P8 3511 .f4" CQJQOUGiir I]£K)S1& THE MELLOW YEAR A Man's Songs of Friendship BY ,^ JAMES W. FOLEY Author of "Boys and Girls," "Tales of the Trail, "Voices of Song," "Friendly Rhymes," "Songs of Schooldays," "The Letters of William Green" PASADENA, CALIFORNIA The Author's Press 1921 ^'V^ ^^1'\ Copyright, 1921 By James W. Foley 3)CI.A627629 NOV -7 1921 ^«2> / The Lovin'est Child He's th' lovin'est child That you ever did see. Since the first time he smiled His glad smile up at me. He's th' soul of real mirth And th' Lord must have smiled When he came to this earth. Just th' lovin'est child. He's th' lovin'est boy. He's so friendly and glad. Of his mother the joy. And the pride of his Dad. He's as soft and as sweet As a Spring day is mild, From his head to his feet Just th' lovin'est child. He looks up with a grin And he gurgles his tunes From the cradle he's in. And he chuckles and croons; And he lifts up his arms To his Mother or Dad, He's just brimming with charms. Just th' lovin'est lad. Since the day that he came. And we looked on his face, Well, the world's not the same. It's th' splendidest place Out o' Heaven, I know. Yes, th' Lord must have smiled When he fashioned him so. Just th' lovin'est child. Just th' lovin'est child. With his glad eyes that shine. Like a Spring sunbeam mild. With his cheek against mine. See him tumble and roll — , How th' Lord must have smiled When he breathed in th' soul Of that lovin'est child. "THE FAMILY" EDITION To the Children of the "Fam- ily" of San Francisco, Califor- nia, with the friendliness of one of the "lovin'est children." SONGS OF FRIENDSHIP The Mellow Year 1 Unafraid 7 The Legacies 9 Forgot 11 On the Square 13 Loving — That's All 15 What Might Have Been 17 The Grief 18 The Potter and the Clay 20 Father William to Date 22 Brothers 24 Hospice 26 Lost 29 No Man's Land 31 Knowledge 33 Brothers of Men 34 A Little Song 35 My Neighbor and I 37 Just Between Us Two 39 Just Being Kind 41 The Little Things 43 The End of the Road 45 Let's Play a Little While 47 A Brother of Mine 49 A Pretty Good World 51 Things a Man May Do 53 A Very Little Song 56 Just Around the Corner 58 The Understanding 60 To Meet the Day 62 Virtue 64 Peep o' Dawn 66 Singing Along 68 Keep Sweet 70 An Epitaph 72 When a Feller Makes Good 74 The Newsboy's Friend 76 Lend a Hand 79 A Field of Clover 81 Hymn of Praise 85 Song of Hope 86 Cherry Blossom Time 87 Mahmoud of Ispahan 92 A Song of Every Day 95 Song of Friendship 96 The Place of Broken Things 98 Unfit 100 The Secret 101 Before the Winter Came 103 The Masquerade 105 Tomorrow 108 Yesterday 110 Last Verse of All 112 THE MELLOW YEAR The Mellow Year I been sittin' here tonight Dreamin' as by candle light; Kind o' thinkin' — just about Fur an' wide as all get-out; Nothin' deep an' hard to do, Just about th' same as you Might if you was joggin' slow Back some forty years or so On the way of Life. An' say! She's a good world, anyway. Good to travel, in an' out. Good to learn an' think about, Good to dream of an' t' smile. Good to wonder what's worth while. Good to lend a helpin' hand, Better still, to understand. 'Pears like Wisdom, she ain't done Much for us at twenty-one. Feller's got book-learnin', too; Knows what makes the sky so blue, Knows what makes it rain an' snow, Knows why everything is so. Lord, how he does love to spout Streams of straight book-learnin' out; Educated just immense, Full of knowledge, but no sense ; The Mellow Year Wave his hand in air just so, Ready for to overthrow Empires, continents and kings. All the old, established things; Feller'd think, to hear him scold, He's th' judgment book unrolled, Passin' wisdom's last decree On th' world, an' you an' me. Well, tha>t's Youth; an' I recall Mine, and how I knowed most all Of th' things from Genesis Clean to Revelations. Yes, Ready to stand up an' throw Rocks at Solon, Cicero, Plato and Demosthenes An' such little lights as these. Pass my judgment quicker'n scat On th' truth of this an' that, Spillin' wisdom from my cup Quicker'n worlds could soak it up. Youth, since then, I've kind o' found, Youth ain't got no middle ground. Goes whole-hog or none a,t all On all questions great an' small. The Mellow Year Measures like they do in school Life with Learnin's three-foot rule, Every question's got to be Settled with a Q. E. D. Old Book-Learnin's three-foot rule Comes in mighty good in school I'll allow, an' has its place But it ain't th' human race By no means, and Life don't look Like it's printed in a book. An' I'd like a rule to show What makes certain fellers so; Why some husky, strappin' lout In th' fight goes down an' out, While some runty little jay Lifts the Flag and leads the way. Ain't no learnin' will amount To a bean-hill that don't count Human bein's as they be X for unknown quantity. Ain't no learnin' is complete That don't keep a feller sweet, Ready to come 't least half ways, Kind o' keerful what he says, The Mellow Year Always more'n half inclined To be merciful and kind, Willin' to admit that he Might be wrong and to agree With th' 'leven rather'n stay Sot in his own stubborn way. Life ain't some book-learnin' fact Mathematically exact, And don't foller no set rule Like a feller learns in school. And when he learns that he's come To be educated some, Was a time once when I'd pass Judgment just like pullin' grass On my neighbors — knowed just what Orto be and orto not. But as years have gone somehow I don't judge nobody now, And I don't want none to be Always ready to judge me. Thirty's better'n twenty-one; Wisdom's kind 'o just begun Then — a feller's gettin' ripe Like a year-old meerschaum pipe The Mellow Year That you've smoked along and brung Where th' smoke don't burn your tongue. An' y' sort o' like to squint Down th' bowl and get a hint How th' color's goin' to show In a couple years or so. Then there's Forty — I dunno, Forty ca'ms a feller so, Makes him mellow like an' mild, More th' sperrit of th' child. He just wants to love an' live Help a little an' forgive, Find what's really Happiness, Feel contented like with less. Judgment ain't as quick an' stern, Willin'er I think to learn; Much more ready to admit T'other feller's view of it. Even if 'taint his idee, Leastways it seems so to me. Understandin' ! That's th' thing ! Ain't no book'll ever bring That. You're got to hit th' road Carryin' a real man's load. The Mellow Year Struggle as a feller must, Throat plumb dry an' choked with dust. Bein' tempted, slippin' some, Needin' help but bein' dumb. Hopin', prayin', wonderin' what May be Truth an' may be not. Wantin' sympathy an' cheer, Wishin' There was only Here. Needin' to be understood As a feller half-way good, Fightin', strivin' as men do, Failin', just like me an' you, Great sometimes an' sometimes small. And just human after all. Somethin' 'bout it, I dunno, Forty ca'ms a feller so, Leastways it seems so to me. Hope at fifty I can be That much milder and more kind, More to mercy's ways inclined. That much gladder just to live. That much readier to forgive. Fifty — may be them'll bring Understandin' — that's the thing! Unafraid I've got to go on Till the last dream is done. Till the last song is gone, Or the last fight is won; Till there dies the last spark Of the fire in the dusk, 'Till the last star is dark. Till I've gnawed the last husk Of defeat, of regret. Till the last sigh is stilled, Till I've paid the last debt, Till the last drop is spilled From the goblet of Hope, Till the last breath is gone; I may stumble and grope But I've got to go on. I've got to go on Till the last prayer is cried, Till the last light has flown, And the last dream has died; Till the last breath of me Has been spent in the fight. Till the last day to be Has been shrouded in night. I may faint, I may fall, I may tremble and fear, Unafraid But the clear trumpet call To the fight let me hear! Give me courage to rise, Give me strength to revive Every faint hope that lies On the field where I strive ; For the battle seem lost, And the last chance seem flown, What the struggle may cost, Still I've got to go on. I've got to go on; I may fall, I may fail, I may die ere the dawn Lets me look on the Grail, Gall may brim me a cup, Fate may spike every gun. But I won't give it up, I won't quit, I won't run, I won't cry truce or yield. How the fates on me frown, They may strip off^ my shield But I won't lay it down Till the last veil is rent. Till the last day's at dawn. And the last breath is spent, For I've got to go on. The Legacies Earth — you have given me much; cool turf and flowers, Great trees; wide meadows, where in vagrant hours I lay in shade or walked in clover sweet; Aye, you have given me place to rest my feet Secure and sure; and you have given me air To breathe; and beauty; of your store my share Has been a generous gift; my every mood You've nourished; you have given me drink and food, Bird-song, the dawn and twilight; odors soft And fragrant; and a grassy couch where oft I lay and looked up at the stars that bade My soul arise, serene and strong and glad. So when I come to say my last good-night. See my last sunset fade upon the sight, I shall leave you the dust of me to make A flower the more perhaps for beauty's sake. Time, you have borne with me for long and lent Me hour on hour where tears and smiles were blent In mellowed sweetness; you have given me days When gladness loved me all the many ways She knows to love; and you have comforted My grief and helped me lay my hallowed dead In flowered gardens of my memory To rest till I shall lie where they may be; What sorrows you have taken from me, and stings. While keeping for me ever all the things The Legacies I loved and cherished; how you gave me youth, And manhood, ruddy-red with life, and truth, Years now serene and ripe like fruit made sweet With sun and showers and summer's mellowing heat ! So when upon the hilltop we shall stand To say good-by with each an outstretched hand, I leave you what good deeds I may have wrought — 'Tis little, but 'tis all the wealth I've got. And Friend, my Friend of all those good, glad years. Who gave me smiles for smiles, and mingled tears With mine when sorrow supped with me, and dread, Who ate of my dry herbs and bitter bread, Who walked with me upon the stony ways. Bathed my bruised feet, nor ever found our days Too short for sympathy, nor once too long For bearing half my burden; you, whose song Rang in my ears when days of mine bereft Of all but you, as though a pearl were left In Life's bad, bitter cup the while, and then Just by the taste of you grown sweet again — When I shall say good-by, then I shall weave A garland of those days of ours and leave You this for Memory — and you shall take This greatest treasure of mine for Love's own sake. 10 Forgot I had a friend — a very precious friend ; I thought one time, long gone, to tell him so. His were the homely qualities that blend In human sweetness; I am sure you know. Perhaps you have, a friend like that, whose days Were simple and serene; he was so blind To little faults; his were the flowered ways Of fellowship, and Oh, he was so kind! I thought to tell him all of that; to say What oft I cherished in my secret heart; How I was better always for the way He tempered me with mercy and fine art Of being true and gentle, and yet strong With very gentleness of courage, too. Who met my sharp complainings with a song — Yes, he was kind and gentle and so true. Yes, he was such a friend as that, upsprung From days and nights of struggle, on a plan Of human tenderness and Fame had sung Of him this, and this only: "Here's a man! She has no nobler eulogy to say — A man by every deed and word and thought. Rich with rare richness, tempered in that way That gold is to its purest fineness wrought. 