Part 20 (1/2)

G.o.d sends me the gray days and rare, The threads from his bountiful skein, And many, as suns.h.i.+ne, are fair.

And some are as dark as the rain.

And I think as I toil to express My life through the days slipping by, Shall my tapestry prove a success?

What sort of a weaver am I?

Am I making the most of the red And the bright strands of luminous gold?

Or blotting them out with the thread By which all men's failure is told?

Am I picturing life as despair, As a thing men shall shudder to see, Or weaving a bit that is fair That shall stand as the record of me?

The Few

The easy roads are crowded And the level roads are jammed; The pleasant little rivers With the drifting folks are crammed.

But off yonder where it's rocky, Where you get a better view, You will find the ranks are thinning And the travelers are few.

Where the going's smooth and pleasant You will always find the throng, For the many, more's the pity, Seem to like to drift along.

But the steeps that call for courage, And the task that's hard to do In the end result in glory For the never-wavering few.

Real Swimming

I saw him in the distance, as the train went speeding by, A s.h.i.+very little fellow standing in the sun to dry.

And a little pile of clothing very near him I could see: He was owner of a gladness that had once belonged to me.

I have s.h.i.+vered as he s.h.i.+vered, I have dried the way he dried, I've stood naked in G.o.d's suns.h.i.+ne with my garments at my side; And I thought as I beheld him, of the many weary men Who would like to go in swimming as a little boy again.

I saw him scarce a moment, yet I knew his lips were blue And I knew his teeth were chattering just as mine were wont to do; And I knew his merry playmates in the pond were splas.h.i.+ng still; I could tell how much he envied all the boys that never chill; And throughout that lonesome journey, I kept living o'er and o'er The joys of going swimming when no bathing suits we wore; I was with that little fellow, standing chattering in the sun; I was sharing in his s.h.i.+vers and a partner of his fun.

Back to me there came the pictures that I never shall forget When I dared not travel homewards if my shock of hair was wet, When I did my brief undressing under fine and friendly trees In the days before convention rigged us up in b.v.d's.

And I dived for stones and metal on the mill pond's muddy floor, Then stood naked in the suns.h.i.+ne till my blood grew warm once more.

I was back again, a youngster, in those golden days of old, When my teeth were wont to chatter and my lips were blue with cold.

The Love of the Game