When Day is Done | Page 4

built half as fine inside.
Best thing I can tell you of him?Is the way the children love him.?Now an' then I get to thinkin'?He's much like old Abe Lincoln;?Homely like a gargoyle graven--?Worse'n that when he's unshaven;?But I'd take his ugly phiz?Jes' to have a heart like his.
I ain't over-sentimental,?But old Blake is so blamed gentle?An' so thoughtfull-like of others?He reminds us of our mothers.?Rough roads he is always smoothing?An' his way is, Oh, so soothin',?That he takes away the sting?When your heart is sorrowing.
Children gather round about him?Like they can't get on without him.?An' the old depend upon him,?Pilin' all their burdens on him,?Like as though the thing that grieves 'em?Has been lifted when he leaves 'em.?Homely? That can't be denied,?But he's glorious inside.
The Joys We Miss
There never comes a lonely day but that we miss the laughing ways Of those who used to walk with us through all our happy yesterdays. We seldom miss the earthly great--the famous men that life has known-- But, as the years go racing by, we miss the friends we used to own.
The chair wherein he used to sit recalls the kindly father true For, Oh, so filled with fun he was, and, Oh, so very much he knew! And as we face the problems grave with which the years of life are filled. We miss the hand which guided us and miss the voice forever stilled.
We little guessed how much he did to smooth our pathway day by day, How much of joy he brought to us, how much of care he brushed away; But now that we must tread alone the thorough-fare of life, we find How many burdens we were spared by him who was so brave and kind.
Death robs the living, not the dead--they sweetly sleep whose tasks are
done;?But we are weaker than before who still must live and labor on. For when come care and grief to us, and heavy burdens bring us woe, We miss the smiling, helpful friends on whom we leaned long years ago.
We miss the happy, tender ways of those who brought us mirth and cheer; We never gather round the hearth but that we wish our friends were near; For peace is born of simple things--a kindly word, a goodnight kiss, The prattle of a babe, and love--these are the vanished joys we miss.
The Fellowship of Books
I care not who the man may be,?Nor how his tasks may fret him,?Nor where he fares, nor how his cares?And troubles may beset him,?If books have won the love of him,?Whatever fortune hands him,?He'll always own, when he's alone,?A friend who understands him.
Though other friends may come and go,?And some may stoop to treason,?His books remain, through loss or gain,?And season after season?The faithful friends for every mood,?His joy and sorrow sharing,?For old time's sake, they'll lighter make?The burdens he is bearing.
Oh, he has counsel at his side,?And wisdom for his duty,?And laughter gay for hours of play,?And tenderness and beauty,?And fellowship divinely rare,?True friends who never doubt him,?Unchanging love, and God above,?Who keeps good books about him.
When Sorrow Comes
When sorrow comes, as come it must,?In God a man must place his trust.?There is no power in mortal speech?The anguish of his soul to reach,?No voice, however sweet and low,?Can comfort him or ease the blow.
He cannot from his fellowmen?Take strength that will sustain him then.?With all that kindly hands will do,?And all that love may offer, too,?He must believe throughout the test?That God has willed it for the best.
We who would be his friends are dumb;?Words from our lips but feebly come;?We feel, as we extend our hands,?That one Power only understands?And truly knows the reason why?So beautiful a soul must die.
We realize how helpless then?Are all the gifts of mortal men.?No words which we have power to say?Can take the sting of grief away--?That Power which marks the sparrow's fall?Must comfort and sustain us all.
When sorrow comes, as come it must,?In God a man must place his trust.?With all the wealth which he may own,?He cannot meet the test alone,?And only he may stand serene?Who has a faith on which to lean.
Golf Luck
As a golfer I'm not one who cops the money;?I shall always be a member of the dubs;?There are times my style is positively funny;?I am awkward in my handling of the clubs.?I am not a skillful golfer, nor a plucky,?But this about myself I proudly say--?When I win a hole by freaky stroke or lucky,?I never claim I played the shot that way.
There are times, despite my blundering behavior,?When fortune seems to follow at my heels;?Now and then I play supremely in her favor,?And she lets me pull the rankest sort of steals;?She'll give to me the friendliest assistance,?I'll jump a ditch at times when I should not,?I'll top the ball