Here's the glorious land of Freedom! Here's the milk and honey goal For the peasant out of Russia, for the long-subjected Pole.

It is here the sons of Italy and men of Austria turn For the comfort of their bodies and the wages they can earn.

And with all that men complain of, and with all that goes amiss, There's no happier, better nation on the world's broad face than this.

So I'm thinking when I listen to the wails of discontent, And some foreign disbeliever spreads his evil sentiment, That the breed of hate and envy that is sowing sin and shame In this glorious land of Freedom should go back from whence it came.

And I hold it is the duty, rich or poor, of every man Who enjoys this country's bounty to be all American.

A Boy and His Dog

A boy and his dog make a glorious pair: No better friendship is found anywhere, For they talk and they walk and they run and they play, And they have their deep secrets for many a day; And that boy has a comrade who thinks and who feels, Who walks down the road with a dog at his heels.

He may go where he will and his dog will be there, May revel in mud and his dog will not care; Faithful he'll stay for the slightest command And bark with delight at the touch of his hand; Oh, he owns a treasure which n.o.body steals, Who walks down the road with a dog at his heels.

No other can lure him away from his side; He's proof against riches and station and pride; Fine dress does not charm him, and flattery's breath Is lost on the dog, for he's faithful to death; He sees the great soul which the body conceals-- Oh, it's great to be young with a dog at your heels!

"Wait Till Your Pa Comes Home"

"Wait till your Pa comes home!" Oh, dear!

What a dreadful threat for a boy to hear.

Yet never a boy of three or four But has heard it a thousand times or more.

"Wait till your Pa comes home, my lad, And see what you'll get for being bad,

"Wait till your Pa comes home, you scamp!

You've soiled the walls with your fingers damp, You've tracked the floor with your muddy feet And fought with the boy across the street; You've torn your clothes and you look a sight!

But wait till your Pa comes home to-night."

Now since I'm the Pa of that daily threat Which paints me as black as a thing of jet I rise in protest right here to say I won't be used in so fierce a way; No child of mine in the evening gloam Shall be afraid of my coming home.

I want him waiting for me at night With eyes that glisten with real delight; When it's right that punished my boy should be I don't want the job postponed for me; I want to come home to a round of joy And not to frighten a little boy.

"Wait till your Pa comes home!" Oh, dear, What a dreadful threat for a boy to hear.

Yet that is ever his Mother's way Of saving herself from a bitter day; And well she knows in the evening gloam He won't be hurt when his Pa comes home.

Nothing to Laugh At

'Taint nothin' to laugh at as I can see!

If you'd been stung by a b.u.mble bee, An' your nose wuz swelled an' it smarted, too, You wouldn't want people to laugh at you.

If you had a lump that wuz full of fire, Like you'd been touched by a red hot wire, An' your nose spread out like a load of hay, You wouldn't want strangers who come your way To ask you to let 'em see the place An' laugh at you right before your face.

What's funny about it, I'd like to know?

It isn't a joke to be hurted so!

An' how wuz I ever on earth to tell 'At the pretty flower which I stooped to smell In our backyard wuz the very one Which a bee wuz busily working on?

An' jus' as I got my nose down there, He lifted his foot an' kicked for fair, An' he planted his stinger right into me, But it's nothin' to laugh at as I can see.

I let out a yell an' my Maw came out To see what the trouble wuz all about.

She says from my shriek she wuz sure 'at I Had been struck by a motor car pa.s.sin' by; But when she found what the matter wuz She laughed just like ever'body does An' she made me stand while she poked about To pull his turrible stinger out.

An' my Pa laughed, too, when he looked at me, But it's nothin' to laugh at, as I can see.

My Maw put witch hazel on the spot To take down the swellin' but it has not.

It seems to git bigger as time goes by An' I can't see good out o' this one eye; An' it hurts clean down to my very toes Whenever I've got to blow my nose.

An' all I can say is when this gits well There ain't any flowers I'll stoop to smell.

I'm through disturbin' a b.u.mble bee, But it's nothin' to laugh at, as I can see.

No Room for Hate

We have room for the man with an honest dream, With his heart on fire and his eyes agleam; We have room for the man with a purpose true, Who comes to our sh.o.r.es to start life anew, But we haven't an inch of s.p.a.ce for him Who comes to plot against life and limb.

We have room for the man who will learn our ways, Who will stand by our Flag in its troubled days; We have room for the man who will till the soil, Who will give his hands to a fair day's toil, But we haven't an inch of s.p.