My Paw says that it used to be, Whenever the minister came for tea, 'At they sat up straight in their chairs at night An' put all their common things out o' sight, An' n.o.body cracked a joke or grinned, But they talked o' the way that people sinned, An' the burnin' fires that would cook you sure When you came to die, if you wasn't pure-- Such a gloomy affair it used to be Whenever the minister came for tea.

But now when the minister comes to call I get him out for a game of ball, And you'd never know if you'd see him bat, Without any coat or vest or hat, That he is a minister, no, siree!

He looks like a regular man to me.

An' he knows just how to go down to the dirt For the grounders hot without gettin' hurt-- An' when they call us, both him an' me Have to git washed up again for tea.

Our minister says if you'll just play fair You'll be fit for heaven or anywhere; An' fun's all right if your hands are clean An' you never cheat an' you don't get mean.

He says that he never has understood Why a feller can't play an' still be good.

An' my Paw says that he's just the kind Of a minister that he likes to find-- So I'm always tickled as I can be Whenever our minister comes for tea.

The Age of Ink

Swiftly the changes come. Each day Sees some lost beauty blown away And some new touch of lovely grace Come into life to take its place.

The little babe that once we had One morning woke a roguish lad; The babe that we had put to bed Out of our arms and lives had fled.

Frocks vanished from our castle then, Ne'er to be worn or seen again, And in his knickerbocker pride He boasted pockets at each side And stored them deep with various things-- Stones, tops and jacks and-colored strings; Then for a time we claimed the joy Of calling him our little boy.

Brief was the reign of such a spell.

One morning sounded out a bell; With tears I saw her brown eyes swim And knew that it was calling him.

Time, the harsh master of us all, Was bidding him to heed his call; This shadow fell across life's pool-- Our boy was on his way to school.

Our little boy! And still we dreamed, For such a little boy he seemed!

And yesterday, with eyes aglow Like one who has just come to know Some great and unexpected bliss, He bounded in, announcing this: "Oh, Dad! Oh, Ma! Say, what d'you think?

This year we're going to write with ink!"

Here was a change I'd not foreseen, Another step from what had been.

I paused a little while to think About this older age of ink-- What follows this great step, thought I, What next shall come as the time goes by?

And something said: "His pathway leads Unto the day he'll write with deeds."

No Use Sighin'

No use frettin' when the rain comes down, No use grievin' when the gray clouds frown, No use sighin' when the wind blows strong, No use wailin' when the world's all wrong; Only thing that a man can do Is work an' wait till the sky gets blue.

No use mopin' when you lose the game, No use sobbin' if you're free from shame, No use cryin' when the harm is done, Just keep on tryin' an' workin' on; Only thing for a man to do, Is take the loss an' begin anew.

No use weepin' when the milk is spilled, No use growlin' when your hopes are killed, No use kickin' when the lightnin' strikes Or the floods come along an' wreck your d.y.k.es; Only thing for a man right then Is to grit his teeth an' start again.

For it's how life is an' the way things are That you've got to face if you travel far; An' the storms will come an' the failures, too, An' plans go wrong spite of all you do; An' the only thing that will help you win, Is the grit of a man and a stern set chin.

No Children!

No children in the house to play-- It must be hard to live that way!

I wonder what the people do When night comes on and the work is through, With no glad little folks to shout, No eager feet to race about, No youthful tongues to chatter on About the joy that's been and gone?

The house might be a castle fine, But what a lonely place to dine!

No children in the house at all, No fingermarks upon the wall, No corner where the toys are piled-- Sure indication of a child.

No little lips to breathe the prayer That G.o.d shall keep you in His care, No glad caress and welcome sweet When night returns you to your street; No little lips a kiss to give-- Oh, what a lonely way to live!

No children in the house! I fear We could not stand it half a year.

What would we talk about at night, Plan for and work with all our might, Hold common dreams about and find True union of heart and mind, If we two had no greater care Than what we both should eat and wear?

We never knew love's brightest flame Until the day the baby came.

And now we could not get along Without their laughter and their song.

Joy is not bottled on a shelf, It cannot feed upon itself, And even love, if it shall wear, Must find its happiness in care; Dull we'd become of mind and speech Had we no little ones to teach.

No children in the house to play!

Oh, we could never live that way!

The Loss Is Not So Great

It is better as it is: I have failed but I can sleep; Though the pit I now am in is very dark and deep I can walk to-morrow's streets and can meet to-morrow's men Unashamed to face their gaze as I go to work again.

I have lost the hope I had; in the dust are all my dreams, But my loss is not so great or so dreadful as it seems; I made my fight and though I failed I need not slink away For I do not have to fear what another man may say.

They may call me over-bold, they may say that I was frail; They may tell I dared too much and was doomed at last to fail; They may talk my battle o'er and discuss it as they choose, But I did no brother wrong--I'm the only one to lose.

It is better as it is: I have kept my self-respect.

I can walk to-morrow's streets meeting all men head erect.

No man can charge his loss to a pledge I did not keep; I have no shame to regret: I have failed, but I can sleep.

Dan McGann Declares Himself

Said Dan McGann to a foreign man who worked at the selfsame bench, "Let me tell you this," and for emphasis he flourished a Stilson wrench; "Don't talk to me of the bourjoissee, don't open your mouth to speak Of your socialists or your anarchists, don't mention the bolsheveek, For I've had enough of this foreign stuff, I'm sick as a man can be Of the speech of hate, and I'm tellin' you straight that this is the land for me!

"If you want to brag, just take that flag an' boast of its field o' blue, An' praise the dead an' the blood they shed for the peace o' the likes o' you.

Enough you've raved," and once more he waved his wrench in a forceful way, "O' the cunning creed o' some Russian breed; I stand for the U.S.A.!

I'm done with your fads, and your wild-eyed lads. Don't flourish your rag o' red Where I can see or by night there'll be tall candles around your bed.

"So tip your hat to a flag like that! Thank G.o.d for its stripes an' stars!

Thank G.o.d you're here where the roads are clear, away from your kings and czars.