11 Forgot I thought to tell him — and I said, again, And once again: "But surely he must know!" (These are the halting, awkward ways of men) And I held silence nor I told him so. These things I say to you, with all the love I had for him, but somehow did not tell; My heart was truly Friendship's treasure-trove, But it was hidden far too deep — and well! Once I took roses — red ones, in my hand, And laid them by him — laid them by him near; Laid them there at the very borderland Of life — or death — who knows what may be here? I laid the roses there, uncomforted. The while my tears fell, waste and burning hot, Then knelt in the dim silences and said: "Here are the roses — those I had forgot!" 12 On the Square To be just as I am In my world, every day, Without pretense or sham, To mean just what I say. To be square in my talk, To look true with my eye; To go straight in my walk And to aim middling high. To be real — that's the thing, To be real and be true; Not to squirm at the ring Of the metal in you; Not an echo or shade Of somebody to be. But to know that I'm made Of the substance of Me. To live up to the bills, Nothing less, nothing more, Without tinsel or frills. With my best foot before; To cash in all my chips Any hour of the day, With a smile on my lips. Glad they asked me to play. 13 On the Square To sit down and rejoice At my grate, in my way, Not afraid of the Voice That inquires of my day; Just to know that I played In the game and was fair. Didn't trick, didn't trade, Won or lost on the square. Just to know that the core In the middle of me Is no festering sore I should shudder to see; To be garbed with no cloak That's all pretense or sham; Just to dare go dead broke But be just as I am! 14 Loving — That's All A good many years for a wee bit of living, A mighty few rich and a whole lot of poor. A good many tears, lots of need for forgiving. And hard knocks enough to go 'round, you be sure. There's plenty of struggling and pushing and shoving. And hard words along with the pull and the haul, And, Lord, how this old world of ours needs just loving. Just loving and loving and loving — that's all. There's a whole lot of stiff upper lips and of chaffing To cover up sore hearts; I know — I've been there; There's a good deal of sorrow and not too much laugh- ing, And many a fellow who's not had his share. There's plenty of stones in the road where you travel To stub your big toe for a trip and a fall. There's many a tangled-up skein to unravel. Before you learn loving — just loving, that's all. There's one fellow climbing, another one slipping. Some places are easy and some mighty hard; There's boosting, that's true, but a whole lot of tripping. The road through this life, it's not all boulevard. Some wrinkles from laughing, a whole lot from crying. And scars, too, in plenty, from scramble and fall, And many a fellow who's tired out trying, Who needs only loving, just loving, that's all. 15 Loving — That's All Not too many saints, and a whole lot of sinners Like you are and I am, but way down inside There's good in us all, if we can't all be winners, And losing's no crime, if a fellow has tried. A cheer for the man in the race who is leading, But the fellow who fights with his back to the wall, A cheer for him too, and the thing he is needing : Just loving and loving and loving — that's all. There's plenty of knowledge but not too much learning. The kind that you get from hard knocks and from care. The kind that knows sorrow and struggle and yearning And just wants to love folks and love and to spare; The kind that knows God's honest truth when he reads it, That hears clear above all the struggle the call: The world needs your loving and needs it and needs it — Just loving — and loving — and loving — that's all! 16 What Might Have Been Perhaps if you'd told him the things you now say, If you'd put out your hand when he stumbled that day; Perhaps if you'd seen him with vision as clear As you do when he's lying so silently here; Perhaps if you'd let him hear one kindly word Of the many you spoke that he knew not or heard, Perhaps if your sympathy had been as wide As it is, now he's dead — well, he might not have died. Perhaps if you'd sent him the roses you sent Ere you heard that the breath of his life had been spent; Perhaps if you'd looked for the good that you say Lay so rich in his soul, and had told him that day; Perhaps if you'd cheered him, and helped him along With a word and a smile and the snatch of a song, Perhaps if you'd honored him thus ere he slept. His days had been glad — and he might not have wept. That day when he hungered for kindness and cheer, Did he know he would find it when lying dead here? That time when he struggled and suffered and wept. Did he know you would come and be kind when he slept? The loaf that you give — did he know 'twas the sum Of the crumbs you denied, and that friendship would come To the edge of the grave and strow flower and word When he lay here so still — when he cared not or heard? 17 The Grief It's not that you failed me — 'twas better I made The struggle alone, though my weapons were laid In dust there beside me and comrades were flown, 'Twas well I should make that last struggle alone. It's not that you fled when the danger was near. It's not that the soul of you crumpled with fear; 'Tis not mine to shame you or judge you amiss. The hurt that you did was a deeper than this. It's not that I called you, in weakness and need ; It's not that they wounded and left me to bleed. For I sought the struggle and I chose the field. And I knew the foe and his stout sword and shield; His blows were not light ones, nor little the pain I suff"ered but he shall not strike me again; For now he lies broken and slain in his pride. The scars I may hear are as nothing beside. It's not that I sorrowed, for sorrow makes pure The soul that drinks deep and bides long to endure; The cup that was bitter was drained to the lees And may brim with nectar if Heaven so please; Nay — I am not angry, nor once would complain If I must pass through the dark valley again To find me the sunlight and song at the end. Nor would I once fail thee in trial, my Friend. 18 The Grief It's not the seared furrow of tears that I shed, For tears are to being as leaven to bread; And should I regret them who shed them and knew The glory of cleansing my soul in this dew? Nor once I reproach thee, for mine was the way. Via dolorosa, and thine yea or nay ; And so I absolve thee from blame — who am I To judge thee or scorn thee or ask thee once why? But this is my grief, and more bitter than stain, And deeper than scar and more cruel than pain, That once I had builded a temple of trust Now shattered and crumbled and laid in the dust. And what shall restore me the temple I had Of firm faith in friendship, whose towers rose glad, But long now in ruin and ashes have lain — And the dream dead that reared them, to live not again? 19 The Potter and the Clay He is strong, for he was broken On the torture wheel of pain; He is silent, who has spoken Hasty judgments, aye, and vain; He is rich, since he knew losses. True, by pledges once unkept, He stands straight, for he bore crosses And is glad, for that he wept. He knows beauty, through his blindness. He is humble, who knew pride; Tender for his soul's unkindness. And the Christ he once denied; He is pure for muck and wallow Where he lay and was unclean. And sincere for every hollow Sham and pretense that was mean. He knoAvs love, for that his spirit Was unlovely and was mean; For that fire that swept to sear it Is that calm soul and serene; He is whole for waves that battered. Beat and buffeted and cast Him upon the shore, a shattered, Broken, bleeding thing at last. 20 The Potter and the Clay He is free for that once prison And the wings that beat on bars; For that Hell whence he is risen Is the fellowship with stars; And that bowed head in its meekness Was defiant of the laws — He knows courage for the weakness And the cowardice that was. How but crushed and bruised and broken Can the potter mold his clay? How but through a grief unspoken Could come Love to light the way? By this dust of me Thou grindest, By these tears of me and rue, With this potter's clay Thou findest Thou shalt build my temple new. 21 Father William to Date "You are kind, Father William," the young man said, "You are kind and your smile is aglow; And is it from what you have heard or read, And how did you come to be so?" "All the days of my life," Father William replied, "There were sorrows and doubts and fears, And often aloud in my grief I cried. So I learned to be kind — ^through tears." "You are glad, Father William," the young man said, "You are glad and your laughter rings; When others are gloomy you smile instead. And the soul of you sings and sings." "All the days of my life," Father William replied, "I have striven the truth to gain, I lost it in self and greed and pride. And I learned to be glad — through pain!" "You are calm. Father William," the young man said, "You have peace and you go your way. And jostle no man and you earn your bread With the toil that you do each day." "I have wanted for peace," Father William replied, All the days of my busy life; Haste and harshness and blows I tried. And I learned what is peace — through strife ! " 22 Father William to Date "You give, Father William," the young man said, "You give with a generous hand. From your little store, not a stone, but bread. And somehow you understand." "I have hungered myself," Father William replied, "And I found not a crumb in greed. And the soul of me might have shriveled and died, So I learned how to give — through need." "You are slow. Father William," the young man said, "You are slow to judge and condemn, The broken and sad and uncomforted, You have mercy for