Old Mister Laughter Comes a-grinnin' at my door, Singin': "Don't go after money When you've got enough and more."

Singin': "Laugh with me this mornin'

An' be happy while you may.

What's the use of riches If they never let you play?"

Old Mister Laughter Comes a-grinnin' all the time, Singin' happy songs o' gladness In a good old-fashioned rhyme.

Singin': "Keep the smiles a-goin', Till they write your epitaph, And don't let fame or fortune Ever steal away your laugh."

A Family Row

I freely confess there are good friends of mine, With whom we are often invited to dine, Who get on my nerves so that I cannot eat Or stay with my usual ease in my seat; For I know that if something should chance to occur Which he may not like or which doesn't please her, That we'll have to try to be pleasant somehow While they stage a fine little family row.

Now a family row is a private affair, And guests, I am certain, should never be there; I have freely maintained that a man and his wife Cannot always agree on their journey through life, But they ought not to bicker and wrangle and shout And show off their rage when their friends are about; It takes all the joy from a party, I vow, When some couple starts up a family row.

It's a difficult job to stay cool and polite When your host and your hostess are staging a fight: It's hard to talk sweet to a dame with a frown Or smile at a man that you want to knock down.

You sit like a dummy and look far away, But you just can't help hearing the harsh things they say.

It ruins the dinner, I'm telling you now, When your host and your hostess get mixed in a row.

The Lucky Man

Luck had a favor to bestow And wondered where to let it go.

"No lazy man on earth," said she, "Shall get this happy gift from me.

"I will not pa.s.s it to the man Who will not do the best he can.

"I will not make this splendid gift To one who has not practiced thrift.

"It shall not benefit deceit, Nor help the man who's played the cheat.

"He that has failed to fight with pluck Shall never know the G.o.ddess Luck.

"I'll look around a bit to see What man has earned some help from me."

She found a man whose hands were soiled Because from day to day he'd toiled.

He'd dreamed by night and worked by day To make life's contest go his way.

He'd kept his post and daily slaved, And something of his wage he'd saved.

He'd clutched at every circ.u.mstance Which might have been his golden chance.

The G.o.ddess smiled and then, kerslap!

She dropped her favor in his lap.

Lonely

They're all away And the house is still, And the dust lies thick On the window sill, And the stairway creaks In a solemn tone This taunting phrase: "You are all alone."

They've gone away And the rooms are bare; I miss his cap From a parlor chair.

And I miss the toys In the lonely hall, But most of any I miss his call.

I miss the shouts And the laughter gay Which greeted me At the close of day, And there isn't a thing In the house we own But sobbingly says: "You are all alone."

It's only a house That is mine to know, An empty house That is cold with woe; Like a prison grim With its bars of black, And it won't be home Till they all come back.

The Cookie Jar

You can rig up a house with all manner of things, The prayer rugs of sultans and princes and kings; You can hang on its walls the old tapestries rare Which some dead Egyptian once treasured with care; But though costly and gorgeous its furnishings are, It must have, to be homelike, an old cookie jar.

There are just a few things that a home must possess, Besides all your money and all your success-- A few good old books which some loved one has read, Some trinkets of those whose sweet spirits have fled, And then in the pantry, not shoved back too far For the hungry to get to, that old cookie jar.

Let the house be a mansion, I care not at all!

Let the finest of pictures be hung on each wall, Let the carpets be made of the richest velour, And the chairs only those which great wealth can procure, I'd still want to keep for the joy of my flock That homey, old-fashioned, well-filled cookie crock.

Like the love of the Mother it shines through our years; It has soothed all our hurts and has dried away tears; It has paid us for toiling; in sorrow or joy, It has always shown kindness to each girl and boy; And I'm sorry for people, whoever they are, Who live in a house where there's no cookie jar.

Little Wrangles

Lord, we've had our little wrangles, an' we've had our little bouts; There's many a time, I reckon, that we have been on the outs; My tongue's a trifle hasty an' my temper's apt to fly, An' Mother, let me tell you, has a sting in her reply, But I couldn't live without her, an' it's plain as plain can be That in fair or sunny weather Mother needs a man like me.

I've banged the door an' muttered angry words beneath my breath, For at times when she was scoldin' Mother's plagued me most to death, But we've always laughed it over, when we'd both cooled down a bit, An' we never had a difference but a smile would settle it.

An' if such a thing could happen, we could share life's joys an' tears An' live right on together for another thousand years.

Some men give up too easy in the game o' married life; They haven't got the courage to be worthy of a wife; An' I've seen a lot o' women that have made their lives a mess, 'Cause they couldn't bear the burdens that are, mixed with happiness.

So long as folks are human they'll have many faults that jar, An' the way to live with people is to take them as they are.

We've been forty years together, good an' bad, an' rain an' shine; I've forgotten Mother's faults now an' she never mentions mine.

In the days when sorrow struck us an' we shared a common woe We just leaned upon each other, an' our weakness didn't show.

An' I learned how much I need her an' how tender she can be An' through it, maybe, Mother saw the better side o' me.