Part 18 (1/2)

Under the shade of trees, Flat on my back at ease, Lulled by the hum of bees, There's where I rest; Breathing the scented air, Lazily loafing there, Never a thought of care, Peace in my breast.

There where the waters run, Laughing along in fun, I go when work is done, There's where I stray; Couch of a downy green, Restful and sweet and clean, Set in a fairy scene, Wondrously gay.

Worn out with toil and strife, Sick of the din of life, With pain and sorrow rife, There's where I go; Soothing and sweet I find, Comforts that ease the mind, Leaving dull care behind, Rest there I know.

Flat on my back I lie, Watching the s.h.i.+ps go by, Under the fleecy sky, Day dreaming there; From grief I find surcease, From worry gain release, Resting in perfect peace, Free from all care.

When Father Played Baseball

The smell of arnica is strong, And mother's time is spent In rubbing father's arms and back With burning liniment.

The house is like a druggist's shop; Strong odors fill the hall, And day and night we hear him groan, Since father played baseball.

He's forty past, but he declared That he was young as ever; And in his youth, he said, he was A baseball player clever.

So when the business men arranged A game, they came to call On dad and asked him if he thought That he could play baseball.

”I haven't played in fifteen years,”

Said father, ”but I know That I can stop the grounders hot, And I can make the throw.

I used to play a corking game; The curves, I know them all; And you can count on me, you bet, To join your game of ball.”

On Sat.u.r.day the game was played, And all of us were there; Dad borrowed an old uniform, That Casey used to wear.

He paid three dollars for a glove, Wore spikes to save a fall He had the make-up on all right, When father played baseball.

At second base they stationed him; A liner came his way; Dad tried to stop it with his knee, And missed a double play.

He threw into the bleachers twice, He let a pop fly fall; Oh, we were all ashamed of him, When father played baseball.

He tried to run, but tripped and fell, He tried to take a throw; It put three fingers out of joint, And father let it go.

He stopped a grounder with his face; Was spiked, nor was that all; It looked to us like suicide, When father played baseball.

At last he limped away, and now He suffers in disgrace; His arms are bathed in liniment; Court plaster hides his face.

He says his back is breaking, and His legs won't move at all; It made a wreck of father when He tried to play baseball.

The smell of arnica abounds; He hobbles with a cane; A row of blisters mar his hands; He is in constant pain.

But lame and weak as father is, He swears he'll lick us all If we dare even speak about The day he played baseball.

About Boys

Show me the boy who never threw A stone at someone's cat; Or never hurled a s...o...b..ll swift At someone's high silk hat.

Who never ran away from school, To seek the swimming hole; Or slyly from a neighbor's yard Green apples never stole.

Show me the boy who never broke A pane of window gla.s.s; Who never disobeyed the sign That says: ”Keep off the gra.s.s.”

Who never did a thousand things, That grieve us sore to tell; And I'll show you a little boy Who must be far from well.

Curly Locks

Curly locks, what do you know of the world, And what do your brown eyes see?