all of them." "I have sinned myself," Father William replied, "And Mercy besought to win A pardon for me — and my tears were dried — And I learned not to judge — through sin." 23 Brothers This is a verse of a man who sinned, As many a man has done; Of a man who sped the tale like the wind, As many a man has done. And a pharisee with an uprolled eye, Who saw the man and who let him lie, And muttered a prayer: "Lord, 'twas not I!" As many a man has done. This is a verse of a man who wept, As many a man has done. Who felt his soul with red flames swept, As many a man has done. Who wept for the scar and the stain and blot On the soul of him, and the crimson spot, And who felt the brand that was white and hot, As many a man has done. This is a verse of a man who jeered. As many a man has done. Of a man who taunted and one who feared, As many a man has done. And the sinner fell and they let him lie. For he was a sinner, to live or die Unfit, and the three of them passed him by, As many a man has done. 24 Brothers And one there was who had sinned and wept, Even as the sinner had done; Whose soul with a flaming fire once swept, As many a soul has done. A man who had fallen in mud and mire, Whose soul had been scarred with a hell of fire. But through his sorrow had risen higher. As many a man has done. And he stopped where the sinner stood apart, As many a man has done, And clasped his hand and he touched his heart, As many a man has done. With hope and courage and sympathy. Tender and kind as a brother might be. And he hated the mouthing pharisee. As many a man has done. And he linked his arm the sinner's through, As many a man has done. And he walked with him, as Christ might do. And many a man has done. And the soul of the man was cleansed and white That was red before and the hopeless night Was gone and he walked in the way of light. As many a man has done. 25 Hospice He left the door ajar that evil night When rain beat fiercely down, and shut the light Of friendly moon and stars from earth; and came The bursts of jagged lightning like the flame Of hissing fire across the sullen sky. He left the door ajar that night, and I Would fain have shut it tight, but he said: "Nay! I left the door ajar — so let it stay!" In through the opened door the rain beat then, And he flung up the curtain high again. When I had shut it close to keep mine eyes From that dread flashing in the fiery skies. I drew the curtain close; I was afraid, — I would have shut the storm all out and stayed In warmth inside the house, but he said : "Nay ! I threw the curtain up — so let it stay!" And then I trembled when the rain beat down Upon the sill and at the angry frown Of skies when the storm lulled, and at the wind That beat its bitter gale of cold and dinned A song of furies on my coward ear; I would have shut the storm all out, through fear And selfishness. "What is a house," I cried, "But refuge from the storm that beats outside?" 26 Hospice "Why leave ye doors stand open to the storm? Why bid ye winds in when we might be warm? Why lift ye curtains high when lightnings fly With fury over all the blazing sky To make my soul afraid?" So then I spake, Impatient anyone should will to make His house storm's hospice, nor shut out the din, But bid the rain and fiery lightnings in. So then he said : "And are there none outside Who have a need of some door opened wide? And walk there none in darkness and the night Who may have cheer from the assuring light That streams where I have left the curtain high? Nay, shut thee not the door ! Shall we but cry With selfish fears and shall we two be warm. Nor care if there be strugglers in the storm? Fling wide thy heart's door open, in the din Of wind and storm and bid the wanderers in!" 27 Lost A seed held prisoned in its walls a flower Fair over all, but fell upon a stone: So I had in my heart one idle hour A dream that bade me live it as my own. Once was a word that trembled on my lips, To comfort hearts with stress of sorrow worn — How timid inspiration frightened slips From us — and dies unborn. I know a song full musical and sweet That came and on the brink of being stood. Expecting me with pipe and reed to greet The soul of it, so glorious and good. But I was indolent, dull, loath to sing; Till, after while, I bade it enter, — then I heard its timid feet go pattering Nor ever came again. Somewhere I know the undone deeds must be. The unborn thoughts and all the unsung songs, Not bitter, angry — only sad that we Have worked them such irreparable wrongs. As in the seed that lies upon the stone The flower, unblossomed, hopeless, must be sad, And yearn to know what never can be known — What life it might have had. 28 The Poor Come, boil the pot with coppers cast, Or silver, that the poor be fed; The world is crying, first to last For aid to the uncomforted. All things shall change, the prophet saith, But of one thing we may be sure. How much of vain pomp flourisheth. We shall have, Ah, so many poor. And up and down the street they cry. Who would bring succor where is want; "Came, dance, and merry-make and buy. The hungry wait, thin, lean and gaunt! The lanes of poverty are long. And winter cold is keen and sure. With lute and tripping dance and song We shall get money for the poor." Yes, we shall dance with tripping feet. In flowered halls, where Beauty sings, And some sell bon-bons we may eat, In gay bazaars, fantastic things. And we shall laugh and eat and drink, The snob, aristocrat and boor. And glow with fervor as we think Of money gotten for the poor. 29 The Poor And in the marts are cloth of gold And furs and laces, heap on heap. And tapestries; in loft and hold And vault the gold lies ankle deep; And in the bins are corn and wheat. With kine on hill and plain and moor, So vast the riches at our feet, And, God, there are so many poor! God help us all! It seems so strange! This wealth of sun and sky and air! The pastured acres rich that range A thousand miles from here to there. These golden fields with birds and bees. These riches all so vast and sure. These bursting bins and teeming seas, And yet. Dear God, so many poor ! 30 No Man's Land Out there in No Man's Land, Where the star-shells flare and wither On the blood and the mud and sand — Oh, Searchers, come hither, hither! Carefully now, for the star-shells are flashing; Down in a hole, while the great guns smashing The sodden earth! Now, stealthily flying, Come where this bundle of rags is lying. Once a soldier, with blood all wet. Gently now, for it's living yet! Out there in No Man's Land, Where death is in every furrow, Stretchers with heroes manned, And down in the crimson burrow, To lift him up, who is feebly groaning. To bear him away and the night wind moaning; Stealthily now, for the shells fall thickly. Then up and away and carry him quickly Back through the lines, with his blood all wet, — Hurry along, and we'll save him yet! Green now is No Man's Land, Green with the grain and the clover. Healed with the touch of His hand. And the scream of the shells is over. But the ones they smashed, now shall they go whither? Oh, Searchers, with mercy come hither, hither! 31 No Man's Land For there is need of the weak and broken, — Come, bring a litter of love, the token Of help and hope, as the Master planned, For these lying broken in No Man's Land. Peace — ^hath it No Man's Land Where the broken and sick are lying? Nor the mercy of men at hand To comfort and still the crying Of men and women and children falling Broken in the fight and the Master calling: "The needy lie here, and shall they go whither? Ye bearers of litters, come, hither, hither! Come with the mercy the Father planned. Oh, who will come with Me to No Man's Land?" 32 Knowledge I do not know if planets meet, Or how deep is the sea; — I know my neighbor's across the street, And he has need of me. I do not know if cold and storm Sweep Mars by sea and land, — I know my neighbor's heart is warm, I'll go and clasp his hand. Of that spot on the sun that speaks Of storms I cannot say — I know those spots on that man's cheeks Are tears to wipe away. I do not know how far the sun. How deep is space or wide, — I know that man near me is one I might help if I tried. I do not know if spirits come In vagrant mood and while, — I know that Heaven is the sum Of help and cheer and smile. I know the day is glad with cheer, I know the sky is blue. And Heaven might be very near If I willed it — and you! Brothers of Men You are Brothers of Men! Let me say it again That you may not forget: You are Brothers of Men! Yours to comfort the weak; yours to walk with the strong; Yours to bring the wise counsel and lift the clear song; Yours the spirit to smile, what the task to be done, Yours the courage to fight till the battle is won; But, more than all else, I would tell you again That you may not forget: You are Brothers of Men! Yours the quick word restrained; yours the strength of a Man; Yours the glory of giving; the wisdom to plan; The strong will to purpose; the courage to do; The firm soul abiding the bitter day through; As clean as a woman; unspoiled as a child; As strong as a Man, and with mercy as mild As the great heart of Pity! Oh, hear it again. That you may not forget: You are Brothers of Men! Aye, Brothers of Men! To be steadfast, sincere, To be kind, to be gentle; with hope and with cheer To make the way brighter; to clasp hands with men In friendship and kindness and walk with them then; And walk not before men, nor follow, nor chide. Nor flatter, nor envy, but walk side by side With love such as He had! Oh, hear it again. What glory is yours, who are Brothers of Men! 34 A Little Song This little task, I'll do it now, And it forever shall be done; This little fight I'll win somehow. And it shall ever thence be won; I'll say with grace this yea or nay, And cast the die forever true. By little steps to reach the way Of gladness when the day is through. This little fret, this needless fear I shall cast off with faith serene; This little doubt I shall make clear, And know this duty is not mean, Not trifling, not to thrust aside Or turn like some unwritten page, It is for me to do with pride And my best effort to engage. This little hurt I shall not mind. This little hate I shall not will To sup with me and I shall grind No meal for anger at my mill, From little pride that struts the earth I pray my spirit may be free. To let the humbler pride of worth Come there and be the guest of me. 35 A Little Song No little gain that yet is loss, But loss that may be sometime gain; No little riches that are dross When all of living is made plain; No giant's power for mighty deeds, No genius for the hero's task. But strength enough for little needs Is all the blessing that I ask. No little spites, no little