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 Food for 
 
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 By 
 
 J. ARTHUR MULLIGAN 
 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 
 "The Leopard's Mark" 
 "Kathleen of the Everglades" 
 "The Germ of Life" 
 "Simple Rhymes" 
 "Charity versus Mammon" 
 Etc., etc., etc. 
 
 
 (Copyright 1918 by J. Arthur Mulligan) 
 
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 ^'CHRISTMAS TIDINGS" 
 
 Hark! I hear glad voices singing 
 
 Sweet and clear this Christmas morn, 
 With the chimes of bells co-mingling 
 
 Bringing news the Christ is born. 
 See him in the low^ly manger, — 
 
 See him rise the Holy one. 
 God will shield him from all danger 
 
 'Til his work on earth is done. 
 
 Hear him as he gently calls you, 
 
 "Peace on earth, good w^ill toward men, 
 I have come to help and save you 
 
 By the grace of God, Amen: 
 Come to me, ye weary hearted, 
 
 I will give ye needed rest." 
 From the Father ne'er be parted. 
 
 Place your faith upon his breast. 
 
 Hark! I hear the angels singing 
 
 Those sweet words the Saviour spake 
 To me sweetest tidings bringing, 
 
 Comes to earth for my soul's sake; 
 Shout aloud the glad Hosanna, 
 
 Shout the glad news far and near, 
 Christ has come the Great Jehovah, 
 
 Come to sooth and calm our fear. 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Angels praise his name forever. 
 Praise him now ye earthly men. 
 
 Praise him high, deny him never; 
 Praise him with a glad Amen. 
 
"TOMORROW" 
 
 There is always the day of TOMORROW 
 
 As this old day speeds on its rounds, 
 There is always the sharpers and grafters 
 
 And the Shylocks demanding their pounds, 
 But as sure as the sun shines above us. 
 
 As sure as the night and the day. 
 The sharpers and grafters shall suffer 
 
 And the Shylocks tenfold shall repay. 
 
 The lawyers w^ho prey on the needy, 
 
 The judges who sanction their game. 
 That each may receive graft's divvy 
 
 In the might of the law's great name. 
 Are each of them just as guilty 
 
 As the v^retch who enters their door 
 Pleading for mercy from grafters 
 
 Who glut on the mites of the poor. ' 
 
 The surgeon who seeks in the flesh ills 
 
 To fatten the bulk of his purse, 
 May gain for a moment the wealth of this world. 
 
 But in the next one receives God's curse. 
 'Twere better a millstone be tied 'round his neck 
 
 And cast in the depth of the sea 
 Than blister his soul with greedy lies 
 
 For his services that need not be. 
 
 If all would but practice the golden rule 
 
 And do as we should for each other, 
 What a different life would we live on earth. 
 
 If we cared as we should for our brother. 
 No greed or graft would burden us 
 
 With slimy trails of sorrow, 
 No need to care for future things. 
 
 Or plan to save for tomorrow. 
 
"THE OLD FOLKS LAMENT" 
 
 "Well, wife, our trials will soon be o'er, 
 
 I feel the end is nigh, 
 When we will leave this troubled world. 
 
 And reach our homes on high; 
 Where storms of life can never come. 
 
 Nor sickness enter in — 
 Temptations cannot enter there 
 
 To curse our souls with sin. 
 
 "You've been a good old wife to me 
 
 Since we wed years ago. 
 When your hair was like the raven's wing 
 
 But is now like drifts of snow; 
 Your cheeks were dimpled soft and bright 
 
 And blushed like roses fair, 
 But now your cheeks are pale and rough 
 
 And furrowed with lines of care. 
 
 "My life would have been a long, rough road 
 
 Had you not been with me. 
 To help remove the stones of care 
 
 And help my eyes to see; 
 But life has been a bucking nag 
 
 For you, dear heart, to ride; 
 But all the way of jolts and bumps. 
 
 You've found me at your side. 
 
 "Well, wife, I feel we've done our share 
 
 In bringing children here. 
 Fulfilled the text of Nature's law 
 
 Help fill the world with cheer. 
 Now our lads and lassies all have gone 
 
 And left us all alone, 
 But you have me and 1 have you. 
 
 And that will help atone. 
 
