When Day is Done | Page 5

and get a lot of distance--?But I don't claim that's how I played the shot.
I've hooked a ball when just that hook I needed,?And wondered how I ever turned the trick;?I've thanked my luck for what a friendly tree did,?Although my fortune made my rival sick;?Sometimes my shots turn out just as I planned 'em,?The sort of shots I usually play,?But when up to the cup I chance to land 'em,?I never claim I played 'em just that way.
There's little in my game that will commend me;?I'm not a shark who shoots the course in par;?I need good fortune often to befriend me;?I have my faults and know just what they are.?I play golf in a desperate do-or-die way,?And into traps and trouble oft I stray,?But when by chance the breaks are coming my way,?I do not claim I played the shots that way.
Contradictin' Joe
Heard of Contradictin' Joe??Most contrary man I know.?Always sayin', "That's not so."
Nothing's ever said, but he?Steps right up to disagree--?Quarrelsome as he can be.
If you start in to recite?All the details of a fight,?He'll butt in to set you right.
Start a story that is true,?He'll begin correctin' you--?Make you out a liar, too!
Mention time o' year or day,?Makes no difference what you say,?Nothing happened just that way.
Bet you, when his soul takes flight,?An' the angels talk at night,?He'll butt in to set 'em right.
There where none should have complaints?He will be with "no's" and "ain'ts"?Contradictin' all the saints.
The Better Job
If I were running a factory?I'd stick up a sign for all to see;?I'd print it large and I'd nail it high?On every wall that the men walked by;?And I'd have it carry this sentence clear:?"The 'better job' that you want is here!"
It's the common trait of the human race?To pack up and roam from place to place;?Men have done it for ages and do it now;?Seeking to better themselves somehow?They quit their posts and their tools they drop?For a better job in another shop.
It may be I'm wrong, but I hold to this--?That something surely must be amiss?When a man worth while must move away?For the better job with the better pay;?And something is false in our own renown?When men can think of a better town.
So if I were running a factory?I'd stick up this sign for all to see,?Which never an eye in the place could miss:?"There isn't a better town than this!?You need not go wandering, far or near--?The 'better job' that you want is here!"
My Religion
My religion's lovin' God, who made us, one and all,?Who marks, no matter where it be, the humble sparrow's fall; An' my religion's servin' Him the very best I can?By not despisin' anything He made, especially man!?It's lovin' sky an' earth an' sun an' birds an' flowers an' trees, But lovin' human beings more than any one of these.
I ain't no hand at preachin' an' I can't expound the creeds; I fancy every fellow's faith must satisfy his needs?Or he would hunt for something else. An' I can't tell the why An' wherefore of the doctrines deep--and what's more I don't try. I reckon when this life is done and we can know His plan,?God won't be hard on anyone who's tried to be a man.
My religion doesn't hinge on some one rite or word;?I hold that any honest prayer a mortal makes is heard;?To love a church is well enough, but some get cold with pride An' quite forget their fellowmen for whom the Saviour died; I fancy he best worships God, when all is said an' done,?Who tries to be, from day to day, a friend to everyone.
If God can mark the sparrow's fall, I don't believe He'll fail To notice us an' how we act when doubts an' fears assail;?I think He'll hold what's in our hearts above what's in our creeds, An' judge all our religion here by our recorded deeds;?An' since man is God's greatest work since life on earth began, He'll get to Heaven, I believe, who helps his fellowman.
What I Call Living
The miser thinks he's living when he's hoarding up his gold; The soldier calls it living when he's doing something bold; The sailor thinks it living to be tossed upon the sea,?And upon this vital subject no two of us agree.?But I hold to the opinion, as I walk my way along,?That living's made of laughter and good-fellowship and song.
I wouldn't call it living always to be seeking gold,?To bank all the present gladness for the days when I'll be old. I wouldn't call it living to spend all my strength for fame, And forego the many pleasures which to-day are mine to claim. I wouldn't for the splendor of the world set out to roam,?And forsake my laughing children and the peace I know at home. Oh, the thing