When Day is Done Part 7

Too Big a Price

"They say my boy is bad," she said to me, A tired old woman, thin and very frail.

"They caught him robbing railroad cars, an' he Must spend from five to seven years in jail.

His Pa an' I had hoped so much for him.

He was so pretty as a little boy--"

Her eyes with tears grew very wet an' dim-- "Now nothing that we've got can give us joy!"

"What is it that you own?" I questioned then.

"The house we live in," slowly she replied, "Two other houses worked an' slaved for, when The boy was but a youngster at my side, Some bonds we took the time he went to war; I've spent my strength against the want of age-- We've always had some end to struggle for.

Now shame an' ruin smear the final page.

"His Pa has been a steady-goin' man, Worked day an' night an' overtime as well; He's lived an' dreamed an' sweated to his plan To own the house an' profit should we sell; He never drank nor played much cards at night, He's been a worker since our wedding day, He's lived his life to what he knows is right, An' why should son of his now go astray?

"I've rubbed my years away on scrubbing boards, Washed floors for women that owned less than we, An' while they played the ladies an' the lords, We smiled an' dreamed of happiness to be."

"And all this time where was the boy?" said I.

"Out somewhere playin'!"--Like a rifle shot The thought went home--"My G.o.d!" she gave a cry, "We paid too big a price for what we got."

Always Saying "Don't!"

Folks are queer as they can be, Always sayin' "don't" to me; Don't do this an' don't do that.

Don't annoy or tease the cat, Don't throw stones, or climb a tree, Don't play in the road. Oh, Gee!

Seems like when I want to play "Don't" is all that they can say.

If I start to have some fun, Someone hollers, "Don't you run!"

If I want to go an' play Mother says: "Don't go away."

Seems my life is filled clear through With the things I mustn't do.

All the time I'm shouted at: "No, no, Sonny, don't do that!"

Don't shout so an' make a noise, Don't play with those naughty boys, Don't eat candy, don't eat pie, Don't you laugh and don't you cry, Don't stand up and don't you fall, Don't do anything at all.

Seems to me both night an' day "Don't" is all that they can say.

When I'm older in my ways An' have little boys to raise, Bet I'll let 'em race an' run An' not always spoil their fun; I'll not tell 'em all along Everything they like is wrong, An' you bet your life I won't All the time be sayin' "don't."

Boy O' Mine

Boy o' mine, boy o' mine, this is my prayer for you, This is my dream and my thought and my care for you: Strong be the spirit which dwells in the breast of you, Never may folly or shame get the best of you; You shall be tempted in fancied security, But make no choice that is stained with impurity.

Boy o' mine, boy o' mine, time shall command of you Thought from the brain of you, work from the hand of you; Voices of pleasure shall whisper and call to you, Luring you far from the hard tasks that fall to you; Then as you're meeting life's bitterest test of men, G.o.d grant you strength to be true as the best of men.

Boy o' mine, boy o' mine, singing your way along, Cling to your laughter and cheerfully play along; Kind to your neighbor be, offer your hand to him, You shall grow great as your heart shall expand to him; But when for victory sweet you are fighting there, Know that your record of life you are writing there.

Boy o' mine, boy o' mine, this is my prayer for you; Never may shame pen one line of despair for you; Never may conquest or glory mean all to you; Cling to your honor whatever shall fall to you; Rather than victory, rather than fame to you, Choose to be true and let nothing bring shame to you.

To a Little Girl

Oh, little girl with eyes of brown And smiles that fairly light the town, I wonder if you really know Just why it is we love you so, And why--with all the little girls With shining eyes and tangled curls That throng and dance this big world through-- Our hearts have room for only you.

Since other little girls are gay And laugh and sing and romp in play, And all are beautiful to see, Why should you mean so much to me?

And why should Mother, day and night, Make you her source of all delight, And always find in your caress Her greatest sum of happiness?

Oh, there's a reason good for this, You laughing little bright-eyed miss!

In all this town, with all its girls With shining eyes and sun-kissed curls, If we should search it through and through We'd find not one so fair as you; And none, however fair of face, Within our hearts could take your place.

For, one glad day not long ago, G.o.d sent you down to us below, And said that you were ours to keep, To guard awake and watch asleep; And ever since the day you came No other child has seemed the same; No other smiles are quite so fair As those which happily you wear.

We seem to live from day to day To hear the things you have to say; And just because G.o.d gave us you, We prize the little things you do.

Though G.o.d has filled this world with flowers, We like you best because you're ours-- In you our greatest joys we know, And that is why we love you so.

A Feller's Hat

It's funny 'bout a feller's hat-- He can't remember where it's at, Or where he took it off, or when, The time he's wantin' it again.

He knows just where he leaves his shoes; His sweater he won't often lose; An' he can find his rubbers, but He can't tell where his hat is put.

A feller's hat gets anywhere.

Sometimes he'll find it in a chair, Or on the sideboard, or maybe It's in the kitchen, just where he Gave it a toss beside the sink When he came in to get a drink, An' then forgot--but anyhow He never knows where it is now.

A feller's hat is never where He thinks it is when he goes there; It's never any use to look For it upon a closet hook, 'Cause it is always in some place It shouldn't be, to his disgrace, An' he will find it, like as not, Behind some radiator hot.

A feller's hat can get away From him most any time of day, So he can't ever find it when He wants it to go out again; It hides in corners dark an' grim An' seems to want to bother him; It disappears from sight somehow-- I wish I knew where mine is now.

The Good Little Boy

Once there was a boy who never Tore his clothes, or hardly ever, Never made his sister mad, Never whipped fer bein' bad, Never scolded by his Ma, Never frowned at by his Pa, Always fit fer folks to see, Always good as good could be.

This good little boy from Heaven, So I'm told, was only seven, Yet he never shed real tears When his mother scrubbed his ears, An' at times when he was dressed Fer a party, in his best, He was careful of his shirt Not to get it smeared with dirt.