 "Our children do not seem to care 
 
 That we are getting old. 
 That death will soon snuff out life's fires 
 
 And leave us stiff and cold; 
 For they wed and go out from our home. 
 
 Bear children of their own. 
 Who romp and play with shouts of joy. 
 
 But leave us all alone. 
 
 "Ah, well, I suppose they think it best. 
 
 Perhaps they think their boys 
 Would be too rough and worry us 
 
 With all their childish noise; 
 Too bad, seems they forget when they were younj 
 
 With noise from stern to bow. 
 Their racket did not harm us then 
 
 And would not harm us now." 
 
"MY SHAMROCK ' 
 
 'Do yez mind the green plant which I hold in me hand? 
 
 Do yez note the bright shade of its green? 
 Do yez know where it came from and who brought it here. 
 
 This plant that is more than a queen? j 
 
 Sure, then 1 will tell ye, so list to me now il 
 
 While I spake of this plant in me hand, ) 
 
 For by the same token I brought it with me ) 
 
 When I first put me foot on this land. ! 
 
 ' 'Tis a bright little token from the Emerald Isle, ^ 
 
 That gem near the cold North Sea, ? 
 
 And 1 hold it more dear than all the world, i 
 
 For the memories it brings back to me: i 
 
 For it has grown on the graves of me very best friends, I 
 
 It was watered with tears from me eyes, '; 
 And it was planted by Mother before I was born, 
 
 So I hold it most dear as a prize. j 
 
 'When I sailed from old Ireland for this land of the free, 
 
 With this Shamrock fresh dug wet w^ith dew, i 
 
 Sure the Inspector forbade me to bring it ashore. 
 
 So I hid the dear plant in me shoe; 
 I have cared for that Shamrock through all these years, ; 
 
 From its presence I ne'er want to part, i 
 
 And when I am called to leave this old Earth, 
 
 Lay a sprig of this plant on me heart." 
 
 *'FOXY TROT" 
 
 "Wal S'manthy Ann, I'll tell yer what, 
 Our gel's plumb crazy abaout Foxy Trot, 
 But 1 wouldn't care if 'twuz Verginny Reel, 
 Old round dance, er toe and heel, 
 Naow they's got sense and wuth a lot. 
 But durn this crazy Foxy Trot. 
 
 "Thet gel of ourn is so blamed sot 
 On dancin' 'round in Foxy Trot, 
 Thet morn to night she hits 'er pace 
 Like aour old roan hoss in a four-mile race. 
 And from cellar to gerret, in house or not. 
 She kavorts and wriggles in Foxy Trot. 
 
 "A city feller, a band-box snot, 
 I vum he started this Foxy Trot, 
 And any old Fox w^ould be ershamed 
 To know his vy^alk w^uz bein' blamed, 
 Fer this fool motion of tommy-rot. 
 This bug-house dance called Foxy Trot. 
 
 "Aour gel, she cummed to the old hoss lot. 
 And she sez she. Paw kin you Foxy Trot? 
 An' I wuz thet sooprized I give er whack 
 On top of aour old Roany's back 
 Thet sent thet hoss 'round thet barn lot 
 Jest eezactly like aour Sal's Foxy Trot. 
 
 "Thet dance ain't decent I'll tell ye thot. 
 For young gels to dance in Foxy Trot, 
 And to see 'em wiggle and twrist and bow. 
 To any young dude who show 'em how, — 
 My land sakes it makes me hot 
 To see young gels doin' Foxy Trot." 
 
"THE HAMMER'S SONG" 
 
 Dang, ding! Dang, ding! 
 Hear the mighty anvil's ring. 
 Bringing sparks at every swing, 
 Like so many diamonds cling 
 'Round the anvil in a ring. 
 Fitting spot for any king. 
 
 Dang, dingi Dang, ding! 
 
 Dang, ding! Dang, ding! 
 Oh, what a source of delight, 
 All day long, from morn to night, 
 Never too heavy, never too light; 
 Always cheery, always bright. 
 How they echo from morn to night. 
 
 Dang, ding! Dang, ding! 
 
 Dang, ding! Dang, ding! 
 See the bright sparklers at play, 
 Nov^r they show^er, now^ they spray; 
 Now they form into rainbow^ rays. 
 Always merry, always gay, 
 Singing their songs the livelong day. 
 
