Part 7 (1/2)

He takes my hand and we go out And everything we talk about.

He tells me how G.o.d makes the trees, And why it hurts to pick up bees.

Sometimes he stops and shows to me The place where fairies used to be; And then he tells me stories, too, And I am sorry when he's through.

When I am asking him for more He says: ”Why there's a candy store!

Let's us go there and see if they Have got the kind we like to-day.”

Then when we get back home my ma Says: ”You are spoiling Buddy, Pa.”

My grandpa is my mother's pa, I guess that's what all grandpas are.

And sometimes ma, all smiles, will say: ”You didn't always act that way.

When I was little, then you said That children should be sent to bed And not allowed to rule the place And lead old folks a merry chase.”

And grandpa laughs and says: ”That's true, That's what I used to say to you.

It is a father's place to show The young the way that they should go, But grandpas have a different task, Which is to get them all they ask.”

When I get big and old and gray I'm going to spend my time in play; I'm going to be a grandpa, too, And do as all the grandpas do.

I'll buy my daughter's children things Like horns and drums and tops with strings, And tell them all about the trees And frogs and fish and birds and bees And fairies in the shady glen And tales of giants, too, and when They beg of me for just one more, I'll take them to the candy store; I'll buy them everything they see The way my grandpa does for me

Pa Did It

The train of cars that Santa brought is out of kilter now; While pa was showing how they went he broke the spring somehow.

They used to run around a track--at least they did when he Would let me take them in my hands an' wind 'em with a key.

I could 'a' had some fun with 'em, if only they would go, But, gee! I never had a chance, for pa enjoyed em so.

The automobile that I got that ran around the floor Was lots of fun when it was new, but it won't go no more.

Pa wound it up for Uncle Jim to show him how it went, And when those two got through with it the runnin' gear was bent, An' now it doesn't go at all. I mustn't grumble though, 'Cause while it was in shape to run my pa enjoyed it so.

I've got my blocks as good as new, my mitts are perfect yet; Although the snow is on the ground I haven't got em wet.

I've taken care of everything that Santa brought to me, Except the toys that run about when wound up with a key.

But next year you can bet I won't make any such mistake; I'm going to ask for toys an' things that my pa cannot break.

The Real Successes

You think that the failures are many, You think the successes are few, But you judge by the rule of the penny, And not by the good that men do.

You judge men by standards of treasure That merely obtain upon earth, When the brother you're snubbing may measure Full-length to G.o.d's standard of worth.

The failures are not in the ditches, The failures are not in the ranks, They have missed the acquirement of riches, Their fortunes are not in the banks.

Their virtues are never paraded, Their worth is not always in view, But they're fighting their battles unaided, And fighting them honestly, too.

There are failures to-day in high places The failures aren't all in the low; There are rich men with scorn in their faces Whose homes are but castles of woe.

The homes that are happy are many, And numberless fathers are true; And this is the standard, if any, By which we must judge what men do.

Wherever loved ones are awaiting The toiler to kiss and caress, Though in Bradstreet's he hasn't a rating, He still is a splendid success.