The Path to Home | Page 9

whiskers an' the shabby clothes he wore An' his dirty shirt an' collar
that he must have been a crook, An' she's positive that feller came and
got her pocketbook.
But at last she allus finds it in some queer an' funny spot, Where she'd
put it in a hurry, an' had somehow clean forgot; An' she heaves a sigh
of gladness, an' she says, "Well, I declare, I would take an oath this
minute that I never put it there." An' we're peaceable an' quiet till next
time Ma goes to look An' finds she can't remember where she put her
pocketbook.
The Doctor
I don't see why Pa likes him so,
And seems so glad to have him come;

He jabs my ribs and wants to know
If here and there it's hurting
some.
He holds my wrist, coz there are things
In there, which
always jump and jerk,
Then, with a telephone he brings,
He listens
to my breather work.
He taps my back and pinches me,
Then hangs a mirror on his head

And looks into my throat to see
What makes it hurt and if it's red.

Then on his knee he starts to write
And says to mother, with a smile:

"This ought to fix him up all right,
We'll cure him in a little while."
I don't see why Pa likes him so.
Whenever I don't want to play
He
says: "The boy is sick, I know!
Let's get the doctor right away."

And when he comes, he shakes his hand,
And hustles him upstairs to
me,
And seems contented just to stand
Inside the room where he
can see.

Then Pa says every time he goes:
"That's money I am glad to pay;

It's worth it, when a fellow knows
His pal will soon be up to play."

But maybe if my Pa were me,
And had to take his pills and all,
He
wouldn't be so glad to see
The doctor come to make a call.
Lines For a Flag Raising Ceremony
Full many a flag the breeze has kissed;
Through ages long the
morning sun
Has risen o'er the early mist
The flags of men to look
upon.
And some were red against the sky,
And some with colors
true were gay,
And some in shame were born to die,
For Flags of
hate must pass away.
Such symbols fall as men depart,
Brief is the
reign of arrant might;
The vicious and the vile at heart
Give way in
time before the right.
A flag is nothing in itself;
It but reflects the lives of men;
And they
who lived and toiled for pelf
Went out as vipers in a den.
God
cleans the sky from time to time
Of every tyrant flag that flies,
And
every brazen badge of crime
Falls to the ground and swiftly dies.

Proud kings are mouldering in the dust;
Proud flags of ages past are
gone;
Only the symbols of the just
Have lived and shall keep living
on.
So long as we shall serve the truth,
So long as honor stamps us fair,

Each age shall pass unto its youth
Old Glory proudly flying there!

But if we fail our splendid past,
If we prove faithless, weak and base,

That age shall be our banner's last;
A fairer flag shall take its place.

This flag we fling unto the skies
Is but an emblem of our hearts,

And when our love of freedom dies,
Our banner with our race
departs.
Full many a flag the breezes kiss,
Full many a flag the sun has known,

But none so bright and fair as this;
None quite so splendid as our
own!
This tells the world that we are men
Who cling to manhood's

ways and truth;
It is our soul's great voice and pen,
The strength of
age, the guide of youth,
And it shall ever hold the sky
So long as
we shall keep our trust;
But if our love of right shall die
Our Flag
shall sink into the dust.
The Toy-Strewn Home
Give me the house where the toys are strewn,
Where the dolls are
asleep in the chairs,
Where the building blocks and the toy balloon

And the soldiers guard the stairs.
Let me step in a house where the
tiny cart
With the horses rules the floor,
And rest comes into my
weary heart,
For I am at home once more.
Give me the house with the toys about,
With the battered old train of
cars,
The box of paints and the books left out,
And the ship with her
broken spars.
Let me step in a house at the close of day
That is
littered with children's toys,
And dwell once more in the haunts of
play,
With the echoes of by-gone noise.
Give me the house where the toys are seen,
The house where the
children romp,
And I'll happier be than man has been
'Neath the
gilded dome of pomp.
Let me see the litter of bright-eyed play

Strewn over the parlor floor,
And the joys I knew in a far-off day

Will gladden my heart once more.
Whoever has lived in a toy-strewn home,
Though feeble he be and
gray,
Will yearn, no matter how far he roam,
For the glorious
disarray
Of the little home with its littered floor
That was his in