE wan't such a gloomy bunch o' guys, an' 
 we didn't dwell on fret, 
 But for some fool notion or other, why we called 
 
 it Camp Regret. 
 Whether 'twas 'cause we was middle-aged an' our 
 
 eye-teeth cut, or whether 
 We'd a bitter streak when we named it, we all of 
 
 us, hell for leather, 
 Tuck up with th' name, an' it stuck. One night 
 
 when we all set 'round th' fire 
 An* each was doin' heavy work to prove him th' 
 
 biggest liar, 
 Jim Marshall says : " I wonder what, as we've 
 
 roamed from coast to coast, 
 Us old sour doughs has ever done that we regret 
 
 th' most." 
 
 I bet for seven minutes or more they wasn't a guy 
 
 that spoke. 
 I can't remember which of th' boys that age-long 
 
 silence broke. 
 And th' tales that follered not one of th' lads 
 
 had loosened so much before. 
 I reckon one of you writer chaps would 'a' got a 
 
 hefty store 
 O' stuff fer th' tales you write an' sell if you could 
 
 'a' been around, 
 But they wouldn't V told th' yarns they told had a 
 
 stranger face been found 
 25
 
 About th' fire. An' when they was done, one 
 
 feller spoke again 
 An' said: "We've none of us hit th' mark, or 
 
 I'm no judge of men." 
 
 Then all agreed they would write it down, their 
 
 chieftest-of-all regret. 
 An' we passed a pencil and paper 'round to each 
 
 of us, as we set, 
 An' every feller wrote it out th' thing he was 
 
 sorriest of, 
 Of all the things in all his life of hardship, hate 
 
 and love. 
 And when they was wrote, we gathered 'em was 
 
 none of 'em to be signed ; 
 
 Jim Marshall read 'em aloud to us with 'is eye 
 
 that wasn't blind. 
 An' every feller had penned th' same an' these 
 
 here words was it: 
 " I wish I'd wrote to mother, more, while she was 
 
 livin' yit."
 
 WATCH PICTURES 
 
 I'D show the photograph I wear 
 Inside my watch, did I not care 
 What happened next. But if I did 
 He'd pull the picture of his kid 
 Or wife on me, and start to tell 
 A lot of guff I know so well 
 How can a man so thoughtless be 
 When I'd discourse of Mine and me? 
 
 I wear a picture in my watch - 
 A reg'lar picture; not a botch! 
 It is a picture of my frau 
 When she was younger far than now. 
 I show the thing to other men 
 Who, if I do not leave just then, 
 Pull something of the kind on me, 
 Though why they do so I can't see. 
 
 I've learned to pick and choose my time 
 For pulling off this watch-case crime. 
 I wait until my train has blown 
 For whate'er stop I call my own, 
 Then show the picture quick; and run 
 Before the other's deed is done. 
 A deathless mystery it is 
 Why he should wish to show me his !
 
 RELATIVELY SPEAKING 
 
 MY name is Spink. Wher'er I go 
 Some one inquires if or no 
 I am related to the Spink 
 Who used to live at Spotted Mink, 
 Four miles beyond the Harwood place 
 Some day I'll push somebody's face 
 For taking up my time to grin 
 And start with, " Are you any kin ? " 
 
 I know the look that creeps into 
 
 The human eye when he gets through 
 
 Having my name repeated to him 
 
 And when the name at last gets through him 
 
 I see the question coming out 
 
 From his garrulous social spout : 
 
 " Spink, Spink I know Hank Spink, an' 
 
 Min - 
 I wonder if you're any kin." 
 
 And then, no matter how I say 
 I'm not, I can't head off this jay. 
 He'll go on naming Spinks to me 
 And scrambling 'round my family tree 
 To show me he's a knowing guy. 
 Some day I'll bash him in the eye 
 And soak him on the fatuous grin 
 For asking : " Are you any kin ? " 
 
 28
 
 WERE I WEALTHY 
 
 WERE I a wealthy citizen 
 I'd help the worthy poor 
 Who daily cudgel off the wolf 
 That lingers 'round the door. 
 I'd feed the hungry, heal the sick, 
 
 I'd clothe the naked, too ; 
 There'd hardly be an end to all 
 The kindly things I'd do. 
 
 Were I a wealthy citizen 
 
 I'd take each orphan chick 
 And send him to the finest school - 
 
 I'd do that mighty quick. 
 I'd say to worried widows who 
 
 Could see no light ahead 
 " Fear not, for I'll protect you all 
 
 Think not that hope is dead." 
 
 Were I a wealthy citizen 
 
 I'd seek out struggling youths 
 Who fought 'gainst Penury to gain 
 
 Fair Learning's hidden truths. 
 I'd let them go through college till 
 
 They reached the outfield fence 
 And not one dollar should they pay 
 
 'Twould be at my expense. 
 
 Were I a wealthy citizen 
 
 (Let's deal with facts a while) 
 29
 
 I'd lie awake at nights and scheme 
 How to increase my pile. 
 
 I'd sit around on Easy street 
 And plan and plan and plan 
 
 A hundred other brand-new ways 
 To skin my fellow man. 
 
 30
 
 WE CAtf ALWAYS LEAKN 
 
 NO man is wholly foolish, just as none is wholly 
 wise; 
 The world has precious few extremes, you'll find 
 
 if you'll examine. 
 The man who's partly deaf, you'll note, has extra 
 
 useful eyes 
 This "wholly helpless" notion is the plainest 
 
 sort of gammon. 
 
 You hear a fellow work his mouth from morn- 
 ing's break till night, 
 You're sure he's saying nothing, you condemn 
 
 him without ruth. 
 But listen patiently to him his chatter is a 
 
 fright, 
 
 But 'mid the rubbish he emits you'll find some 
 grains of truth. 
 
 There's none so big a fool but that he knows some 
 
 things that you 
 Or even I could scarce find out in all our life or 
 
 longer. 
 There's none so wise but if you probe his depths 
 
 an hour or two, 
 You'll see a lot of little points on which he 
 
 might be stronger. 
 So you, though you be foolish yes, and I, 
 
 though I be wise ! 
 
 Had best leave off in later years the rashness of 
 our youth 
 
 31
 
 And learn to listen even when the pinhead's spin- 
 drift flies 
 
 Amid the chaff his voice gives forth will be some 
 grains of truth.
 
 THEIR HERITAGE 
 
 THE lovings that we used to get, 
 The dreams that came before life's fret, 
 The pleasures once we held so dear 
 Before the yellow leaf and sere 
 And other things accounted drear 
 The children have them now. 
 
 The rosy cheeks we used to wear, 
 The daily thrills ere came our care, 
 The coastings down the snowy hill 
 With juvenile, uncanny skill 
 And now and then a joyous spill 
 The children get them now. 
 
 The heartaches over little things, 
 
 The hurts from playmates' thoughtless flings, 
 
 The checkings of each grown-up boss, 
 
 Who must scold some one when he's cross, 
 
 The spankings who could count them loss?- 
 
 The children get them now. 
 Thank goodness! 
 
 The children have them now. 
 
 33
 
 ALONG THE KIVER 
 
 DAYS along the river are the days you can't 
 forget ! 
 
 There you lose your worries and there you fling 
 your fret. 
 
 Days along the river when the sun is shining 
 warm, 
 
 When the air's so balmy that you couldn't think 
 of storm; 
 
 When the pink spring beauties and the yellow vio- 
 lets 
 
 Make a fellow glad as any fellow ever gets; 
 
 Dreamy plash and gurgle as the ripples slumber 
 by- 
 
 Days along the river 'neath a young May sky! 
 
 Days along the river where the stream runs 
 slow 
 
 You must watch the ripples to see which way they 
 flow. 
 
 Picking muddy driftwood and drying it for fire 
 
 Down along the river is the Land of Heart's De- 
 sire. 
 
 Miracles are 'round you and you feel that you 
 have found 
 
 Nature in her workshop; where the alchemistic 
 ground 
 
 Vies with magic weather in the wondrous feats 
 you see 
 
 Down along the river is the place for you and me ! 
 
 34
 
 TT wasn't the money you gave the chap 
 : When you found him down and out 
 'Twas the faith you restored when you bettered his 
 
 hap 
 That had filled him with bitter doubt. 
 
 It wasn't the food that your money bought, 
 
 Or the clothes he had needed so, 
 But the spirit change that your kindness wrought 
 
 When you set hope's lamp aglow. 
 
 It isn't the human of blood and bone 
 Served most when you heed love's call 
 
 'Tis a human heart just like your own; 
 It hungers most of all. 
 
 35
 
 DAUGHTER 
 
 COOK has quit and mother's cleaning off the 
 kitchen shelf; 
 Shelf is high and mother's short has to stretch 
 
 herself. 
 After she has done with that, the pantry must be 
 
 swept 
 One would think the cook forgot where the broom 
 
 was kept. 
 After that she'll take the stuff from the ice-box 
 
 stalls, 
 Wash it out and put things back ; roll some butter 
 
 balls, 
 Beat some eggs and whip some cream and bake 
 
 the Sunday pies 
 Daughter's at gymnasium, taking exercise ! 
 
 Last week, when the housemaid left, mother 
 cleaned the rugs 
 
 Got the big ones on the line after many tugs ; 
 
 Waxed the hardwood living room, pulled the heavy 
 weight 
 
 Of that big lead polisher lunch made daughter 
 late 
 
 Getting to the downtown place where the classes 
 meet 
 
 3Tor the calisthenics that will put her on her feet. 
 
 Seems to Ma a husky girl with observant eyes 
 
 Might not have to leave her home for some exer- 
 cise. 
 
 36
 
 SIGHT OF HOME 
 
 ALL day I wander blithesomely adown each 
 roadway turn; 
 I seek new pastures restlessly and ramble on 
 
 and on. 
 But as the red sun westers down, I feel the primal 
 
 yearn 
 
 To be in sight of home again before the light is 
 gone. 
 
 The distant hilltop lures my feet, I hunger for 
 
 its view ; 
 What lies beyond the darkling wood I needs 
 
 must run and see. 
 All day I bravely plunge ahead in search of vistas 
 
 new, 
 
 But when the twilight comes, my home calls 
 lovingly to me. 
 
 Twilight and home are comrade things would 
 
 they might always meet ! 
 My heart breaks every evening when I cannot 
 
 see my own. 
 The trip, the crowd, the stranger voice through 
 
 all the day are sweet, 
 
 But dusk brings on the sorrow that I needs must 
 bear alone. 
 
 37
 
 When, after life's long journey ings, your sun slips 
 
 gently down 
 The copper-burnished western sky and there's a 
 
 hint of gloam, 
 May you not see the stranger hill or wood before 
 
 you frown 
 
 May life's sweet evening shadows find your soul 
 in sight of Home! 
 
 38
 
 HIS LITTLE GIKL 
 
 SHE brought his dinner to him every day 
 He worked upon the job. An old tin pail 
 Was what she brought it in and took away 
 After he'd emptied it from base to bail. 
 
 She always wore an old sunbonnet blue, 
 
 With white checks on it. You could see her 
 stop 
 
 And look each way until she fully knew 
 No train was coming; then she'd madly pop 
 
 Across the tracks, as if old Nick pursued, 
 
 And walk up, grinning at Ted Burke her 
 pa 
 
 Old Ted, who never was what's called a dude, 
 And looked as plain as any other " chaw." 
 
 That is, to us he seemed like common clay; 
 
 But not to her ! That kid would stand and look 
 At Ted as if he were the Queen of May, 
 
 And lovely as a picture in a book. 
 
 One day she didn't come to bring his lunch. 
 
 The next Ted asked to be let off awhile. 
 He stayed so long we others got a hunch 
 
 That maybe something 5 d happened to the smile 
 
 39
 
 Beneath the bonnet. And when he came back 
 To work one morning, with his pail in hand, 
 
 And with his hat band bound about with black 
 We didn't have to ask, to understand. 
 
 40
 
 " GET TO " VEKSUS " GOT TO " 
 
 PERHAPS no other words so much alike 
 Upon so many opposites may strike. 
 Upon their slight grammatic difference 
 Depend a lot of things that give offense 
 And cause deep disagreement between those 
 Who elsewise would agree like bee and rose. 
 
 For instance, farmers think the engineers 
 
 " Get to " ride on the cars, long years on years. 
 
 The engineer, within his smoke-filled cab, 
 
 Roars past the granger and exclaims, "By grab! 
 
 He gets to live out in the fresh, sweet soil 
 
 And not breathe coal dust, soot and reeking oil." 
 
 While of his job the farmer thinks he's " got to " 
 Do things the engineer's job tells him not to, 
 So he who runs the locomotive knows 
 He's " got to " tear along those twin steel rows 
 Till death or pensioned leisure bids him quit 
 " Get to " and " got to " aren't alike, a bit. 
 
 Wife thinks that hubby " gets to " roam around 
 Away from home where pleasing scenes are found. 
 Hubby well knows he's " got to " do the thing 
 That can't be done without his taking wing 
 From that loved home where wif ey " gets to " stay 
 Though she thinks " got to " all the livelong day. 
 
 41
 
 YOU CAN'T MISTAKE 
 
 IF, when you walk into a little room 
 Where sit some niggard souls in chosen gloom, 
 You note a furtive look and lowered voice 
 Proving your presence is not of their choice 
 And if you catch at one strong word of blame, 
 No matter if your ear have missed the name, 
 There'll be no error credited to you 
 If you state calmly, " Sirs, that is not true." 
 
 Nine cases out of ten they have no proof 
 
 Of what they say; the warp and e'en the woof 
 
 May be false utterly ; and they may be 
 
 Besmirching one far worthier than we 
 
 Destroying that they can not build anew. 
 
 So take a chance and say, " That is not true." 
 
 Aye when you hear a brother's name denied 
 With accusations damning, proofless, wild, 
 Defend, though blindly. God Himself would say 
 A good word for the worst of men, today. 
 For if the man be guilty of some wrong 
 Let him that's sinless criticise this song ! 
 The more he needs some friend that's truest 
 
 blue 
 Be that one friend, and say, " That is not true."
 
 MAN OR BABY? 
 
 ALL of our talk is of engines and horses and 
 lions and fires; 
 All of our thoughts are a man's thoughts, while 
 
 he's so broad awake ; 
 
 All of our ways are a man's ways, all that tradi- 
 tion requires; 
 But Nature the tyrant ! is certain her 
 
 merciless toll to take. 
 For when he is sleepy we're nothing but a poor 
 
 little bit of a thing 
 With a father as foolish as fathers have been 
 
 since the world began. 
 So I jealously hold him and rock him and Slum- 
 
 berland melodies sing 
 
 When he's asleep he's a baby, though when he's 
 awake he's a man! 
 
 Just at the age when the man-child would fain lay 
 
 his babyhood down 
 Call him " a baby " you've hurt him past 
 
 power of surgeon to heal. 
 Learning the grownuppish swagger, learning the 
 
 swashbuckler's frown, 
 Trying to act as a man acts, to feel as the grown 
 
 ones feel; 
 Stretching his stride to its utmost, proud to keep 
 
 step with his dad! 
 Scorning to show emotion, aeons too ancient to 
 
 weep! 
 
 43
 
 But !KTight, no respecter of persons, refuses to 
 
 humor the lad 
 He's a man when awake, but, God bless him, 
 
 he's a baby when he is asleep 
 The thing that makes parents love-mad 
 Just a wee, helpless babe, when asleep. 
 
 44
 
 THE UNCONSCIOUS MISSIONARY 
 
 o 
 
 NE time I knowed a feller 't didn't claim to 
 
 be no saint 
 JYhich some o' them as claims they are knows 
 
 mighty well they ain't 
 An' ev'ry time I left him, as o' course I often 
 
 would, 
 He'd give my hand a squeeze an' say, " Good-bye, 
 
 my boy. Be good." 
 
 He said it kind o' j aunty-like, as if he didn't keer, 
 But somehow what that feller said kep' ringin' in 
 
 my ear; 
 An' ev'ry step I tuck fer half a mile f'm where 
 
 we'd stood 
 Them words kep' up 'ith me an' said, " Be good, 
 
 be good, be good." 
 
