For his will must be obeyed Wheresoever baseball's played, Take his verdict as it's made-- Play the game!

Son of mine, beyond a doubt, Fate shall often call you "out,"

But keep on, with courage stout-- Play the game!

In the battlefield of men There'll come trying moments when You shall lose the verdict--then Play the game!

There's an umpire who shall say You have missed your greatest play, And shall dash your hopes away-- Play the game!

You must bow unto his will Though your chance it seems to kill, And you think he erred, but still Play the game!

For the Great Umpire above Sees what we see nothing of, By His wisdom and His love-- Play the game!

Keep your faith in Him although His grim verdicts hurt you so, At His Will we come and go-- Play the game!

WHEN THE YOUNG ARE GROWN

Once the house was lovely, but it's lonely here to-day, For time has come an' stained its walls an' called the young away; An' all that's left for mother an' for me till life is through Is to sit an' tell each other what the children used to do.

We couldn't keep 'em always an' we knew it from the start; We knew when they were babies that some day we'd have to part.

But the years go by so swiftly, an' the littlest one has flown, An' there's only me an' mother now left here to live alone.

Oh, there's just one consolation, as we're sittin' here at night, They've grown to men an' women, an' we brought 'em up all right; We've watched 'em as we've loved 'em an' they're splendid, every one, An' we feel the Lord won't blame us for the way our work was done.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _"When The Young Are Grown"_

_From a painting by_ ROBERT E. JOHNSTON.]

They're clean, an' kind an' honest, an' the world respects 'em, too; That's the dream of parents always, an' our dreams have all come true.

So although the house is lonely an' sometimes our eyes grow wet, We are proud of them an' happy an' we've nothing to regret.

THE BOY'S IDEAL

I must be fit for a child to play with, Fit for a youngster to walk away with; Fit for his trust and fit to be Ready to take him upon my knee; Whether I win or I lose my fight, I must be fit for my boy at night.

I must be fit for a child to come to, Speech there is that I must be dumb to; I must be fit for his eyes to see, He must find nothing of shame in me; Whatever I make of myself, I must Square to my boy's unfaltering trust.

I must be fit for a child to follow, Scorning the places where loose men wallow; Knowing how much he shall learn from me, I must be fair as I'd have him be; I must come home to him, day by day, Clean as the morning I went away.

I must be fit for a child's glad greeting, His are eyes that there is no cheating; He must behold me in every test, Not at my worst, but my very best; He must be proud when my life is done To have men know that he is my son.

JUST HALF OF THAT, PLEASE

Grandmother says when I pa.s.s her the cake: "Just half of that, please."

If I serve her the tenderest portion of steak: "Just half of that, please."

And be the dessert a rice pudding or pie, As I pa.s.s Grandma's share she is sure to reply, With the trace of a twinkle to light up her eye: "Just half of that, please."

I've cut down her portions but still she tells me: "Just half of that, please."

Though scarcely a mouthful of food she can see: "Just half of that, please."

If I pa.s.s her the chocolates she breaks one in two, There's nothing so small but a smaller will do, And she says, perhaps fearing she's taking from you: "Just half of that, please."

When at last Grandma leaves us the angels will hear: "Just half of that, please."

When with joys for the gentle and brave they appear: "Just half of that, please."

And for fear they may think she is selfish up there, Or is taking what may be a young angel's share, She will say with the loveliest smile she can wear: "Just half of that, please."

THE COMMON TOUCH

I would not be too wise--so very wise That I must sneer at simple songs and creeds, And let the glare of wisdom blind my eyes To humble people and their humble needs.

I would not care to climb so high that I Could never hear the children at their play, Could only see the people pa.s.sing by, Yet never hear the cheering words they say.

I would not know too much--too much to smile At trivial errors of the heart and hand, Nor be too proud to play the friend the while, And cease to help and know and understand.

I would not care to sit upon a throne, Or build my house upon a mountain-top.

Where I must dwell in glory all alone And never friend come in or poor man stop.

G.o.d grant that I may live upon this earth And face the tasks which every morning brings, And never lose the glory and the worth Of humble service and the simple things.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _"The Common Touch"_

_From a painting by_ HARVEY EMRICH.]

MARJORIE

The house is as it was when she was here; There's nothing changed at all about the place; The books she loved to read are waiting near As if to-morrow they would see her face; Her room remains the way it used to be, Here are the puzzles that she pondered on: Yet since the angels called for Marjorie The joyous spirit of the home has gone.

All things grew lovely underneath her touch, The room was bright because it knew her smile; From her the tiniest trinket gathered much, The cheapest toy became a thing worth while; Yet here are her possessions as they were, No longer joys to set the eyes aglow; To-day, as we, they seem to mourn for her, And share the sadness that is ours to know.

Half sobbing now, we put her games away, Because, dumb things, they cannot understand Why never more shall Marjorie come to play, And we have faith in G.o.d at our command.

These toys we smiled at once, now start our tears, They seem to wonder why they lie so still, They call her name, and will throughout the years-- G.o.d, strengthen us to bow unto Thy will.