The Path to Home | Page 7

them!" the mother tells,
When I am heedless to their
yells,
And let them race and romp about
And do not put their joy to
rout.
I know I should be firm, and yet
I tried it once to my regret;

I will remember till I'm old
The day I started in to scold.
I stamped my foot and shouted: "Stop!"
And Bud just let his drum
sticks drop,
And looked at me, and turned away;
That night there
was no further play.
The girls were solemn-like and still,
Just as
girls are when they are ill,
And when unto his cot I crept,
I found
him sobbing as he slept.
That was my first attempt and last
To play the scold. I'm glad it
passed
So quickly and has left no trace
Of memory on each little
face;
But now when mother whispers low:
"You're spoiling them," I
answer, "No!
But it is plain, as plain can be,
Those little tykes are
spoiling me."
An Old-Fashioned Welcome
There's nothing cheers a fellow up just like a hearty greeting, A
handclasp and an honest smile that flash the joy of meeting; And when
at friendly doors you ring, somehow it seems to free you From all life's
doubts to hear them say: "Come in! We're glad to see you!"
At first the portal slips ajar in answer to your ringing,
And then your
eyes meet friendly eyes, and wide the door goes flinging; And
something seems to stir the soul, however troubled be you, If but the
cheery host exclaims: "Come in! We're glad to see you!"
Our House
We play at our house and have all sorts of fun,
An' there's always a

game when the supper is done;
An' at our house there's marks on the
walls an' the stairs, An' some terrible scratches on some of the chairs;

An' ma says that our house is really a fright,
But pa and I say that our
house is all right.
At our house we laugh an' we sing an' we shout,
An' whirl all the
chairs an' the tables about,
An' I rassle my pa an' I get him down too,

An' he's all out of breath when the fightin' is through;
An' ma says
that our house is surely a sight,
But pa an' I say that our house is all
right.
I've been to houses with pa where I had
To sit in a chair like a good
little lad,
An' there wasn't a mark on the walls an' the chairs,
An' the
stuff that we have couldn't come up to theirs;
An' pa said to ma that
for all of their joy
He wouldn't change places an' give up his boy.
They never have races nor rassles nor fights,
Coz they have no
children to play with at nights;
An' their walls are all clean an' their
curtains hang straight, An' everything's shiny an' right up to date;
But
pa says with all of its racket an' fuss,
He'd rather by far live at our
house with us.
A Plea
God grant me these: the strength to do
Some needed service here;

The wisdom to be brave and true;
The gift of vision clear,
That in
each task that comes to me
Some purpose I may plainly see.
God teach me to believe that I
Am stationed at a post,
Although the
humblest 'neath the sky,
Where I am needed most.
And that, at last,
if I do well
My humble services will tell.
God grant me faith to stand on guard,
Uncheered, unspoke, alone,

And see behind such duty hard
My service to the throne.
Whate'er
my task, be this my creed:
I am on earth to fill a need.

Story-Time
"Tell us a story," comes the cry
From little lips when nights are cold,

And in the grate the flames leap high.
"Tell us a tale of pirates bold,

Or fairies hiding in the glen,
Or of a ship that's wrecked at sea."
I
fill my pipe, and there and then
Gather the children round my knee.
I give them all a role to play--
No longer are they youngsters small,

And I, their daddy, turning gray;
We are adventurers, one and all.

We journey forth as Robin Hood
In search of treasure, or to do

Some deed of daring or of good;
Our hearts are ever brave and true.
We take a solemn oath to be
Defenders of the starry flag;
We brave
the winter's stormy sea,
Or climb the rugged mountain crag,
To
battle to the death with those
Who would defame our native land;

We pitch our camp among the snows
Or on the tropics' burning sand.
We rescue maidens, young and fair,
Held captive long in prison
towers;
We slay the villain in his lair,
For we're possessed of magic
powers.
And though we desperately fight,
When by our foes are we
beset,
We always triumph for the right;
We have not lost a battle
yet.
It matters not how far we stray,
Nor where our battle lines may be,

We never get so far away
That we must spend a night at sea.
It
matters not how high we climb,
How many foes our pathway block,

We always conquer just in time
To go to bed at 9 o'clock.
The