Riley Songs of Friendship Part 10

OLD JOHN HENRY

Old John's jes' made o' the commonest stuff-- Old John Henry-- He's tough, I reckon,--but none too tough-- Too tough though's better than not enough!

Says old John Henry.

He does his best, and when his best's bad, He don't fret none, ner he don't git sad-- He simply 'lows it's the best he had: Old John Henry!

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[Ill.u.s.tration: A smilin' face and hearty hand]

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His doctern's jes' o' the plainest brand-- Old John Henry-- A smilin' face and a hearty hand 'S religen 'at all folks understand, Says old John Henry.

He's stove up some with the rhumatiz, And they hain't no shine on them shoes o' his, And his hair hain't cut--but his eye-teeth is: Old John Henry!

He feeds hisse'f when the stock's all fed-- Old John Henry-- And sleeps like a babe when he goes to bed-- And dreams o' Heaven and home-made bread, Says old John Henry.

He hain't refined as he'd ort to be To fit the statutes o' poetry, Ner his clothes don't fit him--but _he_ fits _me_: Old John Henry!

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HER VALENTINE

Somebody's sent a funny little valentine to me.

It's a bunch of baby-roses in a vase of filigree, And hovering above them--just as cute as he can be-- Is a fairy Cupid tangled in a scarf of poetry.

And the prankish little fellow looks so knowing in his glee, With his golden bow and arrow, aiming most unerringly At a pair of hearts so labeled that I may read and see That one is meant for "One Who Loves," and one is meant for me.

But I know the lad who sent it! It's as plain as A-B-C!-- For the roses they are _blushing_, and the vase stands _awkwardly_, And the little G.o.d above it--though as cute as he can be-- Can not breathe the lightest whisper of his burning love for me.

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[Ill.u.s.tration: Christmas greeting--headpiece]

CHRISTMAS GREETING

A word of G.o.dspeed and good cheer To all on earth, or far or near, Or friend or foe, or thine or mine-- In echo of the voice divine, Heard when the star bloomed forth and lit The world's face, with G.o.d's smile on it.

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[Ill.u.s.tration: Abe Martin--headpiece]

ABE MARTIN

Abe Martin!--dad-burn his old picture!

P'tends he's a Brown County fixture-- A kind of a comical mixture Of hoss-sense and no sense at all!

His mouth, like his pipe, 's allus goin', And his thoughts, like his whiskers, is flowin', And what he don't know ain't wuth knowin'-- From Genesis clean to baseball!

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[Ill.u.s.tration: His mouth, like his pipe, 's allus goin']

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The artist, Kin Hubbard, 's so keerless He draws Abe 'most eyeless and earless, But he's never yet pictured him cheerless Er with fun 'at he tries to conceal,-- Whuther on to the fence er clean over A-rootin' up ragweed er clover, Skeert stiff at some "Rambler" er "Rover"

Er newfangled automo_beel_!

It's a purty steep climate old Brown's in; And the rains there his ducks nearly drowns in The old man hisse'f wades his rounds in As ca'm and serene, mighty nigh As the old handsaw-hawg, er the mottled Milch cow, er the old rooster wattled Like the mumps had him 'most so well throttled That it was a pleasure to die.

But best of 'em all's the fool-breaks 'at Abe don't see at all, and yit makes 'at Both me and you lays back and shakes at His comic, miraculous cracks Which makes him--clean back of the power Of genius itse'f in its flower-- This Notable Man of the Hour, Abe Martin, The Joker on Facts.

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[Ill.u.s.tration: The little old poem that n.o.body reads--headpiece]

THE LITTLE OLD POEM THAT n.o.bODY READS

The little old poem that n.o.body reads Blooms in a crowded s.p.a.ce, Like a ground-vine blossom, so low in the weeds That n.o.body sees its face-- Unless, perchance, the reader's eye Stares through a yawn, and hurries by, For no one wants, or loves, or heeds, The little old poem that n.o.body reads.

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The little old poem that n.o.body reads Was written--where?--and when?

Maybe a hand of goodly deeds Thrilled as it held the pen: Maybe the fountain whence it came Was a heart brimmed o'er with tears of shame, And maybe its creed is the worst of creeds-- The little old poem that n.o.body reads.

But, little old poem that n.o.body reads, Holding you here above The wound of a heart that warmly bleeds For all that knows not love, I well believe if the old World knew As dear a friend as I find in you, That friend would tell it that all it needs Is the little old poem that n.o.body reads.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The little old poem that n.o.body reads--tailpiece]

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[Ill.u.s.tration: In the afternoon--headpiece]

IN THE AFTERNOON

You in the hammock; and I, near by, Was trying to read, and to swing you, too; And the green of the sward was so kind to the eye, And the shade of the maples so cool and blue, That often I looked from the book to you To say as much, with a sigh.