 Dang, ding! Dang, ding! 
 
"PAT O'BRIEN'S LAST FIGHT" 
 
 Whist ye Spalpeen and rade a loin 
 
 Uv the midnight stunt of Pat O'Broin. 
 
 Sure 'twuz in nineteen hoondird an' ninety-foive, 
 
 But divil a mon is there yet aloive 
 
 Who can tell ye the day or the toime 
 
 Whin Pat klim to the top of an old red barn 
 
 Riddy to shout at the first alarm 
 
 And yell as only an Irishman can 
 
 If the spook of Mike Casey should wave wan hand 
 
 And start a young war of his own. 
 
 Pat put wan lanthrun on an ould fince post 
 
 To kape him koompanny wid Casey's ghost, 
 
 Thin put tw^o lanthruns on a two-be-twice 
 
 Of that ould rid barn to skeer the mice 
 
 Should they come to ■worry Pat. 
 
 Naow Pat didn't think mooch of yer aould rid tape 
 
 Which previnted a mon from takin' a slape 
 
 Ef he is worried ■wid toil and a keg of beer 
 
 Which he drank at a wake for Casey's cheer. 
 
 So begorra he wint to slape. 
 
 Wid his poipe in his mouth and hands on his head 
 Never a bit did Pat keer for the livin' er dead, 
 So he sprawled on the roof and sank into slape 
 And the Spirit of Casey dared him to lape 
 To the ground for wan more foight. 
 Now Pat O'Brien sure loved a good foight. 
 Far he could foight all day and foight all night. 
 And no livin' creature could make him a dare 
 That wouldn't find Pat wid the goods right there 
 Wid a whoop and his good right arm. 
 
 So seein' Moike Casey 'wance more dancin' 'round 
 
 And Spoilin' fer a lovely old foight on the ground, 
 
 It made his blood boil wid illigent delight 
 
 To join in the shindig of Casey and foight 
 
 And settle the question right thin. 
 
 Pat niver could tell to the day he wuz dead 
 
 Who put all thim naydles and pins in his head. 
 
 But the last he raymimbers w^uz givin' a scraych 
 
 And jumpin' at Casey who stood within raych 
 
 Wid an ugly old grin on his mug. 
 
 But the naybors who found Pat half livin' an' half dead 
 
 Wid ten broken ribs, wan arm, ■wan head. 
 
 All say he ■wuz smilin' a bootiful smile 
 
 And talkin' wid Casey his friend all the while 
 
 And beggin' him to stand up an' foight. 
 
 We dressed Pat fer his wake nixt day 
 
 And called all the naybors and friends in to pray 
 
 For the soul of Mike Casey who died ■wance before 
 
 And the soul of O'Brien w^ho wuz lavin' this shore 
 
 To hunt for each other and foight. 
 
"MY MOTHER'S SONGS" 
 
 I long once more to hear the songs 
 
 My mother sang to me, 
 When quiet evening shadows fell 
 
 Across the earth and sea. 
 Then how her dear sweet voice would sing 
 
 In accents soft and low^, 
 While sitting on her dear old knees 
 
 She rocked me to-and-fro. 
 
 And when the hours of childish toil 
 
 Had rushed the day along, 
 I climbed upon her waiting knees. 
 
 And claimed my sleepy song; 
 Then how her dear old arms would fold 
 
 Me tight within' love's glow. 
 And sing to me those dear old songs — 
 
 Those songs of long ago. 
 
 And when the hour of toil was o'er 
 
 She met me at the gate, 
 A.nd kissed a%vay the marks of toil, 
 
 'Twas kind old mother's trait; 
 But now that dear, sweet voice is hushed. 
 
 And ne'er again will sing 
 The songs of love that charmed my heart, 
 
 And so much pleasures bring. 
 
 "THE GRIM REAPER" 
 
 'I stealthily creep in the midnight hours, 
 
 I walk in the light of mid-day. 
 But wherever, w^henever my touch is felt 
 
 A spirit is whisked away. 
 I spare not those of beautious form 
 
 The aged, the rich or poor, 
 My voice is firm, my w^ill is strong, 
 
 My aim is steady and sure. 
 1 pity the youth and spare a few 
 
 To fulfill their Master's call. 
 But soon will I come a Reaper grim 
 
 To garner them one and all." 
 
