The Path to Home Part 18

I've thought it all over. Man's biggest mistake Is in wanting to sleep when his babes are awake; When they come to his room for that first bit of fun He should make up his mind that his sleeping is done; He should share in the laughter they bring to his side And start off the day with that feather-bed ride.

Oh they're fun at their breakfast and fun at their lunch; Any hour of the day they're a glorious bunch!

When they're togged up for Sundays they're certainly fine, And I'm glad in my heart I can call them all mine, But I think that the time that I like them the best Is that hour in the morning before they are dressed.

Names and Faces

I do not ask a store of wealth, Nor special gift of power; I hope always for strength and health To brave each troubled hour.

But life would be distinctly good, However low my place is, Had I a memory that could Remember names and faces.

I am not troubled by the fact That common skill is mine; I care not that my life has lacked The glory of the fine.

But, oh, when someone speaks to me, My cheeks grow red with shame Because I'm sure that he must see That I have lost his name.

Embarra.s.sment, where'er I go, Pursues me night and day; I hear some good friend's glad "h.e.l.lo,"

And stop a word to say.

His voice melodiously may ring, But that's all lost on me, For all the time I'm wondering Whoever can he be.

I envy no man's talent rare Save his who can repeat The names of men, no matter where It is they chance to meet.

For he escapes the bitter blow, The sorrow and regret, Of greeting friends he ought to know As though they'd never met.

I do not ask a store of gold, High station here, or fame; I have no burning wish to hold The popular acclaim; Life's lanes I'd gladly journey through, Nor mind the stony places, Could I but do as others do And know men's names and faces!

Pleasing Dad

When I was but a little lad, not more than two or three, I noticed in a general way my dad was proud of me.

He liked the little ways I had, the simple things I said; Sometimes he gave me words of praise, sometimes he stroked my head; And when I'd done a thing worth while, the thought that made me glad Was always that I'd done my best, and that would please my dad.

I can look back to-day and see how proud he used to be When I'd come home from school and say they'd recommended me.

I didn't understand it then, for school boys never do, But in a vague and general way it seems to me I knew That father took great pride in me, and wanted me to shine, And that it meant a lot to him when I'd done something fine.

Then one day out of school I went, amid the great world's hum, An office boy, and father watched each night to see me come.

And I recall how proud he was of me that wondrous day When I could tell him that, unasked, the firm had raised my pay.

I still can feel that hug he gave, I understand the joy It meant to him to learn that men were trusting in his boy.

I wonder will it please my dad? How oft the thought occurs When I am stumbling on the paths, beset with briars and burrs!

He isn't here to see me now, alone my race I run, And yet some day I'll go to him and tell him all I've done.

And oh I pray that when we meet beyond life's stormy sea That he may claim the old-time joy of being proud of me.

Living Flowers

"I'm never alone in the garden," he said. "I'm never alone with the flowers.

It seems like I'm meeting the wonderful dead out here with these blossoms of ours.

An' there's never a bush or a plant or a tree, but somebody loved it of old.

An' the souls of the angels come talkin' to me through the petals of crimson an' gold.

"The lilacs in spring bring the mother once more, an' she lives in the midsummer rose.

She smiles in the peony clump at the door, an'

sings when the four o'clocks close.

She loved every blossom G.o.d gave us to own, an'

daily she gave it her care.

So never I walk in the garden alone, for I feel that the mother's still there.

"These are the pinks that a baby once kissed, still spicy with fragrance an' fair.

The years have been long since her laughter I've missed, but her spirit is hovering there.

The roses that ramble and twine on the wall were planted by one that was kind An' I'm sure as I stand here an' gaze on them all, that his soul has still lingered behind.

"I'm never alone in the garden," he said, "I have many to talk with an' see, For never a flower comes to bloom in its bed, but it brings back a loved one to me.

An' I fancy whenever I'm bendin' above these blossoms of crimson an' gold, That I'm seein' an' hearin' the ones that I love, who lived in the glad days of old."

The Common Joys

These joys are free to all who live, The rich and poor, the great and low: The charms which kindness has to give, The smiles which friendship may bestow, The honor of a well-spent life, The glory of a purpose true, High courage in the stress of strife, And peace when every task is through.

Nor cla.s.s nor caste nor race nor creed, Nor greater might can take away The splendor of an honest deed.

Who n.o.bly serves from day to day Shall walk the road of life with pride, With friends who recognize his worth, For never are these joys denied Unto the humblest man on earth.

Not all may rise to world-wide fame, Not all may gather fortune's gold, Not all life's luxuries may claim; In differing ways success is told.

But all may know the peace of mind Which comes from service brave and true; The poorest man can still be kind, And n.o.bly live till life is through.

These joys abound for one and all: The pride of fearing no man's scorn, Of standing firm, where others fall, Of bearing well what must be borne.

He that shall do an honest deed Shall win an honest deed's rewards; For these, no matter race or creed, Life unto every man affords.

His Example

There are little eyes upon you, and they're watching night and day; There are little ears that quickly take in every word you say; There are little hands all eager to do everything you do, And a little boy that's dreaming of the day he'll be like you.

You're the little fellow's idol, you're the wisest of the wise; In his little mind about you no suspicions ever rise; He believes in you devoutly, holds that all you say and do He will say and do in your way when he's grown up just like you.

Oh, it sometimes makes me shudder when I hear my boy repeat Some careless phrase I've uttered in the language of the street; And it sets my heart to grieving when some little fault I see And I know beyond all doubting that he picked it up from me.