A Heap O' Livin Part 13

Pause a moment, happy pair!

This is not the station where Romance ends, and wooing stops And the charm from courtship drops; This is but the outward gate Where the souls of mortals mate, But the border of the land You must travel hand in hand.

You who come to marriage, bring All your tenderness, and cling Steadfastly to all the ways That have marked your wooing days.

You are only starting out On life's roadways, hedged about Thick with roses and with tares, Sweet delights and bitter cares.

Heretofore you've only played At love's game, young man and maid; Only known it at its best; Now you'll have to face its test.

You must prove your love worth while, Something time cannot defile, Something neither care nor pain Can destroy or mar or stain.

You are now about to show Whether love is real or no; Yonder down the lane of life You will find, as man and wife, Sorrows, disappointments, doubt, Hope will almost flicker out; But if rightly you are wed Love will linger where you tread.

There are joys that you will share, Joys to balance every care; Arm in arm remain, and you Will not fear the storms that brew, If when you are sorest tried You face your trials, side by side.

Now your wooing days are done, And your loving years begun.

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AT THE DOOR

He wiped his shoes before his door, But ere he entered he did more; 'Twas not enough to cleanse his feet Of dirt they'd gathered in the street; He stood and dusted off his mind And left all trace of care behind.

"In here I will not take," said he, "The stains the day has brought to me.

"Beyond this door shall never go The burdens that are mine to know; The day is done, and here I leave The petty things that vex and grieve; What clings to me of hate and sin To them I will not carry in; Only the good shall go with me For their devoted eyes to see.

"I will not burden them with cares, Nor track the home with grim affairs; I will not at my table sit With soul unclean, and mind unfit; Beyond this door I will not take The outward signs of inward ache; I will not take a dreary mind Into this house for them to find."

He wiped his shoes before his door, But paused to do a little more.

He dusted off the stains of strife, The mud that's incident to life, The blemishes of careless thought, The traces of the fight he'd fought, The selfish humors and the mean, And when he entered he was clean.

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DUTY

To do your little bit of toil, To play life's game with head erect; To stoop to nothing that would soil Your honor or your self-respect; To win what gold and fame you can, But first of all to be a man.

To know the bitter and the sweet, The sunshine and the days of rain; To meet both victory and defeat, Nor boast too loudly nor complain; To face whatever fates befall And be a man throughout it all.

To seek success in honest strife, But not to value it so much That, winning it, you go through life Stained by dishonor's scarlet touch.

What goal or dream you choose, pursue, But be a man whate'er you do!

{134}

A BEAR STORY

There was a bear--his name was Jim, An' children weren't askeered of him, An' he lived in a cave, where he Was confortubbul as could be, An' in that cave, so my Pa said, Jim always kept a stock of bread An' honey, so that he could treat The boys an' girls along his street.

An' all that Jim could say was "Woof!"

An' give a grunt that went like "Soof!"

An' Pa says when his grunt went off It sounded jus' like Grandpa's cough, Or like our Jerry when he's mad An' growls at peddler men that's bad.

While grown-ups were afraid of Jim, Kids could do anything with him.

One day a little boy like me That had a sister Marjorie, Was walking through the woods, an' they Heard something "woofing" down that way, An' they was scared an' stood stock still An' wished they had a gun to kill Whatever 'twas, but little boys Don't have no guns that make a noise.

An' soon the "woofing" closer grew, An' then a bear came into view, The biggest bear you ever saw-- Ma's m.u.f.f was smaller than his paw.

He saw the children an' he said: "I ain't a-goin' to kill you dead; You needn't turn away an' run; I'm only scarin' you for fun."

An' then he stood up just like those Big bears in circuses an' shows, An' danced a jig, an' rolled about An' said "Woof! Woof!" which meant "Look out!"

An' turned a somersault as slick As any boy can do the trick.

Those children had been told of Jim An' they decided it was him.

They stroked his nose when they got brave, An' followed him into his cave, An' Jim asked them if they liked honey, They said they did. Said Jim: "That's funny.

I've asked a thousand boys or so That question, an' not one's said no."

What happened then I cannot say 'Cause next I knew 'twas light as day.

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AUTUMN AT THE ORCHARD

The sumac's flaming scarlet on the edges o' the lake, An' the pear trees are invitin' everyone t' come an' shake.

Now the gorgeous tints of autumn are appearin'

everywhere Till it seems that you can almost see the Master Painter there.

There's a solemn sort o' stillness that's pervadin'

every thing, Save the farewell songs to summer that the feathered tenors sing, An' you quite forget the city where disgruntled folks are kickin'

Off yonder with the Pelletiers, when spies are ripe for pickin'.

The Holsteins are a-posin' in a clearin' near a wood, Very dignified an' stately, just as though they understood That they're lending to life's pictures just the touch the Master needs, An' they're preachin' more refinement than a lot o' printed creeds.

The orchard's fairly groanin' with the gifts o'

G.o.d to man, Just as though they meant to shame us who have doubted once His plan.

Oh, there's somethin' most inspirin' to a soul in need o' p.r.i.c.kin'

Off yonder with the Pelletiers when spies are ripe fer pickin'.

The frisky little Shetlands now are growin'

s.h.a.ggy coats An' acquirin' silken m.u.f.flers of their own to guard their throats; An' a Russian wolf-hound puppy left its mother yesterday, An' a tinge o' sorrow touched us as we saw it go away.

For the sight was full o' meanin', an' we knew, when it had gone, 'Twas a symbol of the partin's that the years are bringin' on.

Oh, a feller must be better--to his faith he can't help stickin'

Off yonder with the Pelletiers when spies are ripe fer pickin'.

The year is almost over, now at dusk the valleys glow With the misty mantle chillin', that is hangin'

very low.

An' each mornin' sees the maples just a little redder turned Than they were the night we left 'em, an' the elms are browner burned.

An' a feller can't help feelin', an' I don't care who it is, That the mind that works such wonders has a greater power than his.

Oh, I know that I'll remember till life's last few sparks are flickin'

The lessons out at Pelletiers when spies were ripe for pickin'.

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WHEN PA COMES HOME

When Pa comes home, I'm at the door, An' then he grabs me off the floor An' throws me up an' catches me When I come down, an' then, says he: "Well, how'd you get along to-day?

An' were you good, an' did you play, An' keep right out of mamma's way?

An' how'd you get that awful b.u.mp Above your eye? My, what a lump!