"MOTHERS OF MEN" 
 
 Mothers of men; Oh, mothers of men! 
 
 Impossible are words of tongue or pen. 
 
 To say what wealth in dollars and cents 
 
 Or how many worlds could recompense 
 
 You for the birth of one little child. 
 
 You w^ho have passed through the valley of death. 
 
 You who would share with that child your last breath, 
 
 You who have guarded that child -with your life. 
 
 You viT^ho have fought off danger and strife. 
 
 You w^ho have made life worth while. 
 
 Mothers of men, dear mothers of men! 
 How much does the world owe you when 
 You meekly submit to Nature's first law, 
 By bringing to earth a child w^ithout flaw. 
 And perfected God's own plan. 
 God in His infinite all-wise way. 
 Certainly blessed the earth on the day 
 When He gave you the power of Motherhood; 
 A power the test of Centuries hath stood. 
 And will stand as long as the life of MAN. 
 
 "LAUGH AND BE GAY" 
 
 Laugh and the world laughs with you. 
 
 Weep and you weep alone. 
 For all in this world have their troubles 
 
 With no wish to hear others bemoan. 
 
 This life is only a gamble , 
 
 A game that we play against Fate, 
 
 With Death in the offing as Umpire, 
 
 Life loses, Death claims the great stake. 
 
 No matter what troubles assail us 
 !t is better to smile and be gay. 
 
 Then your troubles vyrill vanish like Mirages— 
 Silver-lined be the clouds of the day. 
 
 Smiles are the greatest blessings 
 To the forlorn a w^elcome release, 
 
 Laughing brings sunshine through darkness- 
 'Tis a cure-all for every disease. 
 
 Live, laugh and be merry. 
 
 For tomorrovvr you may die. 
 Don't whine and bemoan your misfortune. 
 
 Remember a cow^ard don't Try. 
 
"WHAT OF THE FUTURE?" 
 
 Why do we worry and wonder and fret 
 About the future beyond the grave. 
 
 When by living this Ufe to meet grim death 
 Is all that our soul doth crave? 
 
 If we are true to ourselves and true to our soul 
 
 We rob death of all of its sting, 
 And when the time comes to leave this earth life 
 
 We gladly step forward and sing. 
 
 Stepping forward -with songs of rejoicing 
 That our name is the next on the roll 
 
 To be called from this w^orld of sorrows 
 To enter the home of the Soul. 
 
 "OUR DUTY" 
 
 If I have cheered a despondent heart, 
 Helped soothed and eased the pain, 
 
 I feel that I've been some use on earth 
 That my life has not lived in vain. 
 
 If I have shown some sinful soul 
 
 The straight and narrow way, 
 I feel that God w^ill reward my deed 
 
 When 1 am called for the Judgment day. 
 
 My duty is love for my fellowman. 
 Giving succor to those in distress 
 
 With kind words here and bright smiles there 
 Casting sunbeams upon the oppressed. 
 
 "I CANNOT SING" 
 
 I cannot sing those dear old songs 
 That we sang in days gone by. 
 
 For now my heart is weary 
 
 And each note I sing is a sigh. 
 
 1 cannot forget at evening time, 
 As shadows stole down the dell 
 
 Our hearts broke forth in joyous songs 
 As we list to the evening bells. 
 
 I cannot forget our childhood. 
 Or forget those happy times 
 
 When sitting in the twilight hours 
 We echoed those dear sweet chimes. 
 
 Those dear old songs we used to sing 
 With voices sweet and clear. 
 
 Were songs of love and happiness 
 And of friends we loved so dear. 
 
"MEDITATION" 
 
 What an awful thing seems death, yet ho%v secure 
 
 Is the life we live beyond the grave if here our lives are pure. 
 
 God in his w^ondrous wisdom plucks here and there a flower, 
 
 That each may sleep to wake again to praise his Infinite power. 
 
 Consider the infant who knows no sin nor death. 
 
