The Path to Home Part 14

Though arguments may rage and roar; I grease the hinges on my door And paint the porches blue; I love this splendid land of ours, And so I plant the seeds and flowers And watch them bursting through.

I never stand upon a box To say we're headed for the rocks.

My notion of a patriot Is one who guards his little cot, And keeps it up to date; Who pays his taxes when they're due, And pays his bills for groc'ries, too, And dresses well his mate; He keeps his children warmly clad And lets them know they have a dad.

The nation's safe as long as men Get to their work and back again Each day with cheerful smile; So long as there are fathers who Rejoice in what they have to do And find their homes worth while, The Stars and Stripes will wave on high And liberty will never die.

The Tramp

Eagerly he took my dime, Then shuffled on his way, Thick with sin and filth and grime, But I wondered all that day How the man had gone astray.

Not to him the dime I gave; Not unto the man of woe, Not to him who should be brave, Not to him who'd sunk so low, But the boy of long ago.

Pa.s.sed his years of sin and shame Through the filth that all could see, Out of what he is there came One more pitiful to me: Came the boy that used to be.

Smiling, full of promise glad, Stood a baby, like my own; I beheld a glorious lad, Someone once had loved and known Out of which this wreck had grown!

Where, thought I, must lie the blame?

Who has failed in such a way?

As all children come he came, There's a soul within his clay; Who has led his feet astray?

As he shuffled down the hall With the coin I'd never miss, What, thought I, were fame and all Man may gain of earthly bliss, If my child should come to this!

The Lonely Garden

I wonder what the trees will say, The trees that used to share his play, An' knew him as the little lad Who used to wander with his dad.

They've watched him grow from year to year Since first the good Lord sent him here.

This s.h.a.g-bark hick'ry, many a time, The little fellow tried t' climb, An' never a spring has come but he Has called upon his favorite tree.

I wonder what they all will say When they are told he's marched away.

I wonder what the birds will say, The swallow an' the chatterin' jay, The robin, an' the kill-deer, too.

For every one o' them, he knew, An' every one o' them knew him, An' hoppin' there from limb t' limb, Waited each spring t' tell him all They'd done an' seen since 'way last fall.

He was the first to greet 'em here As they returned from year t' year; An' now I wonder what they'll say When they are told he's marched away.

I wonder how the roses there Will get along without his care, An' how the lilac bush will face The loneliness about th' place; For ev'ry spring an' summer, he Has been the chum o' plant an' tree, An' every livin' thing has known A comradeship that's finer grown, By havin' him from year t' year.

Now very soon they'll all be here, An' I am wonderin' what they'll say When they find out he's marched away.

The Silver Stripes

When we've honored the heroes returning from France And we've mourned for the heroes who fell, When we've done all we can for the homecoming man Who stood to the shot and the sh.e.l.l, Let us all keep in mind those who lingered behind-- The thousands who waited to go-- The brave and the true, who did all they could do, Yet have only the silver to show.

They went from their homes at the summons for men, They drilled in the heat of the sun, They fell into line with a pluck that was fine; Each cheerfully shouldered a gun.

They were ready to die for Old Glory on high, They were eager to meet with the foe; They were just like the rest of our bravest and best, Though they've only the silver to show.

Their bodies stayed here, but their spirits were there; And the boys who looked death in the face, For the cause had no fear--for they knew, waiting here, There were many to fill up each place.

Oh, the ships came and went, till the battle was spent And the tyrant went down with the blow!

But he still might have reigned but for those who remained And have only the silver to show.

So here's to the soldiers who never saw France, And here's to the boys unafraid!

Let us give them their due; they were glorious, too, And it isn't their fault that they stayed.

They were eager to share in the sacrifice there; Let them share in the peace that we know.

For we know they were brave, by the service they gave, Though they've only the silver to show.

Tinkerin' at Home

Some folks there be who seem to need excitement fast and furious, An' reckon all the joys that have no thrill in 'em are spurious.

Some think that pleasure's only found down where the lights are shining, An' where an orchestra's at work the while the folks are dining.

Still others seek it at their play, while some there are who roam, But I am happiest when I am tinkerin' 'round the home.

I like to wear my oldest clothes, an' fuss around the yard, An' dig a flower bed now an' then, and pensively regard The mornin' glories climbin' all along the wooden fence, An' do the little odds an' ends that aren't of consequence.

I like to trim the hedges, an' touch up the paint a bit, An' sort of take a homely pride in keepin' all things fit.

An' I don't envy rich folks who are sailin' o'er the foam When I can spend a day or two in tinkerin' 'round the home.

If I were fixed with money, as some other people are, I'd take things mighty easy; I'd not travel very far.

I'd jes' wear my oldest trousers an' my flannel shirt, an' stay An' guard my vine an' fig tree in an old man's tender way.

I'd bathe my soul in sunshine every mornin', and I'd bend My back to pick the roses; Oh, I'd be a watchful friend To everything around the place, an' in the twilight gloam I'd thank the Lord for lettin' me jes' tinker 'round the home.

But since I've got to hustle in the turmoil of the town, An' don't expect I'll ever be allowed to settle down An' live among the roses an' the tulips an' the phlox, Or spend my time in carin' for the noddin' hollyhocks, I've come to the conclusion that perhaps in Heaven I may Get a chance to know the pleasures that I'm yearnin' for to-day; An' I'm goin' to ask the good Lord, when I've climbed the golden stair, If he'll kindly let me tinker 'round the home we've got up there.

When An Old Man Gets to Thinking

When an old man gets to thinking of the years he's traveled through, He hears again the laughter of the little ones he knew.

He isn't counting money, and he isn't planning schemes; He's at home with friendly people in the shadow of his dreams.

When he's lived through all life's trials and his sun is in the west, When he's tasted all life's pleasures and he knows which ones were best, Then his mind is stored with riches, not of silver and of gold, But of happy smiling faces and the joys he couldn't hold.

Could we see what he is seeing as he's dreaming in his chair, We should find no scene of struggle in the distance over there.

As he counts his memory treasures, we should see some shady lane Where's he walking with his sweetheart, young, and arm in arm again.

We should meet with friendly people, simple, tender folk and kind, That had once been glad to love him. In his dreaming we should find All the many little beauties that enrich the lives of men That the eyes of youth scarce notice and the poets seldom pen.