The Path to Home | Page 9

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 the by-gone days;?And his heart will throb as it throbbed before,?When he rests where a baby plays.
Kindness
One never knows?How far a word of kindness goes;?One never sees?How far a smile of friendship flees.?Down, through the years,?The deed forgotten reappears.
One kindly word?The souls of many here has stirred.?Man goes his way?And tells with every passing day,?Until life's end:?"Once unto me he played the friend."
We cannot say?What lips are praising us to-day.?We cannot tell?Whose prayers ask God to guard us well.?But kindness lives?Beyond the memory of him who gives.
Under the Roof Where the Laughter Rings
Under the roof where the laughter rings,?That's where I long to be;?There are all of the glorious things,?Meaning so much to me.?There is where striving and toiling ends;?There is where always the rainbow bends.
Under the roof where the children shout,?There is the perfect rest;?There is the clamor of greed shut out,?Ended the ceaseless quest.?Battles I fight through the heat of to-day?Are only to add to their hours of play.
Under the roof where the eyes are bright,?There I would build my fame;?There my record of life I'd write;?There I would sign my name.?There in laughter and true content?Let me fashion my monument.
Under the roof where the hearts are true,?There is my earthly goal;?There I am pledged till my work is through,?Body and heart and soul.?Think you that God will my choice condemn?If I have never played false to them?
St. Valentine's Day
Let loose the sails of love and let them fill?With breezes sweet with tenderness to-day;?Scorn not the praises youthful lovers say;?Romance is old, but it is lovely still.?Not he who shows his love deserves the jeer,?But he who speaks not what she longs to hear.
There is no shame in love's devoted speech;?Man need not blush his tenderness to show;?'Tis shame to love and never let her know,?To keep his heart forever out of reach.?Not he the fool who lets his love go on,?But he who spurns it when his love is won.
Men proudly vaunt their love of gold and fame,?High station and accomplishments of skill,?Yet of life's greatest conquest they are still,?And deem it weakness, or an act of shame,?To seem to place high value on the love?Which first of all they should be proudest of.
Let loose the sails of love and let them take?The tender breezes till the day be spent;?Only the fool chokes out life's sentiment.?She is a prize too lovely to forsake.?Be