 An' all th' hull day at my work in meetin' up 'ith 
 
 men, 
 When I'd a chance to do some dirt, I'd think a 
 
 minute then 
 Like some fool tune ye can't f ergit, but al'ys wisht 
 
 ye could, 
 Them words 'd come a-limpin' 'long, "Be good, 
 
 be good, be good." 
 
 Some blame loud preachin's hit me like th' water 
 
 hits a duck, 
 An* if some preachers fished fer me they've had 
 
 tarnation luck; 
 
 45
 
 But that plain sinner's made me be lots nearder 
 
 what I should 
 By al'ys saying keerless like, " Be good, my boy, 
 
 be good." 
 
 46
 
 OUT FOE A WALK 
 
 MY tiny son walks out with me 
 Along the sweet suburban road 
 Has many a cheery scout with me 
 
 While chattering our own love code; 
 He finds a reddened leaf perchance, 
 
 A gaudy butterfly's lost wing, 
 A stone from which the sun rays glance, 
 Or some such childish-cherished thing. 
 
 All these he bears to me and places 
 
 Within my hand (as I have halted 
 To reconcile our varied paces), 
 
 And says with look and tone exalted: 
 " See, Father, what I found back there ; 
 
 You missed it when you sauntered by; 
 Your big, strong hand takes better care 
 
 Of these my treasures than can I." 
 
 We are but children, walking out 
 
 With Father. All the things we find 
 Gems now, but later viewed with doubt 
 
 We bear to Him, love strong and kind, 
 And say : " These big, safe hands of Thine 
 
 Can take much better care than we 
 Of these our treasures rare and fine ; 
 
 JVe trust, dear God, our all with Thee ! "
 
 THE WOEST THING 
 
 FAILURE, when you have done your best, is 
 bad. 
 
 I know a thing a thousand times as sad : 
 The sting that failure leaves within your breast 
 ATI ache that knows no surcease, gives no rest 
 When you recall you did not do your best. 
 
 48
 
 HE KNEW MY FATHER 
 
 look of him was wholly commonplace 
 His grizzled beard, worn garments, fur- 
 rowed face. 
 
 It wanted all my life-learned poise to keep 
 Suppressed an adverse note that strove to creep 
 Into my judgment as I viewed the man, 
 So shaped he seemed on utter failure's plan. 
 His was the seldom-traveler's furtive look, 
 Cowering uneasy in his red-plush nook. 
 
 To me at length for friendliness he turned ; 
 
 For human fellowship this lone man yearned. 
 
 I humored his pathetic eagerness 
 
 To know my name, my calling, my address. 
 
 " Your father's name ? " He trembled as he 
 
 spoke ; 
 
 And when I told him, o'er his features broke 
 A look of satisfaction deep and sweet 
 As if I'd made his cup of joy replete. 
 
 "I knowed your pap why, him an' me was 
 
 chums ! " 
 
 And then I knew the happiness that comes 
 To every father-hungry grown-up lad 
 Who never ceases longing for the dad 
 So little understood in callow days 
 So quick to blame he seemed, so slow to praise ; 
 So wished-for now, when wisdom holds her throne, 
 That for our disrespect we might atone! 
 
 49
 
 About that head, erstwhile so commonplace, 
 A halo formed, of glory and of grace. 
 He'd known and loved the father I had known; 
 As hoy friends intimate the two had grown; 
 I clung to him I all but held his hand, 
 This magic guest from an enchanted land. 
 Now with a thrill his voice in memory comes : 
 " I knowed your pap why, him an' me was 
 chums ! " 
 
 50
 
 THE LITTLE LOCAL TRAIN 
 
 T THRILL and gape at limiteds, close-vestibuled 
 * clean through ; 
 
 I marvel at their majesty, as other people do. 
 I goggle at the high-backed hog with smoke-stack 
 
 like a wart; 
 That makes bystanders jump and dodge to hear 
 
 her starting snort; 
 She's splendor from her tail-lights to the bo that's 
 
 riding blind; 
 But, oh, the local train that serves the lowly of 
 
 mankind ! 
 
 A bunty thing she is, of course, with just two 
 
 coaches on 
 And one of them half baggage. But the poor 
 
 folks know the " con," 
 And chat with him and " braky," calling them by 
 
 Christian name 
 The limited's a hummer, but she's loser in the 
 
 game! 
 Far better than her brass-railed perch for wealthy 
 
 folks, behind, 
 I love the local train that serves the poorer of 
 
 mankind ! 
 
 Past everything but county-seats e'en missing 
 
 some of them 
 The limited goes whirling by upon the big " main 
 
 stem ; " 
 
 51
 
 She busts the village ordinance that says, " Ten 
 
 miles an hour ; " 
 Just hoots derisive at such burgs and puts on extra 
 
 power. 
 The town the local hurries through would sure be 
 
 hard to find 
 The little local run that serves the humbler of 
 
 mankind. 
 
 The trippers on the limited have tickets that have 
 
 cost 
 A score or more of dollars why, a state or so 
 
 they've crossed! 
 The local carries shabby folks with fifteen cents to 
 
 spend, 
 But theirs is just as big a trip has starting, 
 
 middle, end! 
 The limited's the classy string ; but greater, in my 
 
 mind, 
 The two-coach local train that serves the plainer 
 
 of mankind. 
 
 52
 
 A DISMAL FAILURE 
 
 1 TRIED to be unhappy, for a girl had jilted 
 me; 
 
 I tried to be unhappy being less would cruel be ; 
 
 But a southern wind was blowing and my break- 
 fast had been good 
 
 A southern wind was blowing and the birds sang 
 in the wood. 
 
 The sun was shining brightly and the day was 
 sweet and mild 
 
 I tried to be unhappy, but was gladsome as a child ! 
 
 I tried to be unhappy, for my fortune had been 
 
 lost; 
 I'd had to sell my earthly goods for less than they 
 
 had cost. 
 I tried to be unhappy, for the kind world pitied 
 
 me 
 And wondered if another pleasant moment I 
 
 should see. 
 I tried to be unhappy, but as I approached my 
 
 house 
 My laughing baby met me and we held a wild 
 
 carouse ! 
 
 I tried to be unhappy when upon my temple 
 
 gleamed 
 The first white hair of middle age how lesa than 
 
 I had dreamed 
 
 53
 
 Were life's rewards! And then I thought how 
 
 richly I was blest 
 To have the wife and bairns about as I approached 
 
 the west. 
 I laughed aloud, unblushingly, and caroled forth 
 
 my glee 
 I've tried to be unhappy, but have failed most 
 
 dismally ! 
 
 54
 
 GET UP A:ND GO 
 
 YOUR wee foot slipped on the floor, my son ; 
 Get up and go on! 
 Your game of tag is far from done 
 
 Get up and go on, 
 
 That dimpled knee got an awful hurt 
 See the roughed-up skin and the ground-in dirt! 
 But you're good for a stronger, swifter spurt 
 Get up and go on. 
 
 Sometimes there are terrible bruises, lad, 
 
 But get up and go on. 
 And your father's arms if it's quite too bad 
 
 To get up and go on 
 Will gather you close and gently say : 
 " There, there ! Has it spoiled the baby's play ? " 
 But you'll find in the end that the better way 
 
 Is " get up and go on." 
 
 All through your life it will be the same. 
 
 Get up and go on. 
 Grin over your pain and play the game 
 
 Get up and go on. 
 
 For folk will watch when your falls take place 
 Will watch the expression on your face 
 And accurately will adjudge your case, 
 
 So get up and go on. 
 
 And whenever the fall too cruel seems 
 To get up and go on, 
 55
 
 When hope has hidden its faintest gleams, 
 
 Get up and go on! 
 
 And the arms of the Father-who-knows-what's-best 
 Will hold you close to a loving breast 
 Till your baffled soul finds strength in rest 
 
 Get up and go on! 
 
 56
 
 EYES 
 
 GIVE me back the boy eyes, 
 The seeing-naught-but-joy eyes, 
 The pleasure-cannot-cloy eyes, 
 
 With which I used to see. 
 Take away these old eyes, 
 Give back the boyhood-bold eyes, 
 The all-that-gleams-is-gold eyes, 
 That brought such bliss to me. 
 
 Oh, to have the clear eyes, 
 
 The naught-in-sight-that's-drear eyes, 
 
 The never-shed-a-tear eyes, 
 
 That served me as a boy ! 
 Give me back the bright eyes, 
 The every-soul-is-white eyes, 
 The things-must-come-out-right eyes, 
 
 That brought me only joy. 
 
 "No most I love the dim eyes, 
 The let-him-have-his-whim eyes, 
 The oft-with-tears-aswim eyes, 
 
 Of age's gentler heart. 
 I'd rather have the kind eyes, 
 The helped-out-with-the-mind eyes, 
 Than any boyhood's blind eyes 
 
 That only saw in part I 
 
 57
 
 A HOPE SONG 
 
 rtlHE clouds were red when the dawn came up 
 Were red with a glint of copper sheen. 
 The chalice of morn was a glittering cup 
 
 And the world was gay in the dewy green. 
 But the sun rose high and the clouds grew gray 
 
 With only a softened silver glow. 
 And the world looked old and far from gay, 
 
 But burdened instead with a weight of woe. 
 
 Yet at night when the sun goes down again 
 
 In the ruddy west, we shall see once more 
 The gold and the glitter past tongue or pen, 
 
 Shall see the red of the dawn and more ! 
 Our lives and our days are alike in this: 
 
 Both have their glorious morns, then come 
 The gray and the grime that we may not miss, 
 
 Till hope shines forth in the evening's gloam. 
 
 58
 
 BACK-FIKES 
 
 ONCE when I roamed the prairies wild 
 With Uncle Bill, he told me : " Child, 
 See where that line of blazes runs 
 Along that ridge ? As sure as guns 
 That fire will get us if we shouldn't 
 Fix things just so she fairly couldn't." 
 Then at his feet he dropped a match 
 And burned a great big safety patch 
 In which we stood until the fire 
 All round about had spent its ire. 
 
 I've seen that back-fire notion used 
 A lot since then sometimes abused. 
 When one o'er-nosey shows that he 
 Is wild with curiosity 
 To know a thing that surely is 
 Not e'en related to his biz, 
 We start a back-fire in his mind 
 By telling him, just for a blind, 
 The very thing he wants to know 
 It disappoints the fellow so! 
 
 And when the gossips are purveying 
 Some dirty scandal that's conveying 
 To people's minds a false impression, 
 You may create a sweet digression 
 By starting, publicly as they, 
 A story of that self -same jay 
 59
 
 That emphasizes something fine 
 In him. As that goes down the line 
 It takes the sting from out the other 
 And your back-fire has saved a brother. 
 
 60
 
 'ROUND FATHER'S GRIP 
 
 WHEN Father's come from some long trip 
 We chicks all kneel around his grip 
 And try to keep our faces straight 
 And not look tickled while we wait 
 Till he has hugged our mother tight 
 And kissed her twice with all his might. 
 We're glad to see him, too, but then 
 First thing when he's got home again 
 From some great long and busy trip 
 We want to see what's in his grip ! 
 
 Then Father kneels among us there 
 
 And digs a key-ring from somewhere 
 
 And looks as if he had forgot 
 
 To bring us things we know he's not ! 
 
 We gather close while he unlocks 
 
 The grip. Then each one gets a box 
 
 Or parcel tied up with a string 
 
 Or some such gifty-looking thing 
 
 That's 'zactly right. We squeal : " Oh, Dad ! 
 
 The nicest things we've ever had ! " 
 
 It's not just what we get, you see, 
 That makes us glad. For it might be 
 If Father came home once without 
 The gifts for us we'd give a shout 
 And hug him hard. But oh, it's great 
 That when he's in some other State 
 
 61
 
 'Way off from home he thinks of us, 
 From ten-year Blanche to one-year Gus, 
 So when he's come home from his trip 
 "We kneel and giggle 'round his grip !
 
 OUK CAPACITY 
 
 TEN times I've said : " My soul can bear no 
 more." 
 
 Ten times, " Life holds no more of joy," I've said. 
 My mind was sick, my mind was wounded sore, 
 And hope's last vestige from my sky had fled. 
 But looking back to those most hopeless hours 
 When I was sure no light could come again, 
 I look across a field of sun and showers 
 I've known both keener pain and joy since then. 
 
 We know not what the heart can bear until 
 The burdens come. The lighter loads we've borne 
 Have strengthened us for fardel and for hill 
 We shall wear sorrows greater than we've worn. 
 Yet after every deeper dark comes light 
 Such as we ne'er had dreamed on earth could be. 
 Then play the human game with all your might 
 Life's hoarding many a prize for you and me! 
 
 63
 
 T \ 7H 
 
 W 
 
 WHEN I AM WRONG 
 EN" I am wrong, Lord, courage me to own 
 
 To say, " Forgive me for the wrong I did." 
 Drive out the wild desire to condone it 
 
 And keep the grievous fault within me hid. 
 Yet while I honestly admit my sin, 
 Keep off the friend who likes to rub it in ! 
 
 When I have erred, Lord, teach me to admit it ; 
 
 To clear all others of suspicion's taint ; 
 To own and hear the punishment to fit it 
 
 The wrong in me, nor feel the least restraint. 
 Yet while I'd hear the pains my sinnings win, 
 Keep from my clutches him who'd rub it in ! 
 
 Lord, all my rank transgressions I would own; 
 
 All my profuse shortcomings I'd admit ; 
 I'd shout them out in any sort of tone 
 
 To keep some innocent from being " it." 
 But here my rebel promptings would begin 
 I cannot love the folks who'd rub it in ! 
 
 64
 
 A DIXIE LULLABY 
 
 LAUGHIN"' wif yo' dinneh in de cohneh ob yo' 
 mouf 
 
 Sweetes' pickaninny in dis po'tion ob de Souf. 
 
 Lookin' at yo' mammy fum de tail-eend ob yo' 
 eye 
 
 Make has'e dar, brack baby, fo' yo' meal-time slip- 
 pin' by. 
 
 Make dem sof lips wiggle yo's a triflin' li'l 
 coon! 
 
 Mammy up en take yo' dinneh fum yo', putty 
 soon! 
 
 Laughin' wif yo' dinneh in de cohneh ob yo' 
 
 mouf 
 Yo' ain't fear'd de crops will fail en ain't askeered 
 
 o' drouf. 
 Kollin' roun' dem shiny eyes at mammy li'l 
 
 scamp ! 
 Mammy she ain't lub yo' none she fling yo' ter 
 
 a tramp! 
 
 Huh-uh ! Nee'n't pucker up yo' baby lips en cry ! 
 Mammy gwine ter lub yo' twell de salty sea run 
 
 dry. 
 
 Sleepin' wif his dinneh in de cohneh ob his 
 
 mouf 
 Wahm lips on de proudest mammy boozum in de 
 
 Souf. 
 
 65
 
 Belly full o' dinneh en his skeer all druv away 
 Lawd! Huccome dey cain't stay small fohebeh 
 
 en a day? 
 Bofe dem shiny windehs got dey shettahs farstened 
 
 down 
 Fix dat baid, Sis' Lindy, w'ile he slumbehm' so 
 
 soun'! 
 
 66
 
 THE EVER NEW 
 
 T TE knew that he knew all of fatherhood: 
 * He had read books about it ; had observed. 
 He knew quite all there was in it of good ; 
 
 How to unselfish sacrifice it nerved 
 Men of the feeblest courage. He was wise 
 On that and all themes else below the skies ! 
 
 One day his young wife hid her blushing face 
 Against his breast and whispered something 
 sweet. 
 
 A thrill, of which he ne'er had known a trace 
 In all his past, stirred him from head to feet. 
 
 To man's full stature in a trice he grew ; 
 
 At last life's deepest springs he knew he knew ! 
 
 Now when, upon his awkward, untaught arm, 
 He holds the helpless mite Hers and his own, 
 
 And feels that from earth's most resistless harm 
 He could defend it with that arm alone, 
 
 He understands as ne'er he understood 
 
 As though he had invented fatherhood ! 
 
