The Path to Home | Page 7

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 Mother Watch
She never closed her eyes in sleep till we were all in bed; On party nights till we came home she often sat and read.?We little thought about it then, when we were young and gay, How much the mother worried when we children were away.?We only knew she never slept when we were out at night,?And that she waited just to know that we'd come home all right.
Why, sometimes when we'd stayed away till one or two or three, It seemed to us that mother heard the turning of the key;?For always when we stepped inside she'd call and we'd reply, But we were all too young back then to understand just why. Until the last one had returned she always kept a light,?For mother couldn't sleep until she'd kissed us all good night.
She had to know that we were safe before she went to rest;?She seemed to fear the world might harm the ones she loved the best. And once she said: "When you are grown to women and to men, Perhaps I'll sleep the whole night through; I may be different then." And so it seemed that night and day we knew a mother's care-- That always when we got back home we'd find her waiting there.
Then came the night that we were called to gather round her bed: "The children all are with you now," the kindly doctor said. And in her eyes there gleamed again the old-time tender light That told she had been waiting just to know we were all right. She smiled the old-familiar smile, and prayed to God to keep Us safe from harm throughout the years, and then she went to sleep.
Faces
I look into the faces of the people passing by,?The glad ones and the sad ones, and the lined with misery, And I wonder why the sorrow or the twinkle in the eye;?But the pale and weary faces are the ones that trouble me.
I saw a face this morning, and time was when it was fair;?Youth had brushed it bright with color in the distant long ago, And the goddess of the lovely once had kept a temple there, But the cheeks were pale with grieving and the