Just Folks | Page 6

be careful, my little one,?You mustn't get hurt while your daddy's gone,?For every cut with its ache and smart?Leaves another bruise on your daddy's heart."
Every night I must stoop to see?The fresh little cuts on her arm or knee;?The little hurts that have marred her play,?And brought the tears on a happy day;?For the path of childhood is oft beset?With care and trouble and things that fret.
Oh, little girl, when you older grow,?Far greater hurts than these you'll know;?Greater bruises will bring your tears,?Around the bend of the lane of years,?But come to your daddy with them at night?And he'll do his best to make all things right.
The Lanes of Memory
Adown the lanes of memory bloom all the flowers of yesteryear, And looking back we smile to see life's bright red roses reappear, The little sprigs of mignonette that smiled upon us as we passed, The pansy and the violet, too sweet, we thought those days, to last.
The gentle mother by the door caresses still her lilac blooms, And as we wander back once more we seem to smell the old perfumes, We seem to live again the joys that once were ours so long ago When we were little girls and boys, with all the charms we used to know.
But living things grow old and fade; the dead in memory remain, In all their splendid youth arrayed, exempt from suffering and pain; The little babe God called away, so many, many years ago,?Is still a little babe to-day, and I am glad that this is so.
Time has not changed the joys we knew; the summer rains or winter snows Have failed to harm the wondrous hue of any dew-kissed bygone rose; In memory 'tis still as fair as when we plucked it for our own, And we can see it blooming there, if anything more lovely grown.
Adown the lanes of memory bloom all the joys of yesteryear, And God has given you and me the power to make them reappear; For we can settle back at night and live again the joys we knew And taste once more the old delight of days when all our skies were blue.
The Day of Days
A year is filled with glad events:?The best is Christmas day,?But every holiday presents?Its special round of play,?And looking back on boyhood now?And all the charms it knew,?One day, above the rest, somehow,?Seems brightest in review.?That day was finest, I believe;?Though many grown-ups scoff,?When mother said that we could leave?Our shoes and stockings off.
Through all the pleasant days of spring?We begged to know once more?The joy of barefoot wandering?And quit the shoes we wore;?But always mother shook her head?And answered with a smile:?"It is too soon, too soon," she said.?"Wait just a little while."?Then came that glorious day at last?When mother let us know?That fear of taking cold was past?And we could barefoot go.
Though Christmas day meant much to me,?And eagerly I'd try?The first boy on the street to be?The Fourth day of July,?I think: the summit of my joy?Was reached that happy day?Each year, when, as a barefoot boy,?I hastened out to play.?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 hoard 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