 67
 
 TO A WIFE 
 
 WE have had our little sorrows 
 We have known our little pain; 
 We have had our dark tomorrows, 
 Had our sunshine after rain. 
 
 But the worst of all our losses, 
 
 Loyal comrade of my heart, 
 We have found the little crosses 
 
 That we tried to bear apart ! 
 
 Care we jointly bore proved blessing ; 
 
 Care each bore alone proved blight 
 Till, with humbly frank confessing, 
 
 Each returned to each for light ; 
 
 Till we learned the law unfailing 
 
 That controls our happiness : 
 Prayer and tears are unavailing, 
 
 Prayed or shed in selfishness. 
 
 Then, though bleak or blithe the weather, 
 Be the landscape gray or green, 
 
 Let us cling so close together 
 Not a care can creep between. 
 
 68
 
 MY CHRISTMAS SUPREME 
 
 TinWAS an old, blue yarn stocking, white-toed 
 
 * and white-heeled, 
 
 That our mother had knit (we had seen her 
 When we stayed 'round the fire with an ear that 
 
 had " bealed " 
 
 Sat with pained but submissive demeanor 
 Because of the husking we thus might escape 
 In the blustering weather outside). 
 'Twas this very same stocking we hung by its nape 
 That eve ere the yule's joyful tide. 
 
 'Twas a mean little room should we see it to- 
 day 
 
 With chromos ill-framed 'round the wall. 
 
 When you came from the porch, you were in 
 right away ! 
 
 !Nb vestibule, storm door or hall. 
 
 For we lived as our forefathers, rugged and 
 poor 
 
 Have a care ! Do not murmur, " oppressed ! " 
 
 We were gentle at heart in the guise of the boor. 
 
 And pride ruled supreme in each breast. 
 
 'Twas a pair of suspenders, some candy, a book 
 And a splendid big orange I felt 
 When heart in my throat, too excited to look 
 Next morn on the hearthstone I knelt. 
 
 69
 
 " That all ? " you inquire. Oh, you wealth- 
 pampered thing! 
 
 Suppress the contempt in your tone. 
 With those princeliest gifts I was rich as the king 
 Who lolls on his vassal-girt throne. 
 
 On Christmases since, all the pitiful cost 
 
 Of the presents that morning I found 
 
 From the price of my gifts could be carelessly lost 
 
 And roll off, unmissed, on the ground. 
 
 But something of wealth has been taken away 
 
 And I wish or at least so I feel 
 
 I could trade it all back for the joy hid away 
 
 In that sock with the white toe and heel. 
 
 70
 
 FORGETTING THE BOY 
 
 T DARE not ever think of him; 
 * For when I do my eyes grow dim 
 And all the heart of me goes out 
 In one long, agonizing shout 
 To reach him there, across the miles 
 That bar me from his frowns and smiles. 
 So, since he can not hear my call, 
 I will not think of him at all ! 
 
 I dare not think of him, because 
 It makes my very breathing pause 
 Until the lump that's in my throat 
 Goes, and a vastly cheerier note 
 My daily song may dominate. 
 And thus, from early until late 
 My will between us lifts a wall 
 I do not think of him at all ! 
 
 An unkind custom has decreed 
 That man however dire his need, 
 Though half a woman, by his birth 
 Must never dew the thirsting earth 
 With tears of his. O, brute decree ! 
 So must I steel the heart of me 
 And never let a salt drop fall 
 I dare not think of him at all ! 
 
 I dare not think about the last 
 Big hug he gave me dare not cast 
 71
 
 My mind's eye back to him, or hear 
 His vibrant voice close by my ear : 
 " See, Daddy, I still got my dollar 
 There, now, I all smeared up your collar ! " 
 None of these things dare I recall 
 I never think of him at all 1
 
 WHY WE DO SO 
 
 WE talk to them when they're asleep 
 These tiny objects of our love! 
 We murmur to them while we weep 
 And call them each our treasure trove. 
 
 We talk to them when they're asleep 
 Oh, wayward children that they are ! 
 And hope that always we may keep 
 Their feet from straying into far 
 
 And thorn-girt paths beset with sin ? 
 That they may never, never reap 
 Such harvesting as ours has been 
 We talk to them when they're asleep. 
 
 Now do not bust right out and weep, 
 Or let your cheeks with teardrops glisten; 
 We talk to them when they're asleep 
 'Cause that's the only time they'll listen. 
 
 73
 
 " JUST FINE 
 
 IF you ask her how she feels 
 "Just fine!" 
 Ask about her new cook's meals 
 
 "Just fine!" 
 
 Ask her how she liked the show 
 Into which you saw her go ; 
 Ask her how her house plants grow = 
 "Just fine!" 
 
 Ask her anything you wish 
 
 "Just fine!" 
 How she likes her chafing dish 
 
 "Just fine!" 
 
 Ask her how the country'll do 
 With its lessened revenue. 
 She will simply glow at you 
 
 "Just fine!" 
 
 " Rather tiresome ? " did you say * * 
 
 "Just fine!" 
 Hate to hear it day on day 
 
 "Just fine!" 
 
 But that bromide with a smile 
 Has folks beat about a mile 
 
 , in answering, all the while 
 
 Just whine !
 
 ONE'S OWN 
 
 FUNNY, ain't it? Wlien th' children of a 
 neighborhood is fed 
 On the very same variety of grub, 
 That some of them is yeller gold an' some of 'em 
 
 is lead 
 Th' difference 'twixt th' thoroughbred an' 
 
 scrub ? 
 Thought o' that th' other evenin' when 'twas 
 
 gradjyatin' time 
 
 At th' high-school down to Abernathy's Cove 
 When I see my girl amongst 'em gosh, th' con- 
 trast wuz a crime ! 
 
 Like a volunteer petooney growin' in a jimson 
 grove. 
 
 All th' dresses was as white as hers I reckon, 
 
 purty nigh 
 
 All th' ribbons wore wuz either pink *er blue ; 
 All th' posies that they carried growed beneath our 
 
 country sky, 
 
 An' they might of looked about as good to you. 
 But th' laws-a-mercy on us! When her ma an' 
 
 me set there 
 A wipin' tears an' sniffin' an' a-lookin' at that 
 
 batch, 
 Th' others wuzn't no place our Melissey, on th' 
 
 square, 
 
 Seemed a volunteer petooney bloomin' in a rag- 
 weed patch ! 
 
 75
 
 Then sez I, it can't be, really ; so I turned an' ast 
 
 M'ri! 
 
 (She's my woman, an' th' mother of th' girl) 
 If th' wuz so much of difference, exceptin' in my 
 
 eye. 
 
 An' y' orto seen th' woman give a whirl 
 An' snicker at me, scornful, as she says : " I 
 
 reckon SO ! 
 
 Them there eugenic fellers says that they's dif- 
 ference in breeds. 
 An' any one with half a eye can't scarcely help but 
 
 know 
 
 A volunteer petooney 'mongst a garden full o' 
 weeds ! "
 
 A WAIL and a song are the sounds of men; 
 They tell of joy, of sorrow. 
 The wail may rule for a day, but then 
 
 The song must rule the morrow. 
 And this you will find, 'mid the lilt or croak 
 
 From the throngs that toil or shirk : 
 The wailings come from the idle folk, 
 And the songs from those who work. 
 
 For the busiest aye are the happiest 
 
 J Tis the sloths have time to grumble. 
 The toiler goes to his work with zest 
 
 It keeps him sweet and humble. 
 But the idle one aye is the malcontent 
 
 And his whole horizon's murk 
 The song comes up from the life toil-blent, 
 
 And the wail from those who shirk. 
 
 " In the sweat of thy brow " He knew us well 
 
 Who made us in His image. 
 " He knoweth our frame," so the Scriptures tell, 
 
 And the normal life's a scrimmage. 
 So list to the song of the toilers brave 
 
 Whose souls keep sweet through work ; 
 And close your ears to the mournful stave 
 
 Of the wailers who only shirk.
 
 . 
 
 SHE HAS HEE POINTS 
 
 BEHOLD the old, pot-bellied mare 
 Who stands beside the stack. 
 She is not stream-lined anywhere; 
 
 She has a sagging back. 
 The hair is worn from off her sides 
 
 Where tug and trace have been; 
 Profound disgust with life abides 
 About that pendant chin. 
 
 Her draggled fetlocks reek with mud, 
 
 Her tail is full of burs ; 
 "No pride of race or purple blood 
 
 Or Blue-grass sires is hers. 
 Her sturdy pasterns, chaff-bestrewn, 
 
 Have blemishes galore; 
 Through straw-filled mane the breezes croon, 
 
 Each shoulder bears a sore. 
 
 But she has never cast a tire ; 
 
 Her starter always works; 
 Her spark-plugs never fail to fire; 
 
 Her timer never shirks; 
 Her oil-gauge plunger never sticks ; 
 
 And ne'er has she, I ween, 
 Five miles from home, or maybe six, 
 
 Kun out of gasolene!
 
 WHEN SATAN WAS PUZZLED 
 
 OLD Satan looked the victim o'er and sat him 
 down and wept. 
 
 He knew his limitations just as anybody does. 
 He looked along the shelves where all his torture 
 
 books were kept; 
 He called his imps to conference, and held a 
 
 lengthy buzz 
 With all his chief advisers, but they couldn't help 
 
 a bit. 
 
 They couldn't find a recipe, a codicil or clause 
 Providing for a fate so bad it should be used to fit 
 The case of him who'd told his child there was 
 no Santa Claus. 
 
 Said Satan, in between his sobs, "I've had some 
 
 toughs before 
 I've had the man who whipped his wife, the man 
 
 who robbed a church, 
 I've had the one who sold the mine filled up with 
 
 salted ore, 
 But here's a guy who leaves the others sadly in 
 
 the lurch. 
 I've not a room that's hot enough, no pincers that 
 
 will serve 
 To gouge this geezer hard enough, though held 
 
 by strongest paws^ 
 
 This king of worldly misanthropes who had the 
 boundless nerve 
 
 79
 
 To tell his little children: 'No, there is no 
 Santa Glaus.' " 
 
 So Satan wept and wept again and wrung his cal- 
 loused hands, 
 He had a downright tantrum in his ecstasy of 
 
 grief. 
 He said, " I've fixed the worst of them from all the 
 
 climes and lands, 
 But what to do with this gazabe, of meanest men 
 
 the chief?" 
 At length he smiled and showed the man (by his 
 
 Satanic magic) 
 The thought his sons should have of him he 
 
 gave a frenzied scream ! 
 Then Satan smiled in keener glee he'd found a 
 
 finish tragic 
 
 For him who'd ruined ruthlessly his children's 
 sweetest dream. 
 
 80
 
 ALL OF US 
 
 KIDS in a cornfield, waving at the train 
 That scurries by on its mysterious way 
 To lands as distant as the Spanish Main 
 
 Seemed to us in our own untraveled day. 
 Barefooted, overalled, sunbonneted, 
 
 Hoe in the hollow of an arm, they wave 
 At this fleet vision coming now, now fled 
 A ride on that? No finer boon they crave. 
 
 Kids in a cornfield, waving at the train, 
 
 While we inside are envious as they 
 We envying them the care-free heart and brain 
 
 That need but dream and wonder all the day; 
 We wishing that the trips we needs must make 
 
 Were gorgeous as our cornfield vision seemed 
 Before we gambled for life's larger stake 
 
 While yet behind the scenes we grandly 
 dreamed. 
 
 Life is a train at which we children wave 
 
 We friendly ones: some merely sulk and 
 
 frown 
 Load and unload at cradle and at grave; 
 
 Speeding for one, then gently plowing down 
 To drop some passenger whose journey's done. 
 
 We hope to be caught up and carried hence 
 To wider vistas, past the setting sun 
 
 No traveler's tale has e'er been wafted thence! 
 81
 
 And we who wave in friendliness may hope 
 
 To be caught up and carried far and far 
 To bigger things, while they who stand and mope 
 
 In bitterness, beside the fleeting car, 
 Fast-anchored by their sullenness, remain 
 
 Within the cornfield all their livelong day. 
 Then let us wondering children greet life's train 
 
 And for life's finer, broader vision pray.
 
 A MIDDLE-AGE REFLECTION 
 
 I SAW a chap the other day that once I'd used 
 to know. 
 His cheeks were rosy, hair jet black, in days of 
 
 long ago. 
 But now the roses are not there, the raven hair is 
 
 streaked 
 With snowy white where ruthless Time his grim 
 
 revenge has wreaked. 
 I marveled. For the heart of me is young as when 
 
 I knew 
 The fellow years and years ago 'neath skies of 
 
 youth's own blue. 
 And then I chanced to recollect, and heard my own 
 
 voice say : 
 "What has been happening to me, while he was 
 
 turning gray ? " 
 
 Day after day I'd seen myself reflected in the 
 
 glass 
 The change had been so gradual my eyes had let it 
 
 pass 
 Unnoticed. Had I failed to see myself for such a 
 
 span 
 As had elapsed since I had met this other aging 
 
 man, 
 !N"o doubt the contrast would have been as great. I 
 
 had been used 
 To thinking of myself as still with wine of youth 
 
 infused. 
 
 83
 
 Perhaps the same was in his mind when we two 
 
 met that day : 
 " What has been happening to me while he was 
 
 turning gray ? " 
 
 But young at heart God keep us that ! Let care 
 
 be laughed to scorn. 
 Let's keep our backs to eventide and always face 
 
 the morn. 
 Let's keep the ripeness of our noon to guide the 
 
 girls and boys 
 Whose youth is callower than ours and lacking 
 
 deeper joys. 
 The snow of age may dust our hair, it can not reach 
 
 within. 
 We'll teach those careworn youths of ours to bear 
 
 their griefs and grin 
 Go to the one whose empty life has palled on him, 
 
 and say: 
 "A wiser youth has come to me while you were 
 
 turning gray ! "
 
 WHEN THE KIDS ABE* AWAY 
 
 EVERY Sunday of my lifetime, when the 
 children are at home, 
 I must get the " funny papers " just as many as 
 
 I can 
 And proceed to read them thoroughly go 
 
 through them with a comb 
 And extract their every giggle, from Beersheba 
 
 plumb to Dan. 
 And they tickle me yes, honest ! quite as well 
 
 as any one. 
 I just hurt my sides a-laughing at each bit of 
 
 equine play. 
 But I read them over sadly cannot find a stitch 
 
 of fun 
 In the whole disgusting medley, when the children 
 
 are away. 
 
 Do I care ? Am I repentant that I've had so little 
 sense 
 
 As to gurgle o'er the follies of the " funny paper " 
 folks? 
 
 Am I making resolutions that no more these froth- 
 ings dense 
 
 Shall arouse my cachinnations that I'll stick to 
 subtler jokes? 
 
 "No. Instead I'm always wishing that the kids 
 were back again 
 
 So there'd be more fun in living ; so I'd cackle like 
 a jay 
 
 85
 
 Over all the loutish capers of the " funny paper " 
 men 
 
 That somehow lose all their tickle when the chil- 
 dren are away.
 
 THE "UNBELIEVERS" 
 
 I'VE been around with lots o' ginks 
 Of that ludicrous class that thinks it thinks ; 
 And I've heard 'em boast of " unbelief," 
 Expectin' to see me bust with grief. 
 But I only grin, for I full well know 
 They mean no more than the winds that blow. 
 Let somethin' occur to disturb their mind, 
 And you'll see they've faith of the old-time kind- 
 One time I was brakin' (the job ahead) 
 On th' engine run by Penuckle Red 
 With Hardnut Bates on th' left-hand side 
 When he wasn't shovelin' nasty ride! 
 For them two geezers set an' cussed 
 Till sudden a wore-out side-rod bust. 
 An' both them fellers believed in God 
 Till they knowed they was missed by that slashin' 
 rod. 
 
 An' there was Johnny Trevelyan him 
 
 That used t' flag with Crazy Jim; 
 
 Jest th' out-an'-outerest cuss t' swear 
 
 That they weren't no God, not anywhere. 
 
