A Heap O' Livin Part 7

THE EPICURE

I've sipped a rich man's sparkling wine, His silverware I've handled.

I've placed these battered legs of mine 'Neath tables gayly candled.

I dine on rare and costly fare Whene'er good fortune lets me, But there's no meal that can compare With those the missus gets me.

I've had your steaks three inches thick With all your Sam Ward tr.i.m.m.i.n.g, I've had the breast of milk-fed chick In luscious gravy swimming.

To dine in swell cafe or club But irritates and frets me; Give me the plain and wholesome grub-- The grub the missus gets me.

Two kiddies smiling at the board, The cook right at the table, The four of us, a hungry horde, To beat that none is able.

A big meat pie, with flaky crust!

'Tis then that joy besets me; Oh, I could eat until I "bust,"

Those meals the missus gets me.

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THE GENTLE GARDENER

I'd like to leave but daffodills to mark my little way, To leave but tulips red and white behind me as I stray; I'd like to pa.s.s away from earth and feel I'd left behind But roses and forget-me-nots for all who come to find.

I'd like to sow the barren spots with all the flowers of earth, To leave a path where those who come should find but gentle mirth; And when at last I'm called upon to join the heavenly throng I'd like to feel along my way I'd left no sign of wrong.

And yet the cares are many and the hours of toil are few; There is not time enough on earth for all I'd like to do; But, having lived and having toiled, I'd like the world to find Some little touch of beauty that my soul had left behind.

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THE FINEST AGE

When he was only nine months old, And plump and round and pink of cheek, A joy to tickle and to hold, Before he'd even learned to speak, His gentle mother used to say: "It is too bad that he must grow.

If I could only have my way His baby ways we'd always know."

And then the year was turned, and he Began to toddle round the floor And name the things that he could see And soil the dresses that he wore.

Then many a night she whispered low: "Our baby now is such a joy I hate to think that he must grow To be a wild and heedless boy."

But on he went and sweeter grew, And then his mother, I recall, Wished she could keep him always two, For that's the finest age of all.

She thought the selfsame thing at three, And now that he is four, she sighs To think he cannot always be The youngster with the laughing eyes.

Oh, little boy, my wish is not Always to keep you four years old.

Each night I stand beside your cot And think of what the years may hold; And looking down on you I pray That when we've lost our baby small, The mother of our man will say "This is the finest age of all."

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SUCCESS AND FAILURE

I do not think all failure's undeserved, And all success is merely someone's luck; Some men are down because they were unnerved, And some are up because they kept their pluck.

Some men are down because they chose to shirk; Some men are high because they did their work.

I do not think that all the poor are good, That riches are the uniform of shame; The beggar might have conquered if he would, And that he begs, the world is not to blame.

Misfortune is not all that comes to mar; Most men, themselves, have shaped the things they are.

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CARE-FREE YOUTH

The skies are blue and the sun is out and the gra.s.s is green and soft And the old charm's back in the apple tree and it calls a boy aloft; And the same low voice that the old don't hear, but the care-free youngsters do, Is calling them to the fields and streams and the joys that once I knew.

And if youth be wild desire for play and care is the mark of men, Beneath the skin that Time has tanned I'm a madcap youngster then.

Far richer than king with his crown of gold and his heavy weight of care Is the sunburned boy with his stone-bruised feet and his tousled shock of hair; For the king can hear but the cry of hate or the sickly sound of praise, And lost to him are the voices sweet that called in his boyhood days.

Far better than ruler, with pomp and power and riches, is it to be The urchin gay in his tattered clothes that is climbing the apple tree.

Oh, once I heard all the calls that come to the quick, glad ears of boys, And a certain spot on the river bank told me of its many joys, And certain fields and certain trees were loyal friends to me, And I knew the birds, and I owned a dog, and we both could hear and see.

Oh, never from tongues of men have dropped such messages wholly glad As the things that live in the great outdoors once told to a little lad.

And I'm sorry for him who cannot hear what the tall trees have to say, Who is deaf to the call of a running stream and the lanes that lead to play.

The boy that shins up the faithful elm or sprawls on a river bank Is more richly blessed with the joys of life than any old man of rank.

For youth is the golden time of life, and this battered old heart of mine Beats fast to the march of its old-time joys, when the sun begins to shine.

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MY PAW SAID SO

Foxes can talk if you know how to listen, My Paw said so.

Owls have big eyes that sparkle an' glisten, My Paw said so.

Bears can turn flip-flaps an' climb ellum trees, An' steal all the honey away from the bees, An' they never mind winter becoz they don't freeze; My Paw said so.

Girls is a-scared of a snake, but boys ain't, My Paw said so.

They holler an' run; an' sometimes they faint, My Paw said so.

But boys would be 'shamed to be frightened that way When all that the snake wants to do is to play; You've got to believe every word that I say, My Paw said so.

Wolves ain't so bad if you treat 'em all right, My Paw said so.

They're as fond of a game as they are of a fight, My Paw said so.

An' all of the animals found in the wood Ain't always ferocious. Most times they are good.

The trouble is mostly they're misunderstood, My Paw said so.

You can think what you like, but I stick to it when My Paw said so.

An' I'll keep right on sayin', again an' again, My Paw said so.

Maybe foxes don't talk to such people as you, An' bears never show you the tricks they can do, But I know that the stories I'm tellin' are true, My Paw said so.

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PREPAREDNESS

Right must not live in idleness, Nor dwell in smug content; It must be strong, against the throng Of foes, on evil bent.

Justice must not a weakling be But it must guard its own, And live each day, that none can say Justice is overthrown.

Peace, the sweet glory of the world, Faces a duty, too; Death is her fate, leaves she one gate For war to enter through.

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