Riley Songs of Home | Page 5

my heart--and then?The sun shone out again!
"He is my friend!" The words?Brought summer and the birds;?And all my winter-time?Thawed into running rhyme?And rippled into song,?Warm, tender, brave and strong.
And so it sings to-day.--?So may it sing alway!?Though waving grasses grow?Between, and lilies blow?Their trills of perfume clear?As laughter to the ear,?Let each mute measure end?With "Still he is thy friend."
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THINKIN' BACK
I've ben thinkin' back, of late,?S'prisin'!--And I'm here to state?I'm suspicious it's a sign?Of age, maybe, or decline?Of my faculties,--and yit?I'm not feelin' old a bit--?Any more than sixty-four?Ain't no young man any more!
Thinkin' back's a thing 'at grows?On a feller, I suppose--?Older 'at he gits, i jack,?More he keeps a-thinkin' back!?Old as old men git to be,?Er as middle-aged as me,?Folks'll find us, eye and mind?Fixed on what we've left behind--?Rehabilitatin'-like?Them old times we used to hike?Out barefooted fer the crick,?'Long 'bout Aprile first--to pick?Out some "warmest" place to go?In a-swimmin'--Ooh! my-oh!?Wonder now we hadn't died!?Grate horseradish on my hide?Jes' a-thinkin' how cold then?That-'ere worter must 'a' ben!
Thinkin' back--W'y, goodness me!?I kin call their names and see?Every little tad I played?With, er fought, er was afraid?Of, and so made him the best?Friend I had of all the rest!
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Thinkin' back, I even hear?Them a-callin', high and clear,?Up the crick-banks, where they seem?Still hid in there--like a dream--?And me still a-pantin' on?The green pathway they have gone!?Still they hide, by bend er ford--?Still they hide--but, thank the Lord,?(Thinkin' back, as I have said),?I hear laughin' on ahead!
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NOT ALWAYS GLAD WHEN WE SMILE
We are not always glad when we smile:?Though we wear a fair face and are gay,?And the world we deceive?May not ever believe?We could laugh in a happier way.--?Yet, down in the deeps of the soul,?Ofttimes, with our faces aglow,?There's an ache and a moan?That we know of alone,?And as only the hopeless may know.
We are not always glad when we smile,--?For the heart, in a tempest of pain,?May live in the guise?Of a smile in the eyes?As a rainbow may live in the rain;?And the stormiest night of our woe?May hang out a radiant star?Whose light in the sky?Of despair is a lie?As black as the thunder-clouds are.
We are not always glad when we smile!--?But the conscience is quick to record,?All the sorrow and sin?We are hiding within?Is plain in the sight of the Lord:?And ever, O ever, till pride?And evasion shall cease to defile?The sacred recess?Of the soul, we confess?We are not always glad when we smile.
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HIS ROOM
"I'm home again, my dear old Room,?I'm home again, and happy, too,?As, peering through the brightening gloom,?I find myself alone with you:?Though brief my stay, nor far away,?I missed you--missed you night and day--?As wildly yearned for you as now.--?Old Room, how are you, anyhow?
"My easy chair, with open arms,?Awaits me just within the door;?The littered carpet's woven charms?Have never seemed so bright before,--?The old rosettes and mignonettes?And ivy-leaves and violets,?Look up as pure and fresh of hue?As though baptized in morning dew.
"Old Room, to me your homely walls?Fold round me like the arms of love,?And over all my being falls?A blessing pure as from above--?Even as a nestling child caressed?And lulled upon a loving breast,?With folded eyes, too glad to weep?And yet too sad for dreams or sleep.
"You've been so kind to me, old Room--?So patient in your tender care,?My drooping heart in fullest bloom?Has blossomed for you unaware;?And who but you had cared to woo?A heart so dark, and heavy, too,?As in the past you lifted mine?From out the shadow to the shine?
"For I was but a wayward boy?When first you gladly welcomed me?And taught me work was truer joy?Than rioting incessantly:?And thus the din that stormed within?The old guitar and violin?Has fallen in a fainter tone?And sweeter, for your sake alone.
"Though in my absence I have stood?In festal halls a favored guest,?I missed, in this old quietude,?My worthy work and worthy rest--?By this I know that long ago?You loved me first, and told me so?In art's mute eloquence of speech?The voice of praise may never reach.
"For lips and eyes in truth's disguise?Confuse the faces of my friends,?Till old affection's fondest ties?I find unraveling at the ends;?But as I turn to you, and learn?To meet my griefs with less concern,?Your love seems all I have to keep?Me smiling lest I needs must weep.
"Yet I am happy, and would fain?Forget the world and all its woes;?So set me to my tasks again,?Old Room, and lull me to repose:?And as we glide adown the tide?Of dreams, forever side by side,?I'll hold your hands as lovers do?Their sweethearts' and talk love to you."
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THE PLAINT HUMAN
Season of snows, and season of flowers,?Seasons of loss and gain!--?Since grief and joy must alike be ours,?Why do we still complain?
Ever our failing, from sun to sun,?O my intolerant brother--?We want just a little too little of