 An' he'd prove it, too, by a process slick. 
 
 An' he kep' this up till his kid got sick. 
 
 Then Johnny prayed an' his prayin' was 
 
 swell ! 
 
 Till th' baby started a-gettin' well. 
 
 87
 
 I've seen 'em often that thought they thought 
 An' laid to " natur' " what God had wrought. 
 An' I've seen 'em eat it when danger come 
 An' their chance for life seemed on th' bum. 
 Belief in somethin' higher up 
 Comes nat'ral 's barkin' does to a pup. 
 Th' " unbelief " of th' kind I've heerd 
 Jest lasts till th' guy gits good an' skeered.
 
 THE FUN OF LIVING 
 
 'TTAVEN'T we had fun today? " 
 
 * Thus my youngster, tired of play, 
 Gurgles to me every night 
 Just before his eyes go tight 
 Shut in restful, dreamless sleep 
 Baby slumber sound and deep. 
 
 " Haven't we had fun today ? " 
 One of us is sure to say 
 At his bedtime. For his dad 
 Is no older than the lad 
 Counting by the way he feels 
 When the two kick up their heels. 
 
 " Haven't we had fun today ? " 
 As the years grow later, may 
 Neither of us e'er deny 
 Such assertion, with a sigh. 
 May the bigger things of life 
 Seem a game, with cheerful strife. 
 
 " Haven't we had fun today ? " 
 When God bids me go away 
 From this world we so enjoy, 
 May I hear him still " my boy " * 
 Laugh his au revoir, and say 
 " Haven't we had fun today ? " 
 
 89
 
 SOMETHING SWEET TO EEMEMBER 
 
 NO matter if things of the present are less than 
 we wish them to be ; 
 No matter if joys we'd expected pass by on the 
 
 other side; 
 No matter if hope's finest fruitage still clings to the 
 
 wishing tree, 
 
 No matter if some of our dreamings have lin- 
 gered awhile and died. 
 Even lacking these satisfactions, life is far from 
 
 a pleasureless thing 
 
 If we've something that's sweet to remember, we 
 can bravely and blithesomely sing. 
 
 There was once howe'er joyless your present 
 
 when you thrilled with the love of life ; 
 You have lived through some perfect moments 
 
 when your darlingest wish was fulfilled ; 
 There have been little seasons of triumph, when 
 
 your banner rode over the strife, 
 When, just as if Fate were your servant, things 
 
 came as you'd stubbornly willed. 
 So now, though your colors be trailing, though some 
 
 other's joy-flag is afling, 
 
 If you've something that's sweet to remember, 
 you may live in that mem'ry, and sing ! 
 
 90
 
 PUT TO THE TEST 
 
 THE friends you've lost by frankness were a 
 craven sort at best ; 
 They never were the kind you'd want when trouble 
 
 was your lot. 
 They were but latent enemies in garb of friendship 
 
 dressed 
 The sooner you were shed of them the better, like 
 
 as not. 
 So though it hold the bitterness of wormwood 
 
 mixed with gall, 
 The friends you lose through frankness aren't your 
 
 real friends, at all ! 
 
 The friend who knows you as you are, to whom you 
 never need 
 
 To give an explanation for your most eccentric act, 
 
 He is the only kind to have a friend in very 
 deed! 
 
 The qualities this good friend has, the " friend " 
 you're mourning lacked. 
 
 So doff the sable weeds you wear and whistle some- 
 thing gay 
 
 The friend you've lost through frankness would 
 have failed you anyway. 
 
 91
 
 THE INEXPRESSIBLE LINCOLN 
 
 GAUNT ; solemn ; lines of sorrow in his face ; 
 Deep, melancholy eyes where dwelt the grief 
 Of all mankind already you can trace 
 The old, familiar formula, in brief, 
 We follow when we singers would depict 
 The greatest, strangest, sweetest soul since He 
 Of Nazareth fulfilled divine edict 
 And walked the earth for wond'ring men to see. 
 
 But in our groping we completely miss 
 The point of what we'd make our words express. 
 There may be words in other worlds than this 
 To reach the subtle core of things, and dress 
 Our finest feelings in some lingual garb 
 Conveyable to other ears than ours 
 Grief of the Christ whose side receives the barb ; 
 Or sweet, soul-thrilling fragrance of the flowers. 
 
 When comes the anniversary of him 
 Whose name we love, whose mem'ry we revere, 
 We still attempt, in language vague and dim, 
 To voice a feeling deep, and strong and clear 
 Using the hackneyed phrases o'er and o'er 
 As oft as comes our idol's natal day ; 
 Missing each time, as we have missed before, 
 The soul of that we'd give our souls to say.
 
 THE HARDENING PROCESS 
 
 HE went without underwear half of his life, 
 Just to harden himself. 
 He boasted sometimes came a boast from his 
 
 wife 
 
 How he hardened himself. 
 No overcoat ever was seen on his form, 
 And yet he contended he always was warm 
 He feared not the blizzard, he feared not the storm. 
 He had hardened himself. 
 
 He slept in a tent, with mosquito bar sheets 
 
 Just to harden himself ; 
 
 Slept out through the snows and slept out through 
 the sleets, 
 
 Just to harden himself. 
 
 He wouldn't have slept in a house mercy, no ! 
 Such coddling as that brought humanity woe; 
 E'en when it was twenty or thirty below 
 
 He would harden himself. 
 
 One night the thermometer dropped like a shot 
 While he hardened himself. 
 
 It broke all the records, so chilly it got, 
 While he hardened himself. 
 
 Next morning he didn't come out of his tent 
 
 And when to awake him his gentle wife went, 
 
 93
 
 She found him froze stiff ! He just couldn't be 
 
 bent! 
 He had hardened himself 
 
 At last, 
 Keally hardened himself. 
 
 94
 
 WHAT OF YOUK FIGHT? 
 
 WAS your weight behind the blow? 
 Do you positively know 
 Not another ounce of power could have gone into 
 
 your punch ? 
 
 Left you any stone unturned, 
 Any rearward bridge unburned 
 Did you stake your last simoleon to justify your 
 hunch? 
 
 In the effort that you made 
 
 Was your utmost strength displayed ? 
 
 Did you mutter : " If 'tis in me to get by with it, 
 
 here goes ! " 
 
 Did you say, " I'll pay the price 
 Now, to save the time of twice " 
 Did you hit out from the shoulder, leaning forward 
 
 from your toes ? 
 
 Did you try, or think you tried ? 
 
 Did you bore in, savage-eyed, 
 
 Till your foeman's solar-plexus or the apex of his 
 
 jaw 
 
 Was unguarded? Did you land 
 With a wallop in each hand? 
 Should the fight have been a knockout, 'stead of 
 
 stopping with a draw? 
 
 Know, when every fight is done . 
 Be the vict'ry lost or won , 
 
 95
 
 There was not a drop of fighting lying idle in your 
 
 breast. 
 
 Even bruises and defeat 
 Have their modicum of sweet 
 When you know that in the battle you have done 
 
 your level best. 
 
 96
 
 A FACIAL STUDY 
 
 HE stood on the street a wretched thing of 
 tatters, rags and bloat. 
 He had no pockets for his hands, so he wrapped 
 
 them in his coat 
 His threadbare, wind-whipped, faded coat that did 
 
 not keep him warm 
 Beside the slender post that stood between him 
 
 and the storm. 
 And while dejected thus he loafed and shivered in 
 
 the gale, 
 A counterpart of him came by, making a zigzag 
 
 trail. 
 As the staggerer passed the sober tramp I caught 
 
 the latter's eye 
 
 The envious look of a sober bum when a 
 drunken bum went by. 
 
 An envious look ? Yes, that was there, but vastly 
 
 more beside. 
 
 I saw a look of shame contort that visage bleary- 
 eyed. 
 
 'Twas such a look as plainly said: "A counter- 
 part of me! 
 My drunken self as I appear, with all the world 
 
 to see ! 
 We're both among the down-and-outs no use to 
 
 try again 
 
 To take a high or honored place among the 
 ranks of men ! " 
 
 97
 
 All this with envy was combined I thought I 
 
 heard a sigh 
 
 From the wretched, ragged, sober bum as the 
 drunken bum went by. 
 
 And I thought I noticed a strong disgust and 
 
 maybe a gleam of hope 
 In the sober one's face as he watched his friend 
 
 in his aimless weave and grope. 
 I thought I saw a feeble, faintly flickering flash 
 
 of life 
 From the burned-out fires that once had driven 
 
 his soul's ambitious strife. 
 But perchance I erred, and perhaps the hope that 
 
 I half believed I saw 
 Was a fantasy born of the prayer I made as I 
 
 gazed at the loose-hung jaw, 
 The mottled cheek and the stubbly chin, the 
 
 blurred and blearing eye 
 That look on the face of the sober bum when 
 the drunken bum went by. 
 
 98
 
 JUST NOTHIN' 
 
 SITTIN' all lopped over with yer eyes half shut, 
 Watchin' somethin' movin' in the field out 
 
 there ; 
 
 Somethin' sorto movin' by that old, gray hut 
 Dunno if it's paper or a hen don't care ! 
 
 Watchin' somethin' movin' all yer mind asleep 
 'Cept enough t' wonder what the deuce that is 
 Wouldn't move a muscle t' find out just keep 
 Wonderin' continyus it's such easy biz ! 
 
 Sittin' at the depot on a rusty truck, 
 
 Shadder of yer suitcase movin' faster than yer 
 
 mind ! 
 View so less-than-nothin' you believe you'd be in 
 
 luck 
 If, until your train come, you was temporary 
 
 blind. 
 
 Man off in a f odderfield you see 'is overalls 
 Bluer than th' gray-blue sky; his black an' sorrel 
 
 team 
 Movin' on from shock to shock small enough 
 
 fer dolls! 
 Afterward you wonder if you seen 'em in a dream. 
 
 Two folks come a-walkin' from th' main street o' 
 
 the town 
 Hear th' bus a-rumblin' like th' distant roll o' 
 
 drums! 
 
 99
 
 Somethin' creaks ; y' see th' target-paddle droppin' 
 
 down, 
 Bus man hikes 'is pants an' spits an' grunts out, 
 
 " Hyer she comes." 
 
 Waitin' fer a railroad train at little dumps like 
 
 that 
 
 Is just th' nearest zero you can find below th' sky. 
 Wish I had a dollar fer each hour I have sat 
 " Killin' time ? " I gosh, it's just a-lettin' of her 
 
 die! 
 
 100
 
 THE TRIFLINGEST JOB 
 
 I'VE seen men work at everything that's piffling, 
 seems to me, 
 
 From pounding sand in ratholes down to playing 
 auction bridge; 
 
 I've seen men spend a half a day at lining up a bee 
 
 That flew from clovered valley to the woods be- 
 yond the ridge. 
 
 But the job that's always proved to be the trifling- 
 est of all; 
 
 That has brought the least returns and made the 
 failure most complete, 
 
 Was backing up a gang of ginks against a sunny 
 wall 
 
 And telling " funny " stories at the corner of the 
 street. 
 
 I've seen folks play at mumbly-peg and horseshoe 
 
 pitching, too. 
 I've seen 'em stand for hours watching some one 
 
 climb a pole; 
 I've seen 'em lamp safe-movers while they eased 
 
 their burden through 
 A window; watched 'em watching down a ragged 
 
 gas ditch hole. 
 Now as trifling as these capers, they're important 
 
 in compare 
 With the other job I mention sure forerunner 
 
 of defeat: 
 
 101
 
 Lining up a bunch of loafers in the balmy, springy 
 
 air, 
 And telling " funny " stories at the corner of the 
 
 street. 
 
 I'll bet a pewter nickel with a hole in it, that when 
 
 These wasters come to judgment with the others, 
 by and by, 
 
 When hotel-rocker-warmers and the other sons of 
 men 
 
 Who killed their time most foolishly, have strag- 
 gled to the sky 
 
 I'll bet a pint of cookies that the one who'll fare 
 the worst 
 
 When, standing at the threshold, he is questioned 
 by Saint Pete, 
 
 Will be the one referred to as the chief of the 
 accurst 
 
 The one whose " funny " stories smirched the cor- 
 ner of the street. 
 
 102
 
 BECOMING A MAN 
 
 1USED to think, when I was small, that all I 
 need to do 
 To be a man, was just grow up. That was before 
 
 I knew 
 So much of grown-up males who lack as much 
 
 that manhood needs 
 As when they were but juveniles and dreamed of 
 
 manly deeds. 
 So I have learned this much, at least, since when 
 
 my life began: 
 It takes much more than growing up to be a real 
 
 man. 
 
 "When I grow up and be a man," you hear the 
 small boys say. 
 
 t/ / 7 
 
 As if by merely growing large they should be men 
 
 some day. 
 But, knowing manhood's requisites in larger sense, 
 
 they'll learn 
 There's much besides their body growth for which 
 
 they ought to yearn. 
 The stately St. Bernard is more than just a larger 
 
 pup 
 It takes much more to be a man, than just a-grow- 
 
 ing up! 
 
 Fine breadth of vision, self-control, a boundless 
 
 charity, 
 A gentler tongue, a stronger faith, more perfect 
 
 clarity 1Qg
 
 In spirit-vision; patience vast more patience 
 
 still, and more; 
 Wisdom to know and to forget all that has 
 
 gone before; 
 Courage to smile though sorrow fill unto its brim 
 
 your cup 
 More is required, to make a man, than merely 
 
 growing up! 
 
 104
 
 THE HIDDEN PLAYMATES 
 
 fllHE old man went where the boys had been 
 JL That he used to play with, long ago ; 
 To the white schoolhouse they had studied in, 
 With the church and the graveyard down below. 
 As he stood alone with his white head bowed, 
 The years slipped off from his mind and soul 
 And he lifted his voice to call aloud 
 His one-time mates' familiar roll: 
 
 " Tom ! " Never an answei but echo came. 
 " Bill ! " Cows in a nearby field looked up. 
 "George," "Philip," "Ben" it was still the 
 
 same; 
 
 And grief drops welled in the old man's cup. 
 " They are hiding from me, those rascals are, 
 As they used to hide in the days gone by, 
 When ' books ' let out, and near and far 
 We romped and ran as we played ' I spy.' 
 
 " But there was a rule that it wasn't fair 
 
 To hide in the graveyard, near the church. 
 
 And once when we told ! when Ben hid there, 
 
 The teacher taught him the feel of birch. 
 
 ' You mustn't play where they've laid their dead,' 
 
 She cautioned him and the other boys. 
 
 ' It's wicked to hide 'mid the mounds,' she said, 
 
 'With your clumsy feet and your thoughtless 
 
 105
 
 " I am sure they have broken that rule today 
 As I call and never an answer comes. 
 But none will chide them or say them nay 
 Those mischievous lads who were once my chums. 
 Sometime, when I've called to the boys again 
 And listened in vain for their shrilled reply, 
 I'll brave the teacher, like wayward Ben, 
 And hide myself 'mid the mounds near by." 
 
 106
 
 SPOET 
 
 HE drove a motor car that looked just like a 
 plumbing-shop. 
 It had nine hundred ways to run and nary way 
 
 to stop, 
 And when he cut the muffler out and started to 
 
 warm up 
 
 It sounded like a shootf est in the factory of Krupp. 
 He had a hairpin turn to make did he shut off 
 
 the power? 
 Not quite ! He took that awful swerve at ninety 
 
 miles an hour. 
 A tire came off they gathered up a full square 
 
 inch of skin 
 Beneath the hideous devil-cart where this poor 
 
 chap had been. 
 
 And that is " sport ! " 
 
 He sat within a dirty boat upon a fishless stream ; 
 He threw his high-priced bait far out where 
 
 flashed the ripple's gleam. 
 The sun came by and cooked his back, the black 
 
 ants chewed his flesh, 
 The huge mosquitoes pierced his shirt at every 
 
 blessed mesh. 
 He had been told and truthfully that not a 
 
 fish existed 
 Within a dozen miles of there; but still the chap 
 
 persisted 
 
 107
 
 Until he ached in every bone and reeked at every 
 pore, 
 
 Then wretchedly he plodded back to his camp- 
 cabin door. 
 