greeds. No little cant of Thee and Me — Enough for my so simple needs And much for all the needs there be; No blazing meteor overhead, No flaming comet in the skies, But velvet pansies in a bed. And love that shines from smiling eyes. 36 My Neighbor and I If I weigh up the worth of my labor With the scales of exactness I hold When I'm judging the deeds of my neighbor, Whose frailties I'm given to scold; I might not take half as much pleasure In thinking how fine I may be, When I've taken my neighbor's just measure, If I use the same measure for me. If I do what I have to do squarely As I know he should do, and I say; If I play the game he plays and fairly, As I know in my heart he should play; I shall not ask what kind of man is he. Or judge him a great man or small, For my own self will keep me so busy I'll have no time to judge him at all. If when he does well I shall praise him With the measure of praise I give me. If with the same gladness I raise him As high as I know I should be; If when he does ill, all my railings Be with voice that is still and is small As when I scold me for my failings, — Well, then I won't scold him at all. 37 My Neighbor and I If I make him the many excuses I make for myself when I'm wrong, If in judging I practice the uses Of mercy and cheer him along With the smiles that make for my well-being, If my pats on my back I make his, The first thing I know I'll be seeing What a mighty fine fellow he is. If I'll just judge myself and my labor With the justice I judge when it's he. And then judge the needs of my neighbor With the mercy I use to judge me, I'll not ask what kind of man is he, — If the mercy I seek shall be his. It will keep me, I'm sure, mighty busy To be — well, be good as he is! 38 Just Between Us Two You're a likeable fellow, you were when a boy, And your mother was fond of you, too; But you've warped some since then; in the struggle for joy You've missed half the pleasure of you. I know you are worried, for worries are rife, In the fight to be on the top shelf, But I'm sure you would get more of joy out of life If you'd get on good terms with yourself. I know you are anxious to be at the top. When the battle of living is through; You're rolling a ball up a hill and can't stop, For fear it will roll over you. You're working a full shift and worrying one, And you'd like to sleep one but you don't. You think you'll be happy when work is all done, But I'm reasonably sure that you won't. I know you want money and power and place. That's the way all you fellows begin. You've set up a standard — you're keeping the pace That you have to keep up if you win. And perhaps you will win all you wish in the end. Be just rich when the battle is through. But tell me now, frankly, as friend to a friend: Is it worth what it's doing to you? 39 Just Between Us Two If it's losing the dreams that you had when a boy, If it's stealing the smiles from your face, If it's robbing the day of its measure of joy. If it's rusting your soul in the race; If it's putting off happiness day after day. If your tired soul keeps hearing; "Not yet!" Don't you think it is foolish to trade life away For the things you won't want when you get? You're a sensible mortal : suppose when it ends. You find all your dreams were dead wrong? Suppose you have traded off wife, kids and friends,- Yes, traded them off for a song. It is splendid to work and it's fine to achieve. And it's good to be on the top shelf, But right down to brass tacks, now, do you believe You can win at the cost of yourself? 40 Just Being Kind Just being kind — Oh, friend of mine, It makes the blessed sun to shine. With newer, warmer light, and brings. A rosy glow on common things. Just being kind — some weary while Of day to brighten with a smile. And we shall richer gladness find. Just being kind. Just being kind — somehow, somewhere. This day and every day to share With whom shall need, a word, a smile Of cheer and gladness that may while Some fret or care away and make The day seem brighter for its sake; To make glad some sad heart that pined, Just being kind. Just being kind — who does not need The blessed thought or word or deed That breathes on the spent fire, and, lo, Makes every dying ember glow. Just being kind — Oh, do not we Each cherish some glad memory That some one in our hearts enshrined, Just being kind. 41 Just Being Kind Just being kind — how may we bring Like the first wild flowers of the Spring, The garland of a gladness rare With just a friendly smile sonlewhere. Just being kind — how may be stirred The heart to joy with just a word, And memory with fresh roses twined Just being kind. Just being kind — now may we give The best we have to life, and live In spendthrift waste of word and smile And cheer and gladness all the while. Just being kind — ^to go our ways As pilgrims through the round of days. And every day's chief gladness find Just being kind. 42 The Little Things It wasn't much — a friendly voice. That hailed me with good cheer; A very small and simple thing, Not worth inscribing here; And yet somehow I was in need, My skies grown dark and gray, That friendly greeting comforted And made me glad all day. It wasn't much — a sunny smile That someone offered me; It came just at a weary while. As weary whiles must be; Who gave it never dreamed, I'm sure, That smiles may be like dew Upon the flowers and weary hearts Make glad the whole day through. It wasn't much — a simple deed That some one thought to do; A very simple thing and small ; Perhaps Someone was you; A little gem of thoughtfulness — And yet a jewel rare, For all the dreary day along It flashed and glitttered there. 43 The Little Things It wasn't much — a kindly word, A firm and friendly hand Outstretched that meant a lot of things I'm sure you understand; Somehow it cheered and lifted me As I went on my way, And left new courage in my heart To gladden all the day. Such little things, the friendly voice, The kindly deed and smile. The outstretched hand and sunny word That came that dreary while; Somebody merely passed and smiled And hailed me with good cheer. And all the day it made me glad. Just as I'm telling here. 44 The End of the Road Dig, dig, dig! All through the livelong day; Bent over a desk with a weary brain And hair that is getting gray. Dig, dig, dig! For the dollars that piled up fast, And filled his dreams when he slept at night Worn out by the chase at last. Dig, dig, dig! From morning till late at night; With a wrinkled brow and a heart so hard That it felt as a dollar might. Dig, dig, dig! A deal that was big or small, Another hunch and a hasty lunch With dollars to crown it all. Dig, dig, dig, At sixty miles an hour, From eight to noon and from one to six, Wrinkled and gray and sour; Dig, dig, dig. Daughter and son and wife, But he had no time for profitless things So he put them out of his life. 45 The End of the Road Dig, dig, dig. Wallow and wade and roll. Through a mass of dollars mountain high Then on to a newer goal; Dig, dig, dig, Heap and gather and get, For sixty is only middle age, There's time for a million yet. Dig, dig, dig. Liver and spleen and gall, Warped and twisted and dead and dried. And stomach — ^none at all; Dig, dig, dig, Gather and get and store. Heap and pile and measure and count. More and more and more. Dig, dig, dig, Gravel and dirt and stones; The sexton heaps up another mound And makes him a bed for bones. Dig, dig, dig, Gather and get and keep. And the earth is ten thousand miles across But only six feet deep. 46 Let's Play a Little While Come on — let's lay the burden down — ^the weight of frets and cares, Let's slack the pace a little in the race of real affairs, Let's give the troubled soul a rest from all these cares of ours, And find new joy in living out among the birds and flowers. Life's such a fleeting breath at best, and night will be so long, And hearts will be so better for a cheery smile and song, Let's smooth the wrinkled brow of Care and learn again to smile, Let's lay the heavy burden down and play a little while. Come on — let's quit the race a while and idle by the way. Let's get some pleasure out of life while still it shall be day; Let's put by work and worry once, nor ever dream that Care Shall know the place we've wandered to and come to find us there; Let's be like boys on Saturday, with all the lessons done And only joy for company, be battles lost or won While we be gone; let's quit the road and wander off" a mile Where we may search for violets — let's play a little while. 47 Let's Play a Little While Come on — 'twill keep till we come back, this work we have to do ! Let's lie a while upon the grass while still the sky is blue; Let's breathe the air of freedom once, forget the world and all. Beside the brook, beneath the trees, and hear the song- birds call. Let's find the gladdest way we know, and wander side by side Where bees and buds and blossoms are, and squirrels dart and hide; Let's sail upon the sea of dreams to some enchanted isle, With only joy for company — let's play a little while. Come on — the day is. Oh, so fair with light and life and all! Let's give our tired souls a rest and strip from us the pall Of ceaseless toil and care and fret — let's wander far away From street and town and all they mean, and idle all the day. Let's find the way to happiness, the path the schoolboy finds. And follow on and on and on for all the way it winds; Let's for the once forget to frown and learn again to smile. And Life will be so sweeter when we've played a little while. 