All That Matters Part 4

Yet though my words lack soothing power or grace, Perhaps he'll catch their meaning in my face And read the tears which glisten on my cheek.

THE JOYS WE MISS

There never comes a lonely day but what we miss the laughing ways Of those who used to walk with us through all our happy yesterdays.

We seldom miss the earthly great--the famous men that life has known-- But, as the years go racing by, we miss the friends we used to own.

The chair wherein he used to sit recalls the kindly father true, For, oh, so filled with fun he was, and, oh, so very much he knew!

And as we face the problems grave with which the years of life are filled, We miss the hand which guided us and miss the voice forever stilled.

We little guessed how much he did to smooth our pathway day by day, How much of joy he brought to us, how much of care he brushed away; But now that we must tread alone the thoroughfare of life, we find How many burdens we were spared by him who was so brave and kind.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _"The Joys We Miss"_

_From a painting by_ M. L. BOWER.]

Death robs the living, not the dead--they sweetly sleep whose tasks are done; But we are weaker than before who still must live and labor on.

For when come care and grief to us, and heavy burdens bring us woe, We miss the smiling, helpful friends on whom we leaned long years ago.

We miss the happy, tender ways of those who brought us mirth and cheer; We never gather round the hearth but what we wish our friends were near; For peace is born of simple things--a kindly word, a good-night kiss, The prattle of a babe, and love--these are the vanished joys we miss.

LITTLE FEET

There is no music quite so sweet As patter of a baby's feet.

Who never hears along the hall The sound of tiny feet that fall Upon the floor so soft and low As eagerly they come or go, Has missed, no matter who he be, Life's most inspiring symphony.

There is a music of the spheres Too fine to ring in mortal ears, Yet not more delicate and sweet Than pattering of baby feet; Where'er I hear that pit-a-pat Which falls upon the velvet mat, Out of my dreamy nap I start And hear the echo in my heart.

'Tis difficult to put in words The music of the summer birds, Yet far more difficult a thing-- A lyric for that pattering; Here is a music telling me Of golden joys that are to be; Unheralded by horns and drums, To me a regal caller comes.

Now on my couch I lie and hear A little toddler coming near, Coming right boldly to my place To pull my hair and pat my face, Undaunted by my age or size, Nor caring that I am not wise-- A visitor devoid of sham Who loves me just for what I am.

This soft low music tells to me In just a minute I shall be Made captive by a thousand charms, Held fast by chubby little arms, For there is one upon the way Who thinks the world was made for play.

Oh, where's the sound that's half so sweet As pattering of baby feet?

JUST LIKE A MAN

This is the phrase they love to say: "Just like a man!"

You can hear it wherever you chance to stray: "Just like a man!"

The wife of the toiler, the queen of the king, The bride with the shiny new wedding-ring And the grandmothers, too, at our s.e.x will fling, "Just like a man!"

Cranky and peevish at times we grow: "Just like a man!"

Now and then boastful of what we know: "Just like a man!"

Whatever our failings from day to day-- Stingy, or giving our goods away-- With a toss of her head, she is sure to say, "Just like a man!"

Unannounced strangers we bring to tea: "Just like a man!"

Heedless of every propriety: "Just like a man!"

Grumbling at money she spends for spats And filmy dresses and gloves and hats, Yet wanting her stylishly garbed, and that's "Just like a man!"

[Ill.u.s.tration:

Unannounced strangers we bring to tea: "Just like a man!"

Heedless of every propriety: "Just like a man!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration:

Grumbling at money she spends for spats And filmy dresses and gloves and hats, Yet wanting her stylishly garbed, and that's "Just like a man!"

_"Just Like A Man"_

_From a charcoal drawing by_ W. T. BENDA.]

Wanting attention from year to year: "Just like a man!"

Seemingly helpless when she's not near: "Just like a man!"

Troublesome often, and quick to demur, Still remaining the boys we were, Yet soothed and blest by the love of her: "Just like a man!"

CLINCHING THE BOLT

It needed just an extra turn to make the bolt secure, A few more minutes on the job and then the work was sure; But he begrudged the extra turn, and when the task was through, The man was back for more repairs in just a day or two.

Two men there are in every place, and one is only fair, The other gives the extra turn to every bolt that's there; One man is slip-shod in his work and eager to be quit, The other never leaves a task until he's sure of it.

The difference 'twixt good and bad is not so very much, A few more minutes at the task, an extra turn or touch, A final test that all is right--and yet the men are few Who seem to think it worth their while these extra things to do.

The poor man knows as well as does the good man how to work, But one takes pride in every task, the other likes to shirk; With just as little as he can, one seeks his pay to earn, The good man always gives the bolt that clinching, extra turn.

HIS PA

Some fellers' pas seem awful old, An' talk like they was going to scold, An' their hair's all gone, an' they never grin Or holler an' shout when they come in.

They don't get out in the street an' play The way mine does at the close of day.