 And that is " sport ! " 
 
 He took a gun and tramped all day o'er forest 
 
 brake and fen 
 (Whatever both those places are) far from the 
 
 haunts of men. 
 He didn't have a bite to eat that he'd have touched 
 
 at home. 
 
 At night he lay on bony boughs beneath the star- 
 gemmed dome; 
 While woodticks bit him to the quick and sleepless 
 
 hoot owls sang 
 Till he and his companions were a cross and 
 
 nervous gang. 
 Next day they faced the constant fear that each 
 
 might shoot the other, 
 And henceforth bear the brand of Cain as one 
 
 who'd killed a brother. 
 
 And that is " sport ! " 
 
 108
 
 THE GENERAL STORE 
 
 I'D know it by the sight of it, I'd know it by 
 the smell ; 
 I'd know it by the sound of it, and know it mighty 
 
 well. 
 I'd know it if you set me down at midnight, 'mid 
 
 the scent 
 
 Of coffee, " coal oil," sugar bins and country but- 
 ter blent. 
 With eyes shut, I can smell again the prints upon 
 
 the shelf 
 Amid the hickory shirting you could do the 
 
 same yourself 
 If you had lived among them in the days when 
 
 life was bleak 
 And all you saw was in the town say every 
 
 other week. 
 
 On that side is the candy I can see it now, and, 
 
 oh, 
 How good those striped sticks used to look in days 
 
 of long ago! 
 On this side is the muslin with blue trade marks 
 
 printed on, 
 The bleached and unbleached side by side; and 
 
 here's some slazy lawn 
 And dimity that wouldn't sell (they'd bought it 
 
 by mistake) ; 
 Some blacking, fans and currycombs, with hoe 
 
 and garden rake. 
 
 109
 
 We used to carry in the eggs and butter, and we'd 
 
 buy 
 Our sugar, tea and bluing and the concentrated 
 
 lye. 
 
 We used to wander back into the small room where 
 
 they kept 
 The kerosene and axle grease 'twas hardly ever 
 
 swept ; 
 But there it was we found the scales and weighed 
 
 ourselves and said 
 It wasn't like the steelyards out in our old wagon 
 
 shed. 
 'Twas there that in the springtime pa would buy 
 
 us all straw hats, 
 The ten-cent kind made out of straw they use for 
 
 making mats. 
 In fall we got our foot gear that must last the 
 
 winter through, 
 For pa said : " Them's yer winter boots ye've 
 
 got t' make 'em do." 
 
 I've been in houses mercantile that covered blocks 
 
 and blocks; 
 I've seen the clerks that swarm around in bevies 
 
 and in flocks; 
 
 I've seen the elevators ; but I cannot make it seem 
 Like anything substantial, for 'tis nothing but a 
 
 dream. 
 
 110
 
 To me the real "store" will be, as long as life 
 shall last, 
 
 That smelly country village place I knew there 
 in the past, 
 
 With just one clerk to sell you things some fel- 
 low that you knew, 
 
 Though sometimes on a circus day there'd be as 
 high as two. 
 
 No fun to " do th' tradin' " like I used to, any 
 more 
 
 How clear is memory's picture of that " gen'ral " 
 country store! 
 
 Ill
 
 THE ETEKNAL BEGINNING 
 
 THIS morning is the time when I begin. 
 No former life has ever entered in 
 To dull me. I have had my nightly rest 
 Sufficient; I will play it was the best. 
 I start unhandicapped by old-time fears, 
 Unapprehensive of the pregnant years 
 Still in the future. But with face serene 
 I go my way night wiped the old slate clean. 
 
 This morning will I love the mate I chose 
 Once on a time the trouble that arose, 
 So long ago as yesterday, is dead. 
 Nor, martyr-like, upon her patient head 
 Will I heap coals of fire and renew 
 The bickering that the kindly night withdrew. 
 It is as though we met and loved afresh, 
 As ere God made us one in name and flesh. 
 
 The humbled spirit that was mine last night 
 Gave place to one triumphant ere the light. 
 The bitter knowledge of my own defects 
 Yields to a braver spirit that directs 
 Myself and, by and large, my destiny 
 No timorous, fear-born phantom threatens me. 
 The past, a signed report, has been turned in : 
 This morning is the time when I Begin.
 
 UNPARDONABLE 
 
 THERE is pardon for failure to reach just the 
 mark 
 
 You'd set for yourself in the struggle of life. 
 There's forgiveness for him who, through lacking 
 
 the spark 
 Of genius, is " downed " in the thick of the 
 
 strife. 
 
 There is balm for the pride of the fellow who fails 
 To attain what he wished when his struggle be- 
 gan. 
 
 But the world will be deaf to the babyish wails 
 Of the man who does less than the best that he 
 can. 
 
 The world's fairly just in accrediting praise 
 
 And fairly judicious in placing the blame. 
 Its eye's fairly clear in observing the plays 
 
 In front of the grand stand in life's busy game. 
 The runner who's spiked is forgiven his limp, 
 
 And nobody kicks o'er the pace that he ran. 
 But the hoot and the jeer for the white-livered imp 
 
 Who does any less than the best that he can. 
 
 When we finish our season and pennants are won, 
 We'll be judged not so much by our batting per 
 
 cent. 
 As by what, with more effort, we ought to have 
 
 done; 
 
 By the time we have wasted on indolence bent. 
 113
 
 There'll be less of " What did you ? " than " What 
 
 could have been ? " 
 In the light of equipment your work they will 
 
 scan. 
 
 They'll forgive you for failing the pennant to win, 
 But never for less-than-the-best-that-you-can. 
 
 114
 
 THE EASIEK TASK 
 
 NO matter what the treatment he accord me, 
 I will not let dislike embitter me ; 
 Whate'er unrest unkindness might afford me, 
 I will keep sweet, however hard it be. 
 For I have learned - and oh, how slow the learn- 
 ing, 
 
 And with what costly grief has it been mated ! 
 Hate in its author's heart has fiercest burning 
 'Tis harder work to hate than to be hated. 
 
 Year after year a man may hate his brother 
 Each waking hour with bitterness be filled. 
 This hate may bring discomfort to the other 
 But, in the hater, joy is well-nigh killed. 
 And so I will not harbor hate, nor hoard it 
 I've learned my lesson, though perchance belated. 
 The honest truth is this : I can't afford it ; 
 'Tis costlier to hate than to be hated. 
 
 115
 
 SONG OF THE FAMILY MAN 
 
 I'LL stick around. The Good Book says that I 
 Must flock with angels in the by and by. 
 And if the angels look like what I've seen 
 So labeled in each book and magazine 
 That spoke of them, I'd rather have my folks 
 Than any of those semi-feathered mokes. 
 
 I'll stick around. My people know my faults 
 
 And make allowance. When my spirit vaults 
 
 Into the blue and starts to circulate 
 
 Among the flying brand of vertebrate 
 
 That know me not and can not sin themselves, 
 
 I'll wish me back upon the gray stone shelves 
 
 Inside the mausoleum, or with those 
 
 Who used to know me in my working clothes. 
 
 I'll stick around. That is, if angels seem 
 
 Like those oft pictured from the artist's dream. 
 
 I can not say I gladly look ahead 
 
 To changing company when I am dead. 
 
 God is as good as I could wish Him, when 
 
 He sends me home to wife and kids again. 
 
 116
 
 THE BOOK FOR ALL TIME 
 
 never was a trouble yet," I've heard 
 my mother say, 
 " That wasn't mentioned in this Book I study 
 
 every day. 
 
 There never was a crisis in a human life, I'm sure, 
 But had its prototype in this the Book that must 
 endure." 
 
 She doesn't say things to me now that mother 
 
 wise of mine 
 At least not with the sort of voice she did. But 
 
 clear and fine 
 I hear her admonitions just as plainly now as 
 
 when 
 She read to me the same old things, again and yet 
 
 again, 
 
 I didn't know it sank so deep the wisdom she 
 
 imparted. 
 It took the years relentless years that left me 
 
 heavier-hearted 
 To show me how her words and voice I thought I 
 
 slightly heeded 
 Were stored to give my later life the things it 
 
 sorely needed. 
 
 And now when, in a hotel room, I take the little 
 
 Book 
 The Gideons God bless them ! gave, I rever- 
 
 ently look 
 
 117
 
 Through page on page and find therein, to my pro- 
 found surprise, 
 
 Full proof, through this great wonder Book, that 
 God's all-seeing eyes 
 
 Foresaw that day that very day that was so new 
 
 to me, 
 And had discoursed, through minds inspired, on 
 
 all that I should be 
 And do, throughout the crisis that had seemed to 
 
 me unique ! 
 How marvelously down the years those wondrous 
 
 pages speak! 
 
 And, strangely, things I read in there sound dif- 
 ferent, somehow, 
 
 From ordinary printed stuff. And hence my little 
 vow 
 
 That I, both for my mother's sake, and for my 
 own sake too, 
 
 Will search the Scriptures every day they tell 
 me what to do ! 
 
 118
 
 THE EXCEPTION 
 
 T \ THEN the world is bright and sunny and he's 
 
 feeling blithe and gay, 
 He's his daddy's constant shadow from the dawn 
 
 till closing day. 
 When his face is wreathed with dimples and his 
 
 heart is singing loud 
 Why, his father is a monarch with immortal traits 
 
 endowed. 
 Not another human creature is essential to his 
 
 joy 
 
 He will tell you any moment that he's " Fawer's 
 
 only boy." 
 But 'tis quite another story when there's sorrow 
 
 with the lad, 
 For he always wants his mother when he's sick or 
 
 when he's bad ! 
 
 Father's good enough in sunshine ; but the coming 
 of the storm 
 
 Brings a hunger for the hugging that is gentle, 
 soft and warm; 
 
 Brings a need for tender croonings and the sooth- 
 ing " Never minds " 
 
 That, excepting in a mother's arms, no human 
 ever finds. 
 
 So he turns his back on father can not see him 
 for a minute 
 
 When his over-arching baby sky has clouds of 
 trouble in it. 
 
 119
 
 "When the birds are singing sweetly he's forever 
 
 tagging dad, 
 But he always wants his mother when he's sick or 
 
 when he's bad. 
 
 120
 
 THE NEARER LOVES 
 
 YOU ask me : " Are the journeys hard ? " 
 And " Does the time seem long ? " 
 You marvel that, though travel-worn, I lift my 
 
 voice in song. 
 The waits are weary, food ill-cooked, the beds give 
 
 fitful rest. 
 
 Yet do I bear it cheerfully and labor on with zest. 
 You wonder why I'll tell you, friend, how such 
 
 a thing may be: 
 I have a love that comes between my selfish self 
 
 and me. 
 
 My own discomfort grieves me not while letters 
 
 from my flock 
 Proclaim their vital welfare. I can bear each 
 
 brunt and shock 
 With fortitude and laughter if the ones I leave at 
 
 home 
 Are well in mind and body while their guardian's 
 
 a-roam. 
 Their joy is vastly dearer than my own can ever 
 
 be 
 That love's so close it lies between my inmost self 
 
 and me. 
 
 God pity him who has himself alone to fret about ! 
 With nothing sweet between him and the cares that 
 flail and flout. 
 
 121
 
 His room is cold, his food is bad, his train is cruel 
 late 
 
 He stands the gaff unarmored and bewails his bit- 
 ter fate. 
 
 But I, if all go well at home, am happy as can be, 
 
 And thank the Lord for love that lies between my- 
 self and me. 
 
 122
 
 "A2STD SHUT THY BOOK" 
 
 "But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy 
 closet and shut thy door." Bible. 
 
 4 ' A ND shut thy door! " How well He knew 
 
 ** This human being He had made! 
 When day's long hours have harried you 
 At home or in the marts of trade, 
 How exquisite your spirit's thirst 
 To be aloof a little while 
 From that which frets and vexes worst 
 The constant need to beck and smile. 
 
 You are alone within your room; 
 And yet your spirit craves still more 
 Assurance that no soul may loom 
 O'er your horizon " shut thy door." 
 The sound of turning round the key 
 Within the lock the balm it gives ! 
 The current of your thoughts flows free, 
 Till soon again your best self lives. 
 
 This person and that other drew 
 Some vital part of you away 
 They pulled and hauled and tortured you 
 Through all the busy, patient day. 
 This shut-in hour with none but God 
 (Who ne'er intrudes) will soon restore 
 Your feet to paths in calmness trod: 
 Enter your room " and shut thy door." 
 123
 
 IS IT LONG? 
 
 4 'TN two more days I shall be home again," 
 * I told my wide-eyed baby boy. And then 
 Swift, sob-choked came his question : " Is that 
 
 long?" 
 
 I held him in my arms that love made strong 
 And soothed : " To you, but not to me, my son 
 It will seem short to you when it is done." 
 
 I beg to know whence comes the rose's flame. 
 He whom we worldlings variously name 
 Has promised me that, when this life is o'er, 
 To me He will reveal all hidden lore 
 The alchemy of blossom, leaf and tree 
 And every other baffling mystery. 
 
 My fretting magnifies the long delay 
 
 Before the dawning of my wiser day. 
 
 I voice the burden of that baby song, 
 
 Pleading, impatient, " Father, is it long ? " 
 
 " To you," He smiles, " but not to me, my son 
 
 'Twill seem full short to you, when life is done." 
 
 124
 
 A HUMAN HUNGER 
 
 I WANTA dream o' floatin' on a big, pink cloud 
 With fiddles singin' sleepy an' a flute a-playin' 
 
 loud, 
 An' a pianner played so soft you sometimes think 
 
 she's quit 
 
 Then you would whisper to yourself, " Why, no ! 
 She's playin' yit ! " 
 
 I wanta dream my body's well, my whole self 
 
 feelin' good 
 Jest everything the good Lord give me, workin' as 
 
 it should; 
 An' dream o' floatin' high an' high without no 
 
 skeer at tall, 
 A-thinkin' what a joke it was that once I feared 
 
 I'd fall. 
 
 I wanta dream o' lazy shine an' wind caressin' so 
 Y' couldn't even wonder if it's warm enough er no. 
 An' most I'd dream of some one feelin' just th' 
 
 same as me 
 A-holt my hand an' pressin' jest as gentle as can 
 
 be 
 
 Some one that never has to say a single tender 
 
 word 
 But says it always always, jest as plain as 
 
 singin' bird. 
 
 125
 
 I'd lose what trouble's in my heart an' all there 
 
 ever was 
 Lord, how I long for happiness, like everybody 
 
 does! 
 
 126
 
 "FORGIVE ME" 
 
 WOULDN'T it be good, my brother, 
 If the sun could always shine ? 
 If we lived for one another, 
 
 Wouldn't every day be fine ? 
 Life were sweeter still, believe me, 
 
 Freer far from wails of woe 
 If those simple words " Forgive me " 
 Didn't choke a fellow so. 
 
 Were our lips not schooled to smother 
 
 All that's finest in the heart, 
 Wouldn't it be easy, brother, 
 
 Aye to choose the better part ? 
 Oh, this world were sweet, believe me, 
 
 Free from bitterness and woe 
 If those blessed words " Forgive me " 
 
 Didn't choke a fellow so. 
 
 127
 
 THE HUSBAND'S INQUISITION 
 
 WHAT have I borne of her sorrows ? 
 What of my pleasures shared ? 
 Yesterday, now and tomorrow 
 
 Long as my life is spared, 
 These are the questions I ask me, 
 
 Oft as I think of her; 
 
 Always with this I task me, 
 
 Often with eyes a-blur. 
 
 First in my mind up-springing, 
 
 When in the night I wake, 
 Last through my heart-thoughts winging, 
 
 As restward my way I take; 
 Always the self-same question, 
 
 Ever the wistful note 
 Aye at its mere suggestion, 
 
 Something obstructs my throat. 
 
 Never a need of saying, 
 
 " What has she done for me ? " 
 God may He heed my praying 
 
 Knows what a treasure she. 
 This only this I'm asking, 
 
 What have I done for her ? 
 Always my soul thus tasking ; 
 
 Often with eyes a-blur. 
 