48 A Brother of Mine He's a brother of mine, or at least he should be, That's the way I interpret the thing, don't you see? Though he may be somebody I don't even know, Though he does not quite travel the ways I may go, Yet I can't really say that I am not concerned If he wins or he fails, for somehow I have learned It will cheer him a little, if I give the sign Of a smile and he feels he's a brother of mine. If I know he's in trouble I can't stand aside As a stranger would do, and I know he has pride That will keep him from telling his troubles to me, So I like to get close as a brother would be. If he were my own brother I'd not turn away And leave him alone, but I'd walk up and lay My hand on his shoulder and his eyes might shine With hope if I made him a brother of mine. I wouldn't hold back if I saw him astray On a road that I felt would bring ruin some day; I would not declare with my lips set and grim It was none of my business what happened to him. For it's much of my business to help when I can With a smile or a word or a hope or a plan; And somehow I feel in the greater Design Of life and the world he's a brother of mine. 49 A Brother of Mine I know he's as human and needy as I, No more and no less, and I won't pass him by Without stretching a hand out and letting him know I want to be friendly if he'll have it so. For if life were harsh with me, harsh and unkind, The day gray and long and the way hard to find, I'd like him to come with a smile as the sign Of his friendship — yes, come as a brother of mine. 50 A Pretty Good World It's a pretty good world, as a world's apt to go; At least, it's the best world that most of us know. If it's hot in the sun when the sky's blue and fair, There's twilight and evening and cool, fragrant air In the night and the dark; if there's hard work to do, There's plenty of play and a chance to rest, too. And if there are tears in some day's weary while. There's a lot of real gladness and many a smile. There are thistles, of course, in the meadow I see. But look at the flowers they have strewn there for me; Just scattered there broadcast and bright in the sun, And I, who have plucked, never planted a one. There's a cloud in the sky, or for me or for you. But the black of the cloud only brings out the blue Of the summery sky; see the brook that is pearled With its crystalline drops! It's a pretty good world! There are cowards, that's true, but so few when you read Of the brave men and fine and the courage and deed Of the heroes who battled and struggled and won In the fight that has waged since the world was begun. There's greed, too, and hatred, but over above There's a wealth of fine spirit and friendship and love, And bright eyes and smiling and warm hearts and kind — It's a good world, as good as you're likely to find. 51 A Pretty Good World There's waste and there's evil, there's crime and there's lust, But where is the woodpile that doesn't have dust, And chips, sticks and splinters? And there's the sound wood For building and burning that's solid and good; There's chaff in the bushel, but most of it's grain, There's green grass and flowers and fruit in the rain; And for every serpent that hisses and stings A hundred rare song birds and butterfly wings. It's a pretty good world from beginning to end. There's blue sky and flower and hard work and friend. And gladness and singing and many long years And a lot more of laughter and smile than of tears. So put in your laughter and friendship and cheer, Don't wait till tomorrow, but now and right here! Somebody may need just that smile you've unfurled To make it and keep it a pretty good world! 52 Things a Man May Do To make the way a little plain where it was dark before; To smile a really friendly smile out through the open door; To ease the load a little bit for one who follows me, To light a candle in the dark so wayfarers may see A friendly inn close by the road; to plant a tree where men May lie and rest and dream and sleep and go their ways again Refreshed and ready for the task; when life's all done and through, I guess these are the things, perhaps, a man should really do. To lead some troubled soul to smile when all seems lost and gone; To walk with some one who is lame and cheer him to go on; To make the world a bit worth while for some one who may be In need of comforting perhaps and one kind word from me; To clear the briars from the path that grew there yes- terday; To set a sign post here and there that some may find the way; 53 Things a Man May Do To trim the lamp that leads men on to shelter, and make new The beacon fires of hope — these things I guess a man should do. To store wide waters well with bread; think not too much of pain; To mark the snares and pitfalls well and leave the high- way plain For him who goes this way again; to blaze a friendly tree Where pathways lead through tangled woods that travel- ers may see; To follow where brave men have led and make the trail so he Who comes another time this way may safely follow me; To scatter seeds along the way where all those flowers grew For me to pick — these things Fm sure are what a man should do. So let me make the way of men a little happier way, Where some one may pick flowers perhaps that I have sown today; 54 Things a Man May Do Where some worn traveler in the night with gratitude may turn In at the inn where shines the lamp that I set out to burn ; I'd like to know some ship in stress might find a harbor fair And safety from the night and storm by watch fires burning there That one day I heaped on the shore — and when my days are through I'd like to feel I'd done some things a man should really do. 55 A Very Little Song A little grief came down the way Of life upon a sunny day, And touched a gentle heart with pain That misted all the day like rain. A little grief came down the way Of life upon a sunny day. A little tear came after grief All sodden like an Autumn leaf In sere October's mist, and lay Upon a cheek that sunny day. A little tear came after grief All sodden like a mist-wet leaf. A little gladness came along The way of Sorrow with a song And with its dainty fingers set A smile upon the cheek still wet. A little gladness came along The way of Sorrow with a song. And then a rainbow came that way And arched across the dreary day. For through the tear that weary while There fell the sunshine of a smile. 56 A Very Little Song And so a rainbow came that way And arched across the dreary day. A little grief to touch with pain, A little tear that falls like rain Upon the sunny way the while, A little gladness and a smile, And, see, behind the cloud the blue, With rainbows arching over too! 57 Just Around the Corner Just around the corner — just a step or two from here There's a well of water that is cool and crystal clear; There's an eye that twinkles with the rarest kind of smile; Patience, we shall reach the spot in just a little while. Hot the day and dusty and the way is rough and long, We shall find a place to rest and we shall hear a song, We shall greet a friend or two and they shall bid us cheer — Just around the corner — just a step or two from here. Just around the corner where the roses are that fall Fresh and fair and fragrant from an ancient bush and tall; Fall like smiles from friends of ours who greet us on our way. Nod at us as we pass by as if to say good day; We may stop an hour or two by rose and bush and stem, Fair they are as friendly smiles, and life is full of them. Drear the way and weary now, but we shall see them smile Just around the corner and in such a little while. Just around the corner — just a bit beyond the view There's a dream we've cherished and a dream that's coming true; 58 Just Around the Corner There's a friend we've longed for and whose hand we'll clasp in ours, Where the well of water is and where the dreams and flowers; There's a bench to sit upon and there's a song to sing, There's a tree to lie beneath, a bird upon the wing. There is joy to fill the heart and laughter come to stay — Just around the corner — just a step or two away. Just around the corner — let us be upon our way, Sorrow left behind us at the gate of yesterday. Friends of ours are waiting there, with cheer and smile and song, And Ah, the way was weary once and Ah, the day was long. Let us skirt the hedge and fence and climb across the stile. Bid these travelers be of cheer and greet them with a smile. Tell them of the joys to be and point them out the way — Just around the corner of Tomorrow — or Today. 59 The Understanding Someday beyond the narrow skies that fall About our little lives, I may know all The crosses you have borne, and I may know The troubles that beset you, long ago; The struggles you have won or lost; the strife, The frets, the weary worries of your life; I'll know the daily debt of toil you paid, The part of patient sufferer you played In this half-tragedy of life, and I Who looked upon you with unseeing eye, And in my hate was harsh and mean, and blamed You or for this or that, will be ashamed, Withdraw the bitter words I said of you And all my hasty judgments and untrue. Crave pardon from you, offer you my hand, And say: "Forgive me! Now I understand!" And someday, likewise, you may learn of me The secrets of the life that used to be; The burdens I have had ; the scars I bore And hid from you; the struggles o'er and o'er That warped me from myself; the times I tried And tried again and failed; the nights I cried To hoped-for Heavens, unknown, unseen, unlearned; The lashes Fate laid on my back that burned 60 The Understanding Their length across me like a very fire; And you may see the ashes of desire That like the rubbish heaps of purpose, lay In gray profusion at the close of day ; And you will stand, abashed, appalled, ashamed To think you judged me in your haste and blamed Me or for this or that; stretch forth your hand And say: "Forgive me! Now I understand!" 61 To Meet the Day To meet my tasks with spirit, And to do The oft done thing with strength And courage new; To go forth to the day, With faith and trust, And labor if I may, Not since I must. To meet my disappointments With stout heart; To seek no paths of ease That lie apart From those my fellows travel, Nor to be Absolved from any task That strengthens me. To meet my joys well knowing They are lent To share with whom I may; To be content With less than a full measure. And to be The friend of him who may Have need of me. 62 To Meet the Day To meet my fellows fairly, And to say My greetings gracefully, And yea or nay With single tongue and gently; To be blind To little human faults, And to be kind. To meet myself right fairly; To be glad For life and chance; to prize What joys I've had; Fight manfully, play gladly. With no spent And sullen spirit mine. And be content. 