 But comes to earth a precious pearl — a rose with perfumed 
 
 breath 
 Wafting about us one harmonious chord of love. 
 Pointing out and guiding our feet to eternal life above. 
 We grieve when its life departs us, but we mourn our loss in 
 
 vain, 
 For only joy should fill our hearts with hopes to meet again. 
 Pause, meditate, and picture in your own mind's eye, 
 Will your life be pain or eternal joy if this hour you should die? 
 
 "MY HOME IN THE DEEP" 
 
 Oh, my home is the floor of the deep, 
 
 As wild waves over me sweep. 
 
 Where they churn and boil 
 
 In a mad turmoil 
 
 On the surface how madly they leap; 
 
 But dov^rn here we have only peace 
 
 Of the kind that shall never more cease. 
 
 Life is just one sweet dream 
 
 In our submarine. 
 
 As we glide o'er the floor of the deep. 
 
 Oh, come ride with me under the sea. 
 And learn what it means to be free 
 From all strife up above, 
 
 While down here all is love 
 
 Oh, come try a trip here with me. 
 
 On the top where the loud thunders roll. 
 
 And storms drive your ship from her goal. 
 
 Where the tallest masts crash 
 
 To the lightning's flash, 
 
 Down here is the place then to be. 
 
 "NEWS OF THE BELLS" 
 
 Ring aloud ye sweet-toned bells, 
 
 Sweetest music your glad news tells 
 
 Peace has come on earth again, 
 
 Peace good -yvill among men; 
 
 Join the millions trumpets sound. 
 
 News that spread the wrhole world 'round, 
 
 Hearts were saddened, now^ are gladdened 
 
 By your joyful nev\rs, Amen. 
 
 Ring ye bells, ring out today. 
 Freedom's Peace has come to stay. 
 Shout aloud that Peace, sweet Peace, 
 Comes to earth to ne'er more cease: 
 Over the top of the battle's smoke — 
 Out of the trenches where gases choke, 
 Out of the din of the battle's Sin, 
 Peace brings sweet release. 
 
"DON'T CRITICISE 
 
 It is never best to criticise 
 
 What other people do. 
 It's best your words should sympathize 
 
 Lest harsh words you may rue. 
 
 If you can say commending words. 
 Then say them loud and long, 
 
 But it's better you are never heard, 
 Than chant the Critic's song. 
 
 Those who dwell in a house of glass 
 Should never throw a stone. 
 
 Lest other folks may knock your class 
 And tumble down your home. 
 
 Try to see the better side 
 
 Of the other fellow's life. 
 He may minimize the faults you hide 
 
 When other's words run rife. 
 
 "A MOTHER'S SACRIFICE" 
 
 (Dedicated to Mrs. Alice Dodd in honor of her son, Corporal James B. 
 Gresham, the first American soldier killed by the Germans in France, 
 at 3 A.M., November 3, 1917.) 
 
 I. 
 Our Nation called, I gave my boy 
 
 With a cheerful free good will, 
 And tho' he has died a soldier's death. 
 
 His spirit is with us still. 
 And knowing my boy as none others know, 
 
 I am sure my poor brave son 
 Would never care to have his mother wear 
 
 Deep mourning for her lost one. 
 II. 
 God has thought best to call my boy 
 
 Among the first of this great world-war 
 To give up his home, his friends, his life 
 
 Now his name shall be known near and far. 
 I know my tears flow thick and fast 
 
 But they are only tears of joy. 
 For I know that my son would not have me don 
 
 Deep mourning for my dear boy. 
 III. 
 I am sure in the land you tried to help 
 
 There is some mother good and brave. 
 Who w^ill think of your mother that cannot come 
 
 To scatter bright flowers on your grave. 
 Sleep on dear son, in a far-off land. 
 
 In the sleep of Eternal rest. 
 Although grief I bear, your mother will wear. 
 
 The colors her boy loved best. 
 IV. 
 Our Nation needs this sacrifice 
 
 We mothers are called to give 
 And God, by His infinite holy will. 
 
 Says who is to die or live. 
 Tho' my sorrow is greater than I can bear. 
 
 Yet will I smile with pride and joy, 
 
 It shall never be said I covered my head 
 
 With crepe for my dear brave boy. 
 
liiS?"^ °^ CONGRESS 
 
 ■li 
 
 COPYRIGHT 1918 BY 
 J. ARTHUR MULLIGAN