 128
 
 TO A BABY GIKL 
 
 A LAMB born to a world of wolves that howl 
 Upon your trail; that snarl and drool and 
 
 growl 
 
 To capture you and gorge themselves afresh 
 Upon your soft, love-consecrated flesh. 
 A blossom blown for trampling under feet 
 Of vandals who desire your soul's defeat. 
 Ours till, by winds of Time and Trouble hurled, 
 You are fed, living, to man's ravening world. 
 
 Kneeling or standing, all our parent life 
 
 Is one blood-sweating prayer that in the strife 
 
 Confronting you, the odds for right may win; 
 
 That when the struggle ends you may have been 
 
 Loved always with the tenderness that now 
 
 We give, chaste as a sacerdotal vow. 
 
 But oh, the fires that rage along your path 
 
 Where you must dare your fellow beings' wrath! 
 
 Your beauty that provokes the prideful tear 
 In doting parent eyes, will bring the leer 
 Of fawning brutes that slaver for your life 
 O knowledge that goes leaping like a knife 
 To all our finest feelings! While you may, 
 Cling to the ones that love you so that they 
 Would gladly die that you be undefiled 
 God keep you safe, O tender woman-child! 
 
 129
 
 THOSE NIGHTS OF BROKEN SLEEP 
 
 WE used to worry for our children's sakes 
 Because young Jim would carry garter 
 
 snakes 
 
 In his pants pockets, and because Jemime 
 Would take the stairway two steps at a time. 
 
 Many a night we've lain awake and fretted 
 Because our Angelina, spoiled and petted, 
 Threw oft her little milk cup to the floor ; 
 We lie awake and fret o'er these no more. 
 
 For Jim is thirty-eight and doesn't lug 
 In any pocket snake or worm or bug; 
 Jemime was thirty-five last June, and weighs 
 Two hundred does she skip the steps these days ? 
 
 While Angelina, thirty-two or so, 
 
 Ceased, decades since, her little cup to throw 
 
 Upon the floor Wish we had back the sleep 
 
 We missed when o'er their faults we used to weep I 
 
 130
 
 THIS DAY 
 
 THIS is bound to be well, say ! 
 One humdinger of a day! 
 It may rain, but what's the diff? 
 What would happen to us if 
 It should fail to rain and then 
 Clear up, cloud and rain again? 
 Whatsoe'er the weather be, 
 This will prove, for you and me 
 (As I started out to say), 
 One dicknailer of a day. 
 
 Ere the night comes you will get 
 Hungry, and some meals, I'll bet; 
 You'll be thirsty, so I think, 
 And relieve that thirst with drink; 
 You will have a chance to do 
 Favors for some one whom you 
 Long have known and owed a kindness ; 
 You are free from deafness, blindness, 
 Or, if not, you feel ! Oh, say ! 
 This will be a corking day. 
 
 What I mean to say is this: 
 Every day has some of bliss. 
 Just endure with patient smile 
 Things that hurt. For after while 
 There will come the happiness 
 That shall lighten your distress * 
 131
 
 Lighten it? Nay, 'twill destroy it. 
 Life will change and you'll enjoy it. 
 Every morning, just you say: 
 " This will be one bully day! " 
 
 132
 
 "AKE YOU THERE?" 
 
 I LIKE to play close by my father's den, 
 Where he's at work, and every now and then 
 Ask : " Father, are you there ? " He answers 
 
 back: 
 
 " Yes, son." That time I broke my railroad track 
 All into bits, he stopped his work and came 
 And wiped my tears, and said : " Boy, boy ! Be 
 
 game ! " 
 
 And then he showed me how to fix it right, 
 And I took both my arms and hugged him tight. 
 
 Once, when I'd asked him if he still was there, 
 He called me in and rumpled up my hair, 
 And said : " How much alike are you and I ! 
 When I feel just as boys feel when they cry, 
 I call to our Big Father, to make sure 
 That He is there, my childish dread to cure. 
 And always, just as I to you, * Yes, son/ 
 Our Father calls, and all my fret is done ! " 
 
 133
 
 A CONTIDENTIAL PKAYEK 
 
 MY small deceptions, Lord you know of 
 them; 
 
 My wee prevarications, kindness-born 
 I've often thought You would not quick condemn 
 These, in the awfulness of Judgment Morn. 
 
 Where truth can only give a thrust and sting, 
 Where cureless, needless hurt it must inflict, 
 
 I can not think You'll cavil till we bring 
 A perfect score You will be just, not strict. 
 
 If love entice us from the beaten trail 
 True love, not passion, as we read of it 
 
 If put to test 'twixt love and truth, we fail 
 The center of truth's target aye to hit 
 
 I can not think You'll hold us to account 
 For sacrificing self to save another 
 
 From fruitless sorrow, e'en in small amount. 
 Should we love most our conscience or our 
 brother ? 
 
 134
 
 A GENUINE MAN 
 
 SOME days ago I met a man who'd known 
 The very best of life's material things 
 A servant-crowded palace of his own, 
 Fine clothing all that lavish fortune flings 
 Before the rich. And he had lost it all, 
 Through fault of others. Yet his head was high, 
 Within his spirit dwelt no trace of gall, 
 A smile was on his lips, his orbs were dry. 
 
 He welcomed me into his home as though 
 It were a grander palace and it was ! 
 The spirit of its tenant lent a glow 
 To everything, and hid whatever flaws 
 There may have been. Scorning apologies 
 He welcomed me as but the kingly can. 
 That night my soul got down upon its knees 
 And thanked its God that we had seen a Man! 
 
 135
 
 A CONSOLATION 
 
 SOMETIMES the beads of perspiration stand 
 upon my brow 
 
 To think how little I have done from birthtime up 
 to now. 
 
 I feel a rimless cipher would be great beside of 
 me 
 
 The depth of my dejection is a painful thing to 
 see. 
 
 But I cheer up quite perceptibly and lay my grief 
 aside 
 
 When sizing up the pinhead who has grown self- 
 satisfied. 
 
 My deep displeasure with myself and all that in 
 
 me is 
 Brings pain that's far more poignant than a case 
 
 of rheumatiz. 
 
 I see the thing I'd like to be, which also I am not, 
 And on humanity's fair page I rate myself a blot. 
 But I am just as proud as if my royal name were 
 
 Guelph 
 When I observe the sort of nut that's tickled with 
 
 himself. 
 
 136
 
 BEWARE! 
 
 MY frau was good and healthy till the doctor 
 saw her tongue 
 
 And placed a rubber speaking tube abaft her lee- 
 ward lung. 
 Since then she's scarcely able to get up and do 
 
 her work 
 At which she once went blithely as the (purely 
 
 fabled) Turk. 
 She has a dozen symptoms that she didn't know 
 
 she had 
 Some days she's quite a little worse, and other 
 
 days just bad. 
 I wish from out my heart of hearts she hadn't had 
 
 the time 
 To see that blooming doctor man who turned her 
 
 bones to lime. 
 
 My little girl was normal till by chance a word was 
 dropped 
 
 In question of her eye-sight then her happiness 
 was stopped. 
 
 We took her to a specialist who found her lamps 
 were mixed 
 
 It took a week and twenty-seven bones to get her 
 fixed. 
 
 The boy one day had sniffles, but was happy as a 
 king 
 
 The doctor called it adenoids and, proud as any- 
 thing, 
 
 137
 
 He chopped them out with tailors' shears, and now 
 
 we have to watch 
 The little fellow like a hawk, his throat is such a 
 
 botch. 
 
 I'm feeling well, can see a mile to read a fair- 
 sized print. 
 
 My hearing is as keen as keen I've never had 
 a hint 
 
 Of bother with my senses all the five are work- 
 ing well, 
 
 But would I see a doctor with skilled services to 
 sell? 
 
 !N"ot on your latest tin-type ! For he'd find I had 
 the pip, 
 
 Sciatic rheumatism and congenital bum hip. 
 
 And though I clearly see and hear, I bet a horse 
 he'd find 
 
 That I'd been deaf for seven years and for a dec- 
 ade blind! 
 
 138
 
 THE YOUNG-OLDS 
 
 WE are the army of young-old men ; 
 Men who have served the race, 
 Graying, with wrinkling face 
 Served for a whole generation, and then 
 Started to serve through another again. 
 Faithful, else you should have set us adrift 
 Long ere this protest we earnestly lift. 
 
 We are the army of young-old men 
 
 Likely to live a score 
 
 Or better, of good years more. 
 Young in our hearts as our heads were when 
 First we enlisted, and wiser than then 
 
 Fitter to serve than we ever have been. 
 
 Graying of hair is it pardonless sin ? 
 
 We are the army of young-old men 
 
 !N"or pension nor alms we ask, 
 
 Only a whole man's task, 
 Paid what we earn are we asking for more 3 
 Shall we, like offal, be thrown to the floor, 
 
 Swept to the rubbish-heap carted away 
 
 Long ere the close of our usef ulest day ? 
 
 139
 
 LIFE'S ANESTHETIC 
 
 TK 7HEKEVER I am spirit-worn, and feel 
 Double the weight of years that have 
 
 been mine, 
 I do not let my heart the coward ! steal 
 
 Off to some mountain lake with marge of pine 
 And lichened cliffs. I find it sweeter far 
 
 To think of some one burdened worse than I 
 
 And write him things to keep hope's steady star 
 
 Before his care-fagged, trouble-jaundiced eye. 
 
 Ere I have written him a dozen lines 
 
 Of gentle frivol, masking sympathy, 
 Songs sweeter than the wind hymn in the pines 
 
 Have sung themselves into the soul of me. 
 For never better way has been invented 
 
 To keep lives to love's lambent lodestar true 
 Than helping other souls to feel contented 
 
 Till their reflected radiance shine on you. 
 
 140
 
 WHAT WE PRAY FOR 
 
 WE blather 'round a lot, and ask 
 The Lord to tackle many a task 
 We don't expect to have Him tackle. 
 Much of such " prayer " is mere lip-cackle 
 And doesn't even echo, in 
 The heart, where all true prayers begin. 
 
 We've formed some habits in the line 
 Of praying. Hypocritic whine 
 And innocently vain pretense 
 We offer up spoiled frankincense 
 And some adulterated myrrh 
 No miracles thus asked occur. 
 
 But all the while our lips are praying, 
 Our far-sincerer minds are staying 
 Right on the job and struggling stoutly 
 Producing prayers we mean devoutly 
 Although there is no vocal word 
 That could by sharpest ears be heard. 
 
 The prayers we offer thus are answered 
 The others never pass the mansard 
 On their intended upward flight 
 Although we yelp with all our might. 
 The things we do just all we may for, 
 And scheme and struggle day by day for 
 Those are the things we really pray for. 
 
 141
 
 A BABY'S SORROW 
 
 BEFORE the shining grief drop from his eye 
 Could course the rosy distance of his cheek, 
 A quick smile dug a dimple, deep and dry, 
 To which the hot tear turned a briny creek 
 And formed a lake with velvet shores around, 
 In which the baby's sorrow all was drowned. 
 
 143
 
 THE " SACREDISTESS " OF SOME 
 
 MOTHERHOOD 
 
 
 
 SHE sat behind me in the train 
 The while I doped my wearied brain 
 With fiction up to date and rank 
 Mouthings of some " eugenics " crank 
 Or other gouger after slime 
 Such as we find in this our time 
 When magazines, in prose or rhyme, 
 Run correspondence schools in crime. 
 
 She was a straight out hoi polloi, 
 With three girls and a baby boy, 
 All whom she fed on home-fried dope 
 From that gray canvas telescope 
 Doughnuts (called "fried cakes") petrified, 
 With embalmed chicken on the side, 
 And when each child had filled his hide 
 He held his outraged turn and cried. 
 
 And then that sainted mother said, 
 While whacking Chester on the head: 
 " Don't yowl ! 'F you holler when I hit you 
 That there conductor man'll git you! 
 Hyer, nigger man, come git this feller 
 He'll cut your ears off if you beller " 
 At which the poor wee, frightened yeller 
 Grew dumb as once was Helen Keller. 
 
 143
 
 Lie after lie she told those brats: 
 The colored porter'd get their hats; 
 The brakeman'd throw them off the train 
 Into Missouri's mud and rain. 
 But pretty soon each pain-filled crier 
 (Bound for St. Louis and their sire ) 
 Got yelling like a house afire 
 They'd learned that mama was a liar! 
 
 144
 
 LIFE'S OTHER DIMENSIONS 
 
 T1I7E prate about our "length of days" as 
 though life had but one dimension; 
 
 We dope and hope and otherwise confront death 
 with a fierce contention. 
 
 We seem to think that if we stretch our earth ex- 
 istence to its utmost, 
 
 That we have truly lived the most; that of life's 
 precious ice we've cut most. 
 
 But this we ought to recollect, when fighting off 
 death-threatening sickness : 
 
 Pay less attention to life's length, and more unto 
 her breadth and thickness. 
 
 Methuselah lived an awful span, counting by 
 
 month and day and second. 
 But I've a hunch that in the end that's not the 
 
 way our lives are reckoned. 
 I'm pretty sure that cubics count that life is 
 
 more than linear measure ; 
 That 'tis achievement, not mere time, that will be 
 
 listed as our treasure. 
 So it were well to keep in mind, when dodging 
 
 death with wondrous quickness, 
 Life holds a lot besides its length it ought to 
 
 have some breadth and thickness. 
 
 145
 
 THEN AND NOW 
 
 THE thing that once disturbed me day by day 
 Was having baby leave his little play 
 In which I thought him thoroughly absorbed, 
 And burst into my workroom, dewy-orbed, 
 To sob out all the griefs that might befall 
 Him in his sandpile by the garden wall. 
 
 If wealth were mine, what would I not give now, 
 Since time has far more deeply graved my brow, 
 If still he had no care he might not bring 
 Here to my desk, and- tell me everything ! 
 
 146
 
 THE UNIVERSAL LESSON 
 
 MY train pours on through the night's black 
 sieve 
 
 I feel her rumble and swerve and give. 
 Yet she clings to the rails, by laws divine 
 Applied by cannier hands than mine. 
 And she lulls me to sleep with her rhythmic flow : 
 " Somebody knows something that I don't 
 know." 
 
 * 
 
 I raise my gaze to the stars at night, 
 
 Lending through legions of leagues their light. 
 
 Amazed I murmur : " And yet I see 
 
 The meagerest marge of immensity ! " 
 
 And then I whisper, with head bent low : 
 
 " Some One knows something that I don't know ! " 
 
 147
 
 WHEN" FATHER COOKS 
 
 BETWEEN" new cooks at our house, 
 Since mother's foot is hurt, 
 Our father says : " We'll have to browse 
 
 Awhile without a ' skirt.' ' 
 He tells us how he used to cook 
 
 When camping with some guys, 
 And says that he could write a book 
 On boils and broils and fries. 
 
 Then he starts in to fix the grub, 
 
 Beginning with some bacon, 
 Till mother says: "My gracious, hub, 
 
 Why all this smudge you're makin' ? " 
 He salts the oatmeal when it's done, 
 
 He burns the eggs he's frying, 
 And " uses butter by the ton," 
 
 So mother says, half crying. 
 
 He starts some toast, then calls to mind 
 
 The table isn't set. 
 Then, smelling something, runs to find 
 
 The stuff is black as jet ! 
 By time a meal is all prepared 
 
 Nobody's game to eat it. 
 Then father says : " I can't be spared 
 
 Downtown I've got to beat it." 
 
 148
 
 BEFOKE AND THEN 
 
 HE used to prove, beyond the last frail doubt, 
 That, when life's feeble candle had burnt 
 
 out 
 
 Taking with it the spirit we had known 
 That which remained was but a clod, a stone, 
 Or any other soulless thing we knew 
 Faultless his logic, so we deemed it true. 
 
 Years came to him, with love and all it brings 
 Wife and some children. One, on angel wings, 
 Fled ere a year he'd nestled in the heart 
 Of our wise friend. Today I saw him start 
 Upon a little, day-long business trip 
 He hid a baby's scuffed shoe in his grip. 
 