63 Virtue "If a feller gets up to the top of the heap," Says Hiram Green to me; "If he works while I'm in bed asleep Like an ant or a busy bee; If he takes the chance that I threw away, A chance that I thought was slim, And makes it win — I ain't goin' to say It was all fool luck for him. "If a feller plows and plants his grain When I'm whittlin' a stick for mine. Or fishin' or thinkin' it's goin' to rain Or waitin' for more sunshine; If he plugs along with the vim I lacked And profits by good boss sense, I ain't goin' to play the baby act And blame it on providence. "If a feller does what he thinks is best With his cattle and grain and rents, I ain't goin' to say he's featherin' his nest At somebody else's expense ; For a feller can plow and a feller can sweat,- I'm a purty free will, I be. If I got the zip to go out and get What there is in the world for me. 64 Virtue "I ain't goin' to say that he won't play square In what he may think or do ; I'm goin' to think he will play the game fair As mebbe I would, or you. I ain't a-writin' no judgment book, — If we make him a town trustee I ain't goin' to think he'll be a crook. Any more 'n you would — or me. "I can't help thinkin' that mebbe the worst Is the feller than runs and tells The shady story — who's always first Suspectin' somebody else. When Virtue was passed around that Day, I wasn't there to see, But the other feller, I'm bound to say, Got just as much as me." 65 Peep o' Dawn Mornin', Sunshine! Howdy do! Mighty glad t' welcome you! Heard th' field larks tellin' me You was here an' come t' see! Heard a hundred voices say: "Sunshine's come t' stay all day!" Mighty glad t' welcome you, Mornin', Sunshine! Howdy do! Mornin', Sunshine! Heard a lark Pipe yer comin' through th' dark; Minstrel swaller up th' spout Told me you was comin' out. Airly rooster in th' coop Crowed hisself nigh inter croup; Mighty glad t' welcome you, Mornin', Sunshine! Howdy do! Mornin', Sunshine! Glad ye're back. Seen you through my curtain crack; Watched y' shinin' on my bed Sayin' "Git up, Sleepyhead!" Felt yer warm hand on my cheek, Almos' thought I heard y' speak: "Day is happy, skies are blue!" Mornin', Sunshine! Howdy do! 66 Peep o' Dawn Mornin', Sunshine! Howdy do! I jist take new life fr'm you. Somethin' in yer comin' that Make my heart go pittypat. Wisht whenever I come near Folks, like you do, I could hear: "Mornin', Sunshine! Howdy do! Mighty glad t' welcome you!" 67 Singing Along He went singin' along On the street where I be, Just a line of a song Sort o' homelike to me; Must 'a' had a sweet soul, Fer things often went wrong. But th' days, on th' whole. He went singin' along. Feller'd grieved, too, I know, 'Cause I knowed him right well. An' th' lines he could show Had a story to tell As them lines always do. But he knowed that a song Helped him fight th' thing through, An' went singin' along. An' as gruff as I be (An' I'm gruff when I choose). He would smile up at me Like a cure for th' blues; Seemed to reckon some way That th' heart needs a song, So he cheered up my day An' went singin' along. 68 Singing Along An' it's odd, I declare, When I look back an' see, How a feller as rare As I knowed him to be Growed a soul good to see Out o' things goin' wrong, While a feller like me Ain't a-singin' along. Durn my shriveled old soul, But he makes me ashamed When I'm takin' th' toll Of his spirit — I'm blamed If I ever half tried; Soul, you're goin' all wrong! Giddap, durn your hide. An' go singin' along! 69 Keep Sweet Keep sweet — that's all I've got to say; You won't go fur wrong thataway! Keep sweet, an' be of heart an' cheer, An' if th' way ain't always clear. Strike up a snatch of old time song To keep us sweet as we go 'long; For though we've many a bitter day. Let's try to keep sweet anyway. Keep sweet — an' when th' struggle's through, Th' Lord just can't help lovin' you; Keep sweet — it does us good t' strike A soul that's sweet an' wholesome like! It sort o' radiates good cheer An' lights th' path an' helps t' clear Th' mists that hang above th' way, Let's try to keep sweet every day. Keep sweet — don't let th' sad days blur Th' brightness of th' days that were, Or dim with useless tears an' free Th' brightness of th' days to be. Keep sweet — with steadfast faith an' long With strength to suffer an' be strong, With hope to light us on th' way — Let's try to keep sweet every day. 70 Keep Sweet Keep sweet — with that calm faith that came When we would ask it in His name, At Mother's knee, an' were content From simple trust with what He sent. Be our hearts th' abidin' place Of what's th' noblest, gentlest grace Th' angels know; though dark th' day, Let's try to keep sweet anyway. 71 An Epitaph Kind o' jollied along In the friendliest way, With a smile and a song And a kind word to say; Didn't worry and fret If things sometimes went wrong, Kept his spirit sweet yet. And just jollied along. Sort o' jollied along With good cheer all the while, Had a grip pretty strong And the friendliest smile; Heard him whistlin' a tune And a-hummin' a song Mornin', evenin' or noon. Kind o' jollied along. "Don't you worry," he'd say, "For the sun's sure to shine. There's a flower by the way And the day's pretty fine; Used to worry like you. Thought the world was all wrong, But I always came through And I jollied along." 72 An Epitaph Well, I missed him one day, And a fellow came by In the lonesomest way And a-rubbin' his eye, Said he'd been at his side, Heard him hummin' a song,- Didn't seem that he died, He just jollied along. 73 When a Feller Makes Good When a feller makes good — when he wins in the fight, And especially when it's been grim, I may be kind o' sorry it ain't me, all right. But I'm glad, yes I'm glad it was him. I ain't goin' to be sour that the prize wasn't mine, I ain't goin' to be ugly or glum, I ain't goin' to grumble or holler or whine, 'Cause mebbe my time is to come. When a feller makes good — when he reaches the place Where he slacks up a bit and can rest, I ain't goin' to grudge it, or wear a long face, I'm goin' to keep doin' my best; For what he can do I can do, like as not. An' I ain't wastin' time bein' blue, When a feller makes good, well, it just shows me what Most any live feller can do. When a feller makes good I ain't goin' to complain, I'm just goin' to be glad that he won, For what has been done, I can do it again, Whatever's been done can be done; I'm sorry perhaps that I didn't just find The thing that from my eyes was hid. But as long as I didn't, I ain't goin' to mind, I'm durn glad that somebody did. 74 When a Feller Makes Good It gives me a thrill when somebody makes good, It kind o' invites me to cheer, I'd like to have done it perhaps, if I could. But I ain't goin' to grumble or sneer Jist because it was him — he just sets me the pace. He shows me what someone can do. And I'm goin' to pitch in with a smile on my face. And mebbe I'll set one for you. No, I ain't goin' to whine when somebody makes good, I ain't goin' to be jealous or hot; I'm jist goin' to cheer him and then I'll saw wood. And I can make good, like as not. I'm glad when somebody makes good — yes, I be, When we thought all his chances was slim. And it's jist human nature to wish it was me. But I ain't a bit sorry it's him! 75 The Newsboy's Friend He's the kind of a fellow you like mighty well, And he smiles in the friendliest way; He's forty or fifty I guess, — I can't tell, For sure, but his hair's turning gray. He buys him a paper or two every time That he passes the corner by me. And he never takes change from a nickel or dime. He's a regular fellow, you see. He's a regular fellow with smiles in his eye, And he's never too busy to say Hello to a boy, and he stops going by And says: "How is business today?" He looks at a fellow like he understood When it's sleety and cold and he says: "A cup of hot cofifee would taste pretty good. And a couple of doughnuts, I guess." Then he puts down a quarter and says: "What's the news : And I hand him a paper and grin, And he says: "Keep the change. Boy, and see you don't lose That smile — it will help you to win. 76 The Newsboy's Friend Who's your banker?" he says. "It's my Mother," says I, 'Cause she is, and a dandy one, too, Then he laughs and the kindest look comes in his eye And he says to me, says he: "You'll do." He's a regular fellow and don't have to try, The kind you would be if you could; When he pats your head and looks straight in your eye It just makes a fellow feel good. You're not scared any more and you don't mind the snow Or the sleet or the nickle you spend. And you feel as if you'd have some safe place to go If you needed a really good friend. And some day he says, when my face ain't pure white: "You've got some skin trouble, I see, But good soap and water will cure it all right, I had skin trouble, too, once," says he. "Here's a nickle for soap — better make it a dime," He says, "Soap's for sale everywheres; — Come up to my office and sit down sometime And we'll talk of the world of affairs." 77 The Newsboy's Friend He's the funniest fellow, and says it as true As can be and he don't crack a smile, But you just sort of feel when he's talking to you He's smiling inside all the while. He seems to know boys and their feelings and ways, Just seems as if he understood. And all of the things that he does and he says — Well, they just make a fellow feel good. 78 Lend a Hand Yes, there is many a load to lift, And many a task to do; There's many a way and many a rule Set forth for me and you; But what the task there is to do, And how the work be planned, It's best to smile, a cheery smile, And then — to lend a hand. There's many a heart that's aching sore, And many a misty eye; There's many a soul that needs once more Be bidden just to try; So what the need or grief may be, I'll try to understand. And smile — just smile a cheery smile, And try to lend a hand. There's many a day that's raging hot, And many a way that's long. And many a pilgrim needs a lift, A bit of cheer and song; So I've one simple rule and plain Not hard to understand. It's just to smile a cheery smile. And just to lend a hand. 79 Lend A Hand There's many a grief that's hard to bear, There's many a need and stress; There's many a trial I might share And make the burden less; So let me lift the load a while, Until the heights be spanned, Let me give you a cheery smile, And let me lend a hand. Yes, there is many a joy to bring. And many a hope renew, And there is many a soul to cheer And kindly deed to do; There's many a heart to be made glad. If we but understand, Let's smile — let's smile a cheery smile. And then let's lend a hand. 80 A Field of Clover It was just a field of clover that the sunshine flooded over, With an orchard close upon it, and a cottage standing near That had morning-glories climbing; and a meadow lark was chiming Forth his welcome to the Springtime in a carol sweet- ly clear. It was just some clover waving with its red and white, behaving Like the children at a frolic when the sun is noonday high, But it brought me something tender — to my memory a splendor That was soft and sweet and gentle, and a mist upon my eye. It was just a field of clover that the bumblebees flew over With a drowsy drone and buzzing; and the cattle grazed afar Where the reeds and willows quiver by the bubbling brook or river Just beyond the snowy orchard where the apple blos- soms are. It was just a picture, fleeting as the song of birds in greeting, But it bore a thousand fancies that came back to me, as rare 81 A Field of Clover As the dreams that one day thrilled me and the happiness that filled me When I followed through the clover to the paths that led — say where! I went roaming there, and finding me a path I knew went winding Through the wood and by the river, when the day was fine and fair, I would follow it, forgetting all the world but this, and letting This old pathway wind and wander till it lost itself somewhere In the tangled wood, and lying there I heard the