Part 2 (2/2)
Could I return to childhood fair, That day I think I'd choose When mother said I needn't wear My stockings and my shoes.
A Fine Sight
I reckon the finest sight of all That a man can see in this world of ours Ain't the works of art on the gallery wall, Or the red an' white o' the fust spring flowers, Or a h.o.a.rd o' gold from the yellow mines; But the' sight that'll make ye want t' yell Is t' catch a glimpse o' the fust pink signs In yer baby's cheek, that she's gittin' well.
When ye see the pink jes' a-creepin' back T' the pale, drawn cheek, an' ye note a smile, Then th' cords o' yer heart that were tight, grow slack An' ye jump fer joy every little while, An' ye tiptoe back to her little bed As though ye doubted yer eyes, or were Afraid it was fever come back instead, An' ye found that th' pink still blossomed there.
Ye've watched fer that smile an' that bit o' bloom With a heavy heart fer weeks an' weeks; An' a castle o' joy becomes that room When ye glimpse th' pink 'in yer baby's cheeks.
An' out o' yer breast flies a weight o' care, An' ye're lifted up by some magic spell, An' yer heart jes' naturally beats a prayer O' joy to the Lord 'cause she's gittin' well.
Manhood's Greeting
I've' felt some little thrills of pride, I've inwardly rejoiced Along the pleasant lanes of life to hear my praises voiced; No great distinction have I claimed, but in a humble way Some satisfactions sweet have come to brighten many a day; But of the joyous thrills of life the finest that could be Was mine upon that day when first a stranger ”mistered” me.
I had my first long trousers on, and wore a derby too, But I was still a little boy to everyone I knew.
I dressed in manly fas.h.i.+on, and I tried to act the part, But I felt that I was awkward and lacked the manly art.
And then that kindly stranger spoke my name and set me free; I was sure I'd come to manhood on the day he ”mistered” me.
I never shall forget the joy that suddenly was mine, The sweetness of the thrill that seemed to dance along my spine, The pride that swelled within me, as he shook my youthful hand And treated me as big enough with grown up men to stand.
I felt my body straighten and a stiffening at each knee, And was gloriously happy, just because he'd ”mistered” me.
I cannot now recall his name, I only wish I could.
I've often wondered if that day he really understood How much it meant unto a boy, still wearing boyhood's tan, To find that others noticed that he'd grown to be a man.
Now I try to treat as equal every growing boy I see In memory of that kindly man--the first to ”mister” me.
Fis.h.i.+ng Nooks
”Men will grow weary,” said the Lord, ”Of working for their bed and board.
They'll weary of the money chase And want to find a resting place Where hum of wheel is never heard And no one speaks an angry word, And selfishness and greed and pride And petty motives don't abide.
They'll need a place where they can go To wash their souls as white as snow.
They will be better men and true If they can play a day or two.”
The Lord then made the brooks to flow And fas.h.i.+oned rivers here below, And many lakes; for water seems Best suited for a mortal's dreams.
He placed about them willow trees To catch the murmur of the breeze, And sent the birds that sing the best Among the foliage to nest.
He filled each pond and stream and lake With fish for man to come and take; Then stretched a velvet carpet deep On which a weary soul could sleep.
It seemed to me the Good Lord knew That man would want something to do When worn and wearied with the stress Of battling hard for world success.
When sick at heart of all the strife And pettiness of daily life, He knew he'd need, from time to time, To cleanse himself of city grime, And he would want some place to be Where hate and greed he'd never see.
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