 149
 
 THE VITAL ACCOMPANIMENT 
 
 THE wise admonition goes deeper, they say, 
 If you smile when you give it. 
 Your righteous life lures other feet to the Way 
 
 If you smile while you live it. 
 The word of good cheer finds the heart you had 
 
 meant 
 
 Sinks into the spirit to which it was sent 
 Lends all of the help it was meant to have lent 
 If you smile when you give it. 
 
 The money you handed that brother in need 
 
 Did you smile when you gave it? 
 His pride may have hurt till it made his heart 
 bleed 
 
 Nought but smiling could save it. 
 Not an impudent smirk or a meaningless grin, 
 Not a smile just as deep as your outermost skin 
 But a love-laden smile, with sweet confidence in 
 
 That will help him to brave it. 
 
 150
 
 "NOT WORTH FOOLING WITH" 
 
 TJI7HAT __ Hf e i s not wor th fooling with ? " 
 
 You're right, my lad, you're right! 
 Just spread that doctrine far and wide, and spread 
 
 it with your might. 
 Life never is worth " fooling with " this is the 
 
 truth you're giving. 
 It isn't worth the " fooling with," but it's wholly 
 
 worth the living ! 
 
 You say it's " not worth fooling with " the task 
 
 assigned to you. 
 You're right again, impatient lad; the thing you 
 
 say is true. 
 Perhaps not in the sense you mean if so, there's 
 
 trouble brewing. 
 Your job is not worth " fooling with," but it's 
 
 surely worth the doing! 
 
 No, tasks are not worth " fooling with " 'tis not 
 what tasks were made for. 
 
 You must not fool with them at all that's not 
 what you are paid for. 
 
 The best that's in you, body, soul and mind, you 
 should be giving 
 
 To what your hands have found to do not " fool- 
 ing" toiling, living! 
 
 151
 
 TO THE LOW-BROW 
 
 high-brow puts his pince-nez on 
 And looks you over pro and con, 
 To make sure whether he approves. 
 But never toward his pocket moves 
 His stingy hand. He gives to you 
 The stern once-over. When he's through 
 You're just as rich as when he started 
 From nothing worth your while he's parted. 
 
 The low-brow takes a look and grunts: 
 " That gink pulls off some clever stunts. 
 I'll follow what he does or writes." 
 He keeps his promise and invites 
 His fellow low-brows to produce 
 Such current coin as they have loose, 
 Helping the fellow they admire 
 To higher levels to aspire. 
 
 I love the high-brow ; his O. K. 
 Is worth my struggle, any day. 
 But what on earth would we folks do 
 Who have to eat a bite or two 
 And wear some clothing now and then 
 If high-brows formed the world of men ? 
 The low-brow's knowledge may be trash, 
 But he backs up his smile with cash. 
 
 152
 
 Then here's to the high-brow, 
 Who bleeds us, 
 God-speed us, 
 And leads us 
 
 To pity the freak that succeeds us. 
 
 But here's to the low-brow, 
 Who needs us, 
 And reads us, 
 And heeds us, 
 And feeds us ! 
 
 153
 
 A DEFI TO TROUBLE 
 
 COME, Trouble ! Let me take your hat 
 And make you comfy by the fire. 
 There, in that chair where oft has sat 
 
 Your grandsire and his grandsire's sire, 
 Take ease. You're not the first, you see, 
 
 I've known of your poor-witted clan 
 That came to flout and pester me 
 I am a trouble-hardened man. 
 
 You cannot bring a hurt so deep 
 
 Unless I join my will with yours 
 As to keep off my restful sleep 
 
 Behind kind night's firm-bolted doors. 
 You cannot bring a grief 'twill last 
 
 Through many of life's changing years 
 I've known your forbears in the past 
 
 And given them all my surplus fears. 
 
 And thus O trouble, but I'm glad 
 
 You came to-day ! always have come 
 Some of your tribe, with story sad, 
 
 With countenances dour and glum, 
 Upon the eve of blessings rich 
 
 That marked an onward step for me 
 Come, rest within my ingle niche, 
 
 O harbinger of good-to-be ! 
 
 154
 
 A SUMMER OCCUPATION 
 
 LOOKING through the swaying tops of 
 maples at the sky, 
 Watching while the fleecy clouds in phalanxes go 
 
 by; 
 
 Dreaming wide-eyed visions as I stare into the 
 
 blue 
 Dreaming dreams far sweeter than all earthly 
 
 things but you. 
 Resting when my soul had felt it ne'er could rest 
 
 again ; 
 Spirit goes a-soaring, myriad million miles from 
 
 men 
 Gazing at the leaf-splotched dome while shining 
 
 clouds drift by 
 Looking through the swaying tops of maples at 
 
 the sky. 
 
 Underneath the maple on a comforter or two, 
 Peering, peering tirelessly through emerald at the 
 
 blue, 
 Body resting prone upon the earth that bore us 
 
 all 
 Care and fret and heartache have departed past 
 
 recall. 
 Downy pillow 'neath my head with fingers laced 
 
 above, 
 Dreaming things tremendously less turbulent than 
 
 love; 
 
 155
 
 Sweet as love for children when in arms asleep 
 
 they lie 
 Looking through the swaying tops of maples at 
 
 the sky. 
 
 When I get to heaven and my time has come to 
 
 choose 
 What through all the endless years my spirit shall 
 
 amuse, 
 I shall shun the twanging harp, the viol and the 
 
 lute, 
 Shun the lyre and psalter and the sweetly sobbing 
 
 flute. 
 'Stead of that I'll pick me out a thick-topped maple 
 
 tree, 
 
 Get a soft old pillow and a comforter and gee ! 
 Won't I simply revel while eternity drifts by 
 Looking through the tracery of maples at the sky ? 
 
 156
 
 COMRADESHIP 
 
 BRAIN'S are infectious. When some bright 
 soul's by 
 
 To catch your scintillations on the fly, 
 How quicker jumps your mind from this to 
 
 that, 
 Your thoughts, how accurate, your words, how 
 
 pat! 
 
 You have the blessed consciousness that if 
 By chance you should hand out a verbal biff 
 That struck the bull's-eye, it should not escape 
 And make you feel like donning mental crepe. 
 
 Like some small, timorous child whose father 
 
 stands 
 
 And holds invitingly two love-strong hands 
 To catch him when he jumps, your mind fears not 
 To leap it knows full well it will be " got." 
 Turn intellectual flip-flaps as you may, 
 The other's thought meets your bright thought half 
 
 way; 
 
 Breaks every fall for you, and courage lends 
 To higher flights such folk are God-made 
 
 friends ! 
 
 But oh, to strike a bonehead who requires 
 A diagram whene'er your mind aspires 
 To use a word from either side the rut 
 Our small talk runs in to unearth a <{ nut " 
 157
 
 To whom we must explain ... ye gods, ye gods ! 
 When one is thus beset, let's hope Jove nods ! 
 For in one hour with such a human chasm 
 One's gray-stuff retrogrades to protoplasm. 
 
 158
 
 WHAT VERDICT? 
 
 < <T LIED to save the one I love." 
 
 * How I should like to hide and hear 
 
 The verdict of the One above 
 
 iWhen this comes to His righteous ear. 
 
 " False witness thou shalt never bear 
 Against thy neighbor " yes, " against." 
 
 Search through the Scriptures everywhere 
 Till o'er and o'er you've recommenced 
 
 And recompleted every line 
 
 Within the sacred pages hid, 
 And you have better eyes than mine 
 
 If love's deceiving is forbid. 
 
 " I lied to save the one I love." 
 
 I do not say it is not sin. 
 I'd like to hear when He above 
 
 Brings His mistakeless verdict in. 
 
 159
 
 CONCENTRATION 
 
 thing I do was never done before. 
 X There is no other place in all the earth. 
 There is, besides myself, no human more 
 
 That ever thanked his Maker for his birth. 
 I and the thing I do are everything 
 
 That is or was or will be 'neath the sun 
 There is no sun across the sky a-swing, 
 Nor will be till this task in hand is done. 
 
 Thus, fenced off from the universe, you see 
 
 The stint, clear-eyed, unhampered by tradition ; 
 See things as God intended them to be, 
 
 No other mind dictating your position. 
 Through just such means as this comes all the help 
 
 The world receives to lift it from a rut ; 
 The State Ship's keel is cleared of clustered kelp 
 
 And doors swing wide that custom had marked 
 " Shut." 
 
 160
 
 HIS DOLLAR 
 
 IN" the pocket of his waist is a dollar, safe and 
 sound, 
 Wrapped up in an envelope, with his handkerchief 
 
 around. 
 When he's gone to bed at night and he's 'most 
 
 asleep, he'll say 
 " Where's my dollar are you sure it is safely put 
 
 away ? " 
 Walking with me down the street, when he stooped 
 
 to tie his shoe 
 Out upon the pavement fell his big dollar bright 
 
 and new. 
 But we got it back again ere it found the grimy 
 
 ditch 
 And once more he wrapped it up and just went on 
 
 feeling rich. 
 
 He has told me what he'll buy with his dollar, 
 
 pretty soon. 
 He will buy a motor boat and will take me, some 
 
 forenoon, 
 " 'Cross the ocean to the place where the King of 
 
 Europe is." 
 There is nothing he can't do with that boundless 
 
 wealth of his. 
 He is mine and dear to me, and no joy from him 
 
 I'd keep, 
 Yet some night when he's in bed wrapped in sweet 
 
 and dreamless sleep 
 161
 
 I would rob that child of mine of his dollar, if I 
 
 knew 
 I could steal, along with it, his belief in what 
 
 'twould do. 
 
 162
 
 BROTHER'S FAULTS 
 
 BROTHER has a lot of faults that distress me 
 so: 
 
 T'other day he purposely whacked me on the toe. 
 'Nother time he dumped my things out my dolly's 
 
 trunk, 
 
 Ya-in' at me when I cried, said 'twas " only junk." 
 Playin' golden pavement, why he all th' time stays 
 
 "it" 
 
 Gets right in our way until he simply must get hit. 
 Don't know what to do with him bothers us to 
 
 death. 
 Even worser when we scold just a waste o' 
 
 breath ! 
 
 Brother waits until we start playin' dolls, an' then 
 He comes there an' spoils th' game mercy me, 
 
 these men! 
 Mocks us when we play grown-up, strews our 
 
 dresses 'round, 
 
 Scattering our sewing things all about th' ground ! 
 Leaves my playthings that he gets, all night in the 
 
 dew 
 Left my picture-puzzle, once soaked it through 
 
 an' through. 
 'Fraid if he keeps getting worse he will land in 
 
 jail 
 And the very worst of all, he's a tattle-tale ! 
 
 163
 
 CHILDKEN ALL 
 
 rilHEY are pot-valiant all the garish day 
 A And treat us parents with mere toleration 
 Wearing the clothes for which we have to pay, 
 Eating the food we buy through tribulation. 
 But as the night draws on they closer creep, 
 And reach out hands to us for reassurance ; 
 They snuggle close to us when they're asleep 
 Child-courage in the dark has no endurance. 
 
 No need to pen another line to show it 
 
 The likeness to our attitude to Him 
 
 Who guards us through the dark all children 
 know it ! 
 
 And when with tears of doubt our eyes grow dim. 
 
 Our troubles gone we strut and think us fear- 
 less, 
 
 Laugh at our night-time qualms, and proudly 
 stand. 
 
 But darkness finds us timorous and cheerless 
 
 And groping for a strong, protecting Hand. 
 
 164
 
 BOY DREAMS 
 
 THE boy is trifling idly with a stick and piece 
 of string, 
 
 But you can't tell what he's dreaming all the while. 
 His boyish fancy soars upon a strong and fearless 
 
 wing, 
 
 And you can't tell what he's dreaming all the while. 
 Some day the world may stand aghast with wonder 
 
 and amaze, 
 May rend the very firmament with sycophantic 
 
 praise 
 For ill or good that must result from these, his 
 
 dreaming days 
 JsTo, you can't tell what he's dreaming all the while. 
 
 He whistles tunelessly and shrill and swings upon 
 
 the gate, 
 
 But you can't tell what he's dreaming as he swings. 
 His thinking's culmination may decide a nation's 
 
 fate, 
 For we can't tell what he's dreaming while he 
 
 swings. 
 He may lay the dream away until some unborn, 
 
 crucial year ; 
 He may hide it till the dawning of another era's 
 
 here; 
 But 'tis living, strength'ning, growing, and its 
 
 fruitage must appear 
 
 No, we know not what he's dreaming as he swings. 
 165
 
 'Tis formless yet and vague past wish or power to 
 express ; 
 
 None may fathom where his fateful fancy gropes. 
 
 It lies, mayhap, far, far beneath his boyish con- 
 sciousness, 
 
 Yet its spell is strong upon him when he " mopes." 
 
 It may miss its full fruition bolder dreamers 
 may prevail; 
 
 It may end in disappointment even dearest 
 dreams may fail ; 
 
 But forever there in Boyland every dream-craft is 
 a-sail ; 
 
 In those dreams live all earth's dangers and her 
 hopes ! 
 
 166
 
 THE KEENEST PLEASUEE 
 
 WE are so built, we human things, 
 That we may touch joy's deepest springs 
 Now and again. We should be glad 
 That real pleasure may be had 
 From our accomplishment of what 
 Our brains conceived, our two hands wrought. 
 But still the finest joy, indeed, 
 Is seeing some one else succeed. 
 
 'Tis only now and then that we 
 
 Can bring the longed-for thing to be 
 
 That we ourselves had planned and dreamed, 
 
 That we had plotted for and schemed. 
 
 So if our only triumphs come 
 
 When we have crowned with doing, some 
 
 Of our own plans, we miss a lot 
 
 Of earthly joy we might have got! 
 
 For all the time some one's succeeding 
 
 In some great thing that had been breeding 
 
 In mind and soul of him ; and so 
 
 A sympathetic joy we know 
 
 When he brings triumph out of chaos 
 
 And with his vict'ry song would stay us. 
 
 This makes of earth a Neighborhood 
 
 Our joy when some one else makes good. 
 
 167
 
 THE NIGHTLY TRANSFER 
 
 I GO to sleep in Brother's bed; 
 'Cause when his "Now I lay me" 's 
 
 said 
 
 (He's two years littler yet than me) 
 He's just as bad as he can be 
 Unless somebody stays with him. 
 So Mother makes the light all dim 
 And leaves us there. I always think 
 I'll stay awake and never blink. 
 And then I shut my eyes a bit 
 They always ache so, and won't quit ! 
 
 But Mother knows, some way or other. 
 She tells me : " Lie to right of Brother, 
 So when your father comes to do 
 The transfer act you're right-end-to, 
 And he can lift you as you are 
 And lay you down without a jar." 
 
 And, sure enough, next thing I know 
 It's morning and the roosters crow, 
 And I'm in bed, somehow or other, 
 All by myself and not with Brother 1 
 
 168
 
 ASLEEP AMONG HIS TOYS 
 
 T POUND my babe asleep among his toys. 
 * A quarter-hour I'd missed his jocund noise 
 And wondered what so quieted the lad, 
 Saying: "He's never still unless he's bad." 
 But when I tiptoed in Love's stealthy spy 
 A touching picture met my doting eye : 
 One hand lay on the engine of his train, 
 The other grasped a tiny aeroplane: 
 Upon his face a world-old look of care 
 Mankind in miniature lay dreaming there! 
 
 I lifted him and hugged him to my breast, 
 Kissed him, and laid him gently down to rest 
 Upon a couch. The weary limbs relaxed ; 
 The puckered brow, with wondering overtaxed, 
 Released its troubled frown ; and with a sigh 
 Of deep relief he slumbered on. While I, 
 With murmured words of choking tenderness, 
 Smoothed his warm cheek, his hands, his wrinkled 
 
 dress 
 
 Did all the things we love-mad parents do 
 Old, old caresses that are ever new. 
 