breezes crying In the trees that were so high — so high, — the shade so deep — so deep! And when birds and bees were humming, with the same boy who went chumming Down the road with me to Nowhere, talked and dreamed and — fell asleep. It was just a field of clover, but somehow it bore me over Like a bridge across the river between Sometime then and now. And it lent me all the seeming for the moment of the dreaminsr 82 A Field of Clover That was mine and yours in boyhood but has gone from us somehow. And I'm sure you must remember; rosy June and soft September, April blossomed pink with flowers and October with its brown; August with ripe apples blushing, March's waking rivers rushing, And December with its Christmas and the snowflakes coming down. It was just a field of clover, and a cottage where, up over, Trailed the climbing morning-glories; and a girl stood at the door Much like some one — well, no matter, — but I glanced a moment at her. Just a moment — and I brushed my eyes, — and then the dream was o'er. But I've always loved the clover, for before the dream was over I have seen her stand there smiling, with a smile I've longed to see All these many years, and stooping where were clover blossoms drooping She would gather up an armful there and shower them on me. 83 A Field of Clover So I passed the field of clover, and the dream it brought was over, And the morning-glory cottage lost to view behind a hill, But there stayed, the day and morrow, like the bitter sweet of sorrow. Something soft and sweet and gentle that my heart may cherish still. May has come and June — September; and there comes the bleak December, With its Christmas and its candles and the lights upon the tree, And all dead may be the clover, but the dream I may dream over, Till the Cottage door stands open and a girl there smiles at me. 84 Hymn of Praise Father of mine, who mayst Thou be, What glory in Thy love for me; Thy green turf for my carpet laid, Thy trees outspread for rest and shade; Thy music in the flow of seas. Thy summer skies for canopies; Thy flowers that glorify my day. Thy birds for song, to cheer my way; Thy bees to sip my flowers and be My exemplars of industry. Father of mine, bid me be glad For every song the wild bird had! Teach me the beauty Thou hast set In every rose and violet. Help me by patient industry To be companion with the bee, And let me pass each day an hour In gratitude for wayside flower, The skylark's song, the drip of rain And for the sickle in the grain. 85 Song of Hope Bring me no song of tears, Fling me no sorrows. Wing me no Yesteryears, Sing me To-morrows! Pipe me a merry lay, Tune no heart's aching. Bid me look up and say: "Hope! Dawn is breaking!" Croon me no lullabies, Moon me no dreaming, Tune me the spreading skies Hopefully gleaming. Lull me with Sorrow's voice Not into sleeping. Bid me awake, rejoice, Joy in my keeping. Not ash of dead desire, Not flown Septembers, Light me a living fire. Heap me no embers. Bring from no twilight gray Cloaks for dead sorrow. Sing of the Dawn and Day, Hope and To-morrow! 86 Cherry Blossom Time Somehow my fancy bids me write a story in a rhyme, Of bells and laughter and of tears in cherry blossom time, Almost I hear the laughter ring and distant bells to chime. Nor did I hear those bells to ring, nor did the laughter hear, But when she told me of it all, it was so real and clear! She told me. Oh, so long ago, and yet it seems so near! And she was just a girl, she said! How strange it was to me. As I sat there and listened close, sat down there by her knee, To think of her as just a girl — this mother-girl of me! And then a bride, and so the bells, the laughter and the tears. And always all those after days that music in her ears Was sweet and clear and never died, through all the days and years. It was in cherry blossom time, and all the trees were white. As though the snows had drifted them with flakes all through the night. 87 Cherry Blossom Time And as the blossoms was her heart, her bride's heart, pure and light. She was a bride in blossom time, and heard the church bells chime. How fair it is to be a bride in cherry blossom time! Nor did I dream, the time she told, of making it a rhyme. And now the bells hung silent and the marriage feast was done. And she went forth from Home that day to build another one, As lads and lassies all have gone since time was first begun. All this she told me at her knee who sat. She stopped to throw Them kisses long as she could see that time she turned to go. All this the day she was a bride where cherry blossoms blow. And one last kiss her mother gave, as mothers have to do When brides go forth to make a home; her father's last kiss, too, Was hers that day so long ago when blossom time was new. 88 Cherry Blossom Time And then she smiled at me who sat there listening at her knee, While tear drops glistened on her cheek I wondered much to see, For it was cherry blossom time that time she told it me. And then she wiped the tears away and said: "I was to see Them all at cherry blossom time again, when I should be A year away perhaps, or two, or it might grow to three!" "And did you go in blossom time and was it not all fair?" She stooped and kissed me as I spoke and smiled and stroked my hair, And said: "How many times the trees have blosssomed for them there!" "But it was far, so far away! And babies came — one, two, Three, four and five; and there was always much for us to do. And there was home to make and keep for little tads like you! 89 Cherry Blossom Time "But at some cherry blossom time I shall go back, I know," She said, "When all the trees are thick with bloom and white like snow, And we shall hear the bells again as they rang long ago. "And they shall kiss me once again, and they shall kiss you, too; Yes, we shall all go back some day when blossom time is new, And we shall, all of us, be glad, and all the dreams come true." * * * And one sad day she fell asleep, and I who write this rhyme. Kissed her with streaming eyes and she heard olden church bells chime. And told me so, and I knew then 'twas cherry blossom time. And often I can see her now, when blossom time is fair. With tears and laughter in her eyes and blossoms in her hair. Just as she told me, at her knee when I sat listening there. 90 Cherry Blossom Time Her heart was sweet as blossoms were; her soul as pure and light! The dream of her may God keep now and always, blest and bright As she would have my soul to be — as her soul was — pure white ! 91 Mahmoud of Ispahan The great Mahmoud of Ispahan, In ancient rays a mighty man, By tribesmen called the Unafraid, Unsheathed his glittering sword and laid It by his couch; his limbs were cold. His shriveled skin was dry and old, His years four score and ten and one, His eyes turned to the setting sun That not again the day should span For great Mahmoud of Ispahan. Afar the temples were whose plan Was of Mahmoud of Ispahan, And fell the sunset on the land, All red like blood upon the sand. As though the slain did bleed again For Mahmoud and his mighty men, Whose swords drank blood as men drink wine Made from all Persia's choicest vine, Blood of his enemies that ran For great Mahmoud of Ispahan. And now in Persia was no man Great as Mahmoud of Ispahan, No prince or tribesman who might give Him battle in that land, and live. His glittering sword that by him lay Had slain its hundreds in a day, 92 Mahmoud of Ispahan Until that mighty arm arose Half-palsied from the furious blows, Nor gold nor slave nor caravan Escaped Mahmoud of Ispahan. He called aloud for Belkorzan, The wisest in all Ispahan, Scribe to Mahmoud, and hoary seer To whom all things of life were clear. " 'Tis I, Mahmoud, wise Belkorzan, 'Tis I, Mahmoud, of Ispahan, My sword beside me and my breath Soon to keep life's sworn pledge with Death; My epitaph 'tis you shall plan. Plan for Mahmoud of Ispahan." "My tomb is hewn, and Belkorzan Shall carve the truth that Ispahan May know the all that may be said Of Mahmoud, when he shall be dead; Aye — you shall write in words sublime That mighty men through all of time Shall have the utmost truth to scan Of me, Mahmoud, of Ispahan. Swear, Belkorzan, that truth to say Of Mahmoud, mightiest of his day!" 93 M a h m u d of Ispahan There stands the tomb and Ispahan May read of its once mightiest man, In letters high upraised and spanned By centuries of sun and sand, Yet clear as carved by Belkorzan The wisest in all Ispahan, Who kept the oath he swore to write The truth in words of living light: "The dust enclosed was once a man, By name, Mahmoud, of Ispahan!" A Song of Every Day Since there are clean lives needed, I will live one, I will not doubt or quit or fear or drift. For who may need a glad smile, I will give one, Myself, in helping others, I'll uplift. Since there are glad souls wanted, I will be one, I will not frown or scold, but I will cheer Some downcast soul when I may chance to see one,- I will do this Today, and now, and here! Since some may be unkind, I will bring kindness. To what I say or do, solmehow, someway. I will not ever close my eyes in blindness To all the good about me every day. Since some are weak, then I will be the stronger To help the frail who grope the way along. Since some are sad, then must I smile the longer. And never lose the spirit of my song. Since glad songs are so needed, I will sing one, The tasks appointed me I'll strive to do, Since we need joyous spirits I will bring one, And keep it sunny, steadfast, strong and true. I will be quick to help who is in trouble, I will have love and cheer and sympathy, And, all the good I do will straightway double: 'Twill uplift whom I help and uplift me. 95 Song of Friendship Not tomorrow, Friend, I pray! Do not tarry — come today! Who shall say if I shall be Here for long to welcome thee? Will the love that thou mayst bring Be for us a better thing If we tarry longer? Nay! Not tomorrow ! Come today ! Why tomorrow? Tell me when This today shall come again. If this happiness foregone Shall return another dawn. On tomorrow canst thou bring Food for this day's hungering? Does love breathe a sweeter lay On tomorrow than today? Do not tarry. Friend, I pray. Till tomorrow! Come today! Come with eagerness and smile. Nor delay till after while. Who shall say where I may be On tomorrow? Come to me With that friendly word to say, Not tomorrow — come today! 96 Song of Friendship Why tomorrow? Wilt thou be Any dearer then to me? Wilt thou see with clearer eye In the little time gone by? Little, yet so long 'tis far As the immeasurable star, For all time may not declare There is any morrow there! Dost thou love me, Friend, and let This day go, nor tell me yet. When tomorrow may not be. Nor be love or light for me? That be dust in one brief hour That was even then a flower? Wilt thou bring me ashes? Nay! Not tomorrow — come today! If thou lovest, wouldst thou say Thou wilt love me yesterday? Nay! Because 'tis naught! — but 'tis No more naught than morrow is! Thou canst love me, much or how Once alone and that is now! Do not tarry. Friend, I pray Not tomorrow — come today. 97 The Place of Broken Things I have a little attic room Up somewhere in my mind, It's shrouded thickly o'er with gloom, And I could never find A single thing I've put in there Far from the light of day. That's why I have that attic where I hide those things away. I put in there the broken things. That naught of skill can mend, Cracked pots, bent pans, old hurts and strings,- All useless things I send Straightway into the attic roo(m To grieve me never more, And leave them shrouded with the gloom All back of that closed door. Old dreams that died, to live no more, And tarnished friendships, too. Whereon one time I set much store But found they were untrue. Keen disappointments and old days. That would bring me some tears. If they were open to my gaze. And some sad, bygone years. 98 The Place of Broken Things And cherished hopes that once I had But proved like bubbles blown, With a short life, to make me glad And then in dust were flown. And long healed scars, regrets and tears, That one time seemed the doom Of all I longed for through the years, All in my attic room. I've put them there, a goodly store Of sorrows, crumpled wings, Dead dreams, flown hopes and many more Outworn and broken things. And there I've laid them in the gloom To moulder and decay. And I have shut that attic room And turned my steps away. 99 Unfit Life — rude and ragged garment of my soul. Ill-fitting, spotted, full of rents and tears; — Patterned for me the cloak my spirit wears When I had voice nor choice, if it be whole Or patched with furious passions and the thread Of evil circumstance. Some grandsire dead An hundred years mayhap willed me the rents Of sloth and weakness and unbridled sense; Yet Honor bids me now forth to the field To wrest the victory from mail and shield And sword; — me in my wretched nakedness! Nor Honor's sateless greed content with less. Let me strip off these wretched rags and cast Them on the dust and rubbish heap of years To rot with all their stains of futile tears, Choose mine own knightly armor at the last, And I will shame thee with my victory As now, my Honor, oft thou shamest me! 100 The Secret Little woman with the smile — Simple, steadfast and serene; Knowing envy, hate nor guile, Mistress, counselor and queen In that royal family Of strong sons and daughters fair, What the secret? Tell it me, — I would tell it everywhere. I have sought and I have found. Studied, pondered, cast away; Dreams have compassed me around, Wisdom has said yea or nay; I have pondered by the lore Of the sages ages through; What the secret? Is it more Than the wise men know, or knew? Surely not at Learning's shrine You have gained that soul so fair, For I made her secret mine But your glory was not there. Burned I long the lamp at night. Many a waste and weary while. Seeking, searching for the light That illumines your each smile. 101 The Secret Learning has it not, I say, Nor ambition has, or Pride, For I searched them night and day And I cast them all aside. Power you have not, or place, Wealth, Fame, Honor or Degree, Yet the glory of your face! What the secret? Tell it me. Yours the thinly buttered crust Of near need and toil and care, But the miser's hoard is dust By this Secret that you share. You, whose kingdom is the hearth, With the nearby chair your throne! And the wise men seek through earth For this peace, and this alone. Little woman with the smile. That with glory lights Love's way, Will you walk with me a while In the darkness of my day. I would let the sages go Where the Ways of Wisdom be, Read your book of Life and know What the Secret. — Tell it me! 102 Before the Winter Came I often think of him as where The flowers are and laughing there, As when by wood and field he strayed To pluck bright blossoms that he laid Within my hands and cried his glee O'er each new blossom brought to me. I think of him as when in Spring I saw him somewhere beckoning With chubby hand upraised, for me To come and see a yellow bee Or gorgeous butterfly or bird Upon some twig or branch that stirred. And in the twilight to my chair. When I'm alone and dreaming there, He comes and whispers low to me Of all that was and was to be Before the Winter came and he Went with the blossom and the bee. And sometimes I am sure I feel His chubby fingers as they steal Their way to mine and clasp mine tight And close as clinging ivy might About a twig, till he shall keep The tryst of youth with dreams and sleep. 103 Before the Winter Came So in that dim and quiet hour He brings me many a gathered flower Until my hands are full with bloom, And odors fill the twilit room With memories grown sweeter yet, As dew gleams on a violet. So let me sit this hour and fill My soul with fancy if I will, And let this memory abide Of flowered path and him beside, For in this hour 'twill be the same As then — before the Winter came. 104 The Masquerade The night is merry with their cries, With clamor and with din; The dancers masked with every guise Are whirling out and in; The Lords and Beggars, Fools and Wise All in a mob displayed, Till Midnight strikes — drops each disguise — 'Tis all a masquerade. The Fool was not a Fool, but wise. As we may plainly see; The Beggar's rags were but the guise Of his sham poverty; The Sage's garb but cloaked the Fool, Whose witless soul has strayed To mount for us the dunce's stool — 'Twas all a masquerade. That knight who clanked the armor in, A coward looks, somehow. He who danced there as Harlequin Seems not so merry now; She who was sprightly, gay and fair When glad the music played, Is wrinkled and with thin gray hair — Yes — 'twas a masquerade. 105 The Masquerade And now the dancers are all dumb. The music dies away; The night is gone, the dawn has come, The world of every day; But still by street and lane and town The game of life is played, Each with his mask of smile or frown — - 'Tis Life — ^the masquerade! The Broken-heart in smiling guise That would conceal its pain; The Fool who masquerades as Wise, That Soul with its red stain Of sham and cheat and hate and greed The part of Virtue played, That velvet cloak that covered Need — 'Tis much a masquerade. The Coward with the armor on Who trembles in his shoes; The Clown, whose soul is bleak and wan, Yet cackles like a goose; And when the voices all are dumb. The game of day is played, And masks stripped off when Midnight's come, 'Twas all a masquerade. 106 The Masquerade And gladness with once merry wile Came with hot tears just now, And fell upon her knees the while, The jewels from her brow All stripped and torn; and humbled so, Knelt in the night and prayed: "God grant us peace, as Thou mayst know,- Have done with masquerade!" 107 Tomorrow Dear Little Lady, we'll shed no more tears, Let us have done with our crying, I know that life has its frets and its fears. We shall not cure them with sighing; Dear Little Lady, come dry your wet eyes. Put by that sad, bitter sorrow, Come and sit by me, nor see the gray skies, They shall be brighter tomorrow. Blest Little Boy with that bruise on your knee, And that sore toe that is smarting. Won't you come closer and sit here by me. While those hot tear drops are starting; Blest Little Boy, if the day has no cheer. Some from the future we'll borrow, I tell you truly as I'm sitting here. You will be happy tomorrow. Sad Little Dreamer whose face is all wet, Wet with the hot tear drops falling. Not a dream come true to gladden you yet — I can hear Hope clearly calling; Sad Little Dreamer, she's calling to you. Bidding you put by your sorrow. All of your dreams of today shall come true, They shall come true on tomorrow. 108 Tomorrow Come all ye children and listen to me, Little folks, wet-cheeked and sobbing. Come with the sore heart and still aching knee, I know the pain hotly throbbing; Come and sit by me, for I have known youth, Youth with its heart-breaking sorrow, Come and believe what I say is but truth — These will be made well tomorrow. Frail Little Soul of mine, sick with its strife. Timid and weary and sighing. Faint with the day's heavy burden of life, Deep in the dim valleys crying; Frail Little Soul of mine, we, too, will rise, Up from the valleys of sorrow, Strive on and dream on and come near the skies- Life will be gladder tomorrow! 109 Yesterday The seasons change, as dead leaves play, The world moves on, the pathways wind. And over there sits Yesterday Her fingers with dead garlands twined; Pathetic, sorrowful and sweet She looks once upward and away. Where time moves on with dancing feet Nor looks the once at Yesterday. Within her lap she holds the joys That were but never more shall be, The dreams and all the broken toys, Shrined in the heart of Memory; Here is a curl, a look, a smile. That came and was and went away, The laughter of some merry while. Left in the lap of Yesterday. Perhaps a mellow song she sings. Some old and quite forgotten air, A wandering breeze at twilight brings Soft fingers playing with her hair; And voices whisper and she hears The loves that were but could not stay; What sad songs murmur in her ears, The songs we sang but Yesterday. 110 Yesterday And Oh, such dreams she has to hold Within the lap of her the while, The dreams of cheer, of courage bold, Of great worlds conquered with a smile. She lets them trickle from her hands. The once while their rare colors play, And many as the ocean's sands, The dreams we left with Yesterday. She sits, the sunset in her eyes Of every day that used to be, And every day a new day dies And she shrines it in Memory; She lets them trickle from her hands. While all their tints and colors play, As on a beach of jeweled sands Cast up from seas of Yesterday. Ill Last Verse of All Good by! Your hand! You understand. You know the things I want to say, But somehow, in my heart today The words stick fast and will not come. I say good by and then am dumb. I want you to be glad and blest, And — well, I know you know the rest. Good luck! For you May skies be blue, And sunshine light your every way. I wish I had the words to say What's in my heart — but tears will fall. And so I say "good luck" — that's all! I take with me the memory Of all real friendship means to me. Hello! Who knows? Day comes and goes And brings its laughter and its tears. Who knows the harvest of the years? It may be here — it may be there — It may be soon, or late, or ne'er. And if it should be ne'er — well, then Good by! And here's my hand again. 112 Post printing « Binding Co. Pasadena