 Sometime the great, kind Father of us all, 
 Noting we make no answer to His call, 
 Tiptoeing in to where we've been at play 
 Through all the hours of our allotted day, 
 Will find us 'mid our playthings, fast asleep, 
 Our toys about us in a tumbled heap, 
 169
 
 Each weary hand upon a trinket laid 
 Some phantom hope born in the marts of trade. 
 Then, in His arms, the cares our hearts possessed 
 Will yield their place to sweet and dreamless rest. 
 
 170
 
 TWO WOMEN 
 
 IACH day she spoils her happiness 
 
 By picking out the hardest thing 
 For her to get a snowy dress 
 
 Upon her child who loves to fling 
 Dust by the handfuls in the air 
 
 And grime himself ; a special shade 
 Of goods that she has seen somewhere ; 
 
 A certain outre width of braid 
 Something exceeding hard to get, 
 But that she has to have or fret. 
 
 So, though the sun shine warm for her, 
 And though the day be bright for her, 
 
 The world holds aye a storm for her, 
 And nothing e'er is right for her. 
 
 Another says : " I must decide 
 
 Which are life's big things, which the small. 
 If naught of cogent harm betide 
 
 My loved ones, which are best of all 
 That I possess ; if I can keep 
 
 My wonted health and know no lack 
 Of needful clothing, food and sleep, 
 
 !Nb trifles that bestrew my track 
 Can trouble me ; and I shall praise 
 The Giver of my glorious days." 
 
 171
 
 So though the small things oft go wrong, 
 The larger joys of life are hers ; 
 
 Her lips are aye attuned to song, 
 
 And she keeps sweet, whate'er occurs. 
 
 172
 
 PKECEDENT 
 
 T AM the coward's fortress and his friend. 
 * When his poor courage trickles to an end 
 He pleads with me to guide his faltering feet 
 He finds my ready consolation sweet. 
 That of ttimes I am wrong is naught to him 
 He clings to me with desperation grim. 
 
 Each herd of elephants selects one wise 
 Old pachyderm to go ahead, where lies 
 The soft morass. They follow in his spoor. 
 The tracks grow deeper. Ere they've crossed the 
 
 moor 
 
 The hindermost bogs down because he feared 
 To tread the ground the others' feet had cleared. 
 
 And I am that the deep spoor in the mire; 
 Cold ashes in the place where once was fire 
 O'er which the hidebound dotard chafes his palms. 
 I am the soother of the weakling's qualms. 
 Yet this remember: None has served mankind 
 Who did not leave my pleasing self behind. 
 
 173
 
 WIFEY'S WAY 
 
 has never seen him wildly, uncontrollably 
 joy-jagged 
 When the two of them went calling or to spend 
 
 the evening out. 
 She has seldom seen him looking otherwise than 
 
 slightly fagged 
 He's a business man beginning to grow bald and 
 
 rather stout. 
 Not unhappy just a typical American, you 
 
 know, 
 With a solemn look that tells you he has worries 
 
 of his own. 
 He's a drudge, and rather likes it, likes to watch 
 
 his business grow, 
 But she's sure he's out to frivol when he goes 
 
 somewhere alone! 
 
 She has never seen a symptom indicating giddi- 
 ness 
 
 As a quality of hubby's ; he's a glutton for his toil. 
 
 He's as steady as old Dobbin, in his food and in 
 his dress, 
 
 And his wildest dissipation is to scheme and plan 
 and moil. 
 
 Though she knows it yes, and trusts him in a 
 good and wifely way, 
 
 Though she often faults him grimly for a dull, un- 
 social drone, 
 
 174
 
 Yet she has a sort of feeling that sometimes he's 
 
 madly gay, 
 And she's sure he's raising hades when he goes 
 
 away alone. 
 
 175
 
 LIFE'S SMELTEK 
 
 LO, here are the ricks of red, red dust. 
 Lo, there are the cairns of coke. 
 The one is as dead as a day long fled, 
 
 One cold as the berg's fog-smoke. 
 (For you can't descry with a glance of the eye, 
 
 And you can't discern by the feel, 
 The ultimate worth of the things of earth 
 When Fate shall have turned her wheel.) 
 
 There's razor-edge steel in the red, red dust. 
 
 There is hell's own heat in the coke 
 Though some be loss and some be dross 
 
 And some go away in smoke. 
 (No, you can't descry with the physical eye, 
 
 Nor guess from the physical feel, 
 The potential worth of the things of earth 
 
 When Fate shall have whirled her wheel.) 
 
 Now you let's say are the red, red dust ; 
 
 And I let's play am the coke. 
 We may useless seem as we drift and dream, 
 
 With meaningless wail and croak. 
 But the wheel of Fate turns soon or late, 
 
 And we meet in the forging fire, 
 Which will show, at last, why our lots were cast 
 
 So far from our heart's desire. 
 
 176
 
 EICE AMONG THE LOWLY 
 
 "D ICE on the day-coach platform poor folks 
 
 ^ are wed to-day ! 
 
 Taking their trip to somewhere, thirty odd miles 
 
 away! 
 She in her dove-tint poplin, he with his neck all 
 
 shaved 
 Wondering, both a-tremble, how such a crowd they 
 
 braved ! 
 
 Many as twenty people, all at the house at once! 
 She was a-thrill, bride-fashion, he felt a fearful 
 
 dunce. 
 Now they're away don't watch 'em, drummer- 
 
 inclined-to-tease ! 
 Rice on the day-coach platform God will be 
 
 good to these. 
 
 Rice on the day-coach platform sleeping car fare 
 
 would take 
 All that the happy bridegroom in half of a week 
 
 could make. 
 Trip to his aunt's in Hayville, home in a day or 
 
 two 
 Bride with the trip to Europe, she is as glad as 
 
 you! 
 Less than she wants ? Who hasn't ! Less than a 
 
 girl deserves? 
 Not if the lad be loyal; not if their love ne'er 
 
 swerves. 
 
 177
 
 Humble her lot since childhood, simple the joys 
 
 she's known 
 Bice on a day-coach platform, queen on a humble 
 
 throne ! 
 
 Eice on a day-coach platform " couple of rubes," 
 
 you say ? 
 Peace! For Somebody's Daughter emptied two 
 
 hearts to-day; 
 Somebody's son did likewise. Funny ? I cannot 
 
 see 
 Just where the jest is, brother stupid, of course, 
 
 in me. 
 Eice on a day-coach platform brings to the waiting 
 
 world 
 More than the same white kernels at Pullmans 
 
 palatial hurled. 
 Watch the old grandma smiling kindly old eyes 
 
 a-blur 
 Eice on a day-coach platform started her Life for 
 
 her! 
 
 178
 
 THE 'LOWANCE 
 
 , missus, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like 
 a piece o' cake. 
 We're out of it at our house an' dono when we'll 
 
 bake. 
 An' if you give me any bread, put plenty butter 
 
 on 
 Mine's been so thin-spread lately that I'm feelin' 
 
 kindo' gone. 
 Here comes my brother would you mind a-givin' 
 
 some t' him? 
 For mother's on a 'lowance an* we're livin' sorto' 
 
 slim. 
 
 Some speaker down to mother's club said every 
 
 wife should be 
 
 A independent person, as it were, financialee. 
 She "ought to have her 'lowance every week an' 
 
 plan ahead 
 What she would spend an' what she'd save," that's 
 
 what that woman said. 
 When mother told my pa, he laughed an' said: 
 
 " I gotcha, dear. 
 It's takin' all that I can grab let's see how 
 
 much you'll clear." 
 
 Since then you see this dress o' mine? I've 
 
 wore it all this week. 
 Ma says : " We've got a bad disease it's name 
 
 is money-leak." 
 
 179
 
 She drives us from th' telephone we used to use 
 
 so much, 
 ATI' pa says ma is gettin' " nearly close enough t' 
 
 touch." 
 So please, ma'am, if you wouldn't mind, feed me 
 
 an' Brother Jim 
 Ma's workin' on a 'lowance an' we're livin' kindo' 
 
 slim. 
 
 180
 
 STRAWBERRY MOUNTAINS 
 
 OH! A wonderful range are the Strawberry 
 Hills 
 
 With their snow-caps of sugar and cream! 
 With the Valley of China where sluggishly spills 
 
 The yellow and succulent stream! 
 'Tis a marvelous sight that I mean to take in 
 
 In the earnestest sense of the word. 
 In the lives where these Strawberry Hills have not 
 
 been, 
 Very little of note has occurred. 
 
 What a pleasure to browse o'er the Strawberry 
 
 Hills 
 
 Ankle-deep in the sugary drift, 
 And to wade through the deeps of the broad, 
 
 creamy rills 
 
 Over many a crevasse and rift ! 
 And the red and the white and the cream of it all 
 
 Make a sight one can never forget 
 Oh ! The Strawberry cliffs with their summits so 
 
 ten 
 
 Are the finest sierras found yet ! 
 
 'Tis in June that we clamber the Strawberry Hills 
 And feed on their snow-crusted slopes ; 
 
 'Tis a prospect that makes us forget all our ills 
 And live on our dreams and our hopes. 
 
 181
 
 We can wait all the year with the patience of Job 
 For the time of all times to come 'round 
 
 When the Strawberry Hills with their snow-sugar 
 
 robe 
 In Chinadish vale shall be found. 
 
 182
 
 THE STAIR-STEP CHILDREN 
 
 MY sister Annie's five years old, I'm seven, 
 Fred is nine. 
 I come to Freddie's shoulder, little Annie comes 
 
 to mine. 
 We look like human stairsteps when they stand us 
 
 in a row, 
 
 For visitors at our house have always told us so. 
 I often wonder how 'twould seem if some one tried 
 
 to walk 
 
 From Annie's head to mine an' his, as all those 
 people talk! 
 
 One night along near Christmas time, when 
 
 Annie'd left her bed 
 An* come to me where I'd been put along with 
 
 brother Fred, 
 Our parents tiptoed up to see if we were safe 
 
 asleep ; 
 An* I nudged Fred and Ann to see how still we all 
 
 could keep. 
 They stood beside an' whispered, with their arms 
 
 around each other 
 I peeked at them between my lids, an' Annie did, 
 
 an' brother. 
 
 J Twas father murmured: "Little steps, oh, 
 
 whither do you lead ? " 
 An' mother softly answered back : " To heaven, 
 
 says my creed." 
 
 183
 
 " A golden causeway," father said. " They've 
 
 drawn us nigh each other 
 Two lovely girls and one, thank God, a husky elder 
 
 brother." 
 An' then we heard our mother say, in laugh-and- 
 
 tear-mixed tone : 
 " ' Step children,' yet we'll Christmas them as if 
 
 they were our own." 
 
 184
 
 THE WISE MAN 
 
 T TE knew and kept as still with it, 
 * -^ And had his quiet will with it, 
 As though it were a secret craved 
 By every nation that has braved 
 Earth's changing moods he slyly knew 
 "Where bloomed the earliest violet blue; 
 And where the first spring beauty raised 
 Her pink-streaked face to God, and praised 
 Him for His goodness; knew as well 
 Where first the wind-flower decked the dell. 
 
 He knew, precisely to the day, 
 
 When first the raucous-noted jay 
 
 Would flirt his tail and toss his cap 
 
 And dare the squirrel to a scrap. 
 
 And robins why he was as sure 
 
 When they would make their northward tour 
 
 As anything on earth could be, 
 
 And yet, despite his knowledge, he 
 
 Compiled no books nor wrote long screeds 
 
 About his wilder comrades' deeds. 
 
 I asked him once just why he stayed 
 So still about it ; and he made 
 This answer : " I have no desire 
 To prattle of the burgeoning briar 
 And of the furred and feathered folk 
 Who chirp or chatter, scream or croak. 
 185
 
 They are my friends their confidence 
 I must respect, or give offense. 
 Besides," he quaintly smiled, " you see 
 They never, never tell on me ! " 
 
 186
 
 " IT DIDN'T HUKT " 
 
 < TT didn't hurt ! " I hear my baby call. 
 
 By this I know the lad has had a fall. 
 Grievous must be the bruise ere he admit 
 That he has suffered ache or pain from it. 
 
 " It didn't hurt ! " The cry comes oft before 
 His small, o'erbalanced body strikes the floor 
 A prophecy defiant to the fates 
 That trip pedestrian novitiates. 
 
 " It didn't hurt ! " If thus he march through life, 
 
 Forswearing all defeat in every strife 
 
 That rises to retard his pilgrim way, 
 
 God bless the lad ! He'll be a Man some day ! 
 
 187
 
 "WORKING TOO HARD" 
 
 T KNOW of no task that is softer than this 
 * ( It's easier, even, than " stealing " a kiss 
 From a maid who has left it exposed, in the hope 
 Some thief would go by am I wrong in my 
 
 dope ?) 
 Just to hail some poor chap who a task wouldn't 
 
 touch 
 And make him believe he is working too much ! 
 
 If half of the people we diagnose thus 
 Were to get out and really kick up a fuss 
 With half of the work they could do, which is twice 
 What most of us do, why the world in a trice 
 Would lose half the troubles with which it is 
 
 marred 
 There's nobody living that's working too hard! 
 
 188
 
 SOMETIMES at night they leave the lad with 
 me, 
 
 When I must " bone " with civics, trig, or Greek. 
 Then, though he's safe asleep and I am free, 
 There's something yet unnamed that makes me 
 
 sneak 
 Into his bedroom and switch on the light 
 
 And turn the pillow's cool side to his face, 
 
 And tuck the covers 'round his neck just right, 
 
 Then sigh and tiptoe gently from the place. 
 
 When they come home, I do not tell them this ; 
 
 But feign a vast and bored indifference. 
 For worlds I would not own the poignant bliss 
 
 I find in some new, fine protective sense. 
 It is too sweet for me to babble of 
 
 Or to indulge it where it might be seen. 
 But something whispers this is parent-love 
 
 In its first stirrings ; and it keeps me clean. 
 
 189
 
 GOING A PIECE 
 
 ALWAYS, when I went away 
 Were it night or were it day 
 You would " go a piece " with me 
 To the corner maple-tree ; 
 Or, if I were going far, 
 You would see me to the street 
 Where I'd catch my depot car. 
 You have never known how sweet, 
 Till I hurried home again, 
 Did this memory remain! 
 
 Through the travel loneliness 
 
 Life was never pure distress ; 
 
 Never did my cup seem all 
 
 Pilled with wormwood and with gall. 
 
 No, for everywhere I went 
 
 Homesick ever, as you know 
 
 Pining was with loving blent. 
 
 For it comforted me so, 
 
 When my heart looked back, to see 
 
 You had " gone a piece " with me ! 
 
 When my last long trip I take 
 Lagging, for my loved-ones' sake 
 Faring forth into the murk, 
 All the phantom shapes that lurk 
 In the darkness round my way 
 .Will be terrorless if I 
 190
 
 (When the others come to say 
 
 Through their transient tears, " Good-by ") 
 
 In that twilight hour, may be 
 
 Sure you'll " go a piece " with me ! 
 
 191
 
 By Strickland Gillilan 
 INCLUDING FINNIGIN 
 
 A book containing eighty poems by the 
 popular author of this volume. It in- 
 cludes "Finnigin to Flannigan," "The 
 Cry of the Alien, " "Me an' Pap an' 
 Mother," and other famous poems. 
 
 There is something to hold the thought 
 or touch the heart on every page while the 
 verses swing between laughter and tears. 
 In this book the human note rings clear 
 and true and readers find something pleas- 
 ing for every mood. 
 
 "Worth reading over and over. Humanity held up 
 to nature. Boston Globe. 
 
 A book that will draw a smile from every reader 
 and tears from most. The Christian Advocate. 
 
 It is just as funny as any verses written. Chicago 
 Daily News. 
 
 There is occasion for a smile, a tear or a big laugh 
 on every page, according to how you happen to feel. 
 New York Press. 
 
 This book is full of laughter, tears, intense sym- 
 pathy, tenderness and commonsense. Christian En- 
 deavor World. 
 
 Attractive cover. Cloth, 12mo. 
 
 Price, $1.00 
 Forbes & Company, Publishers, Chicago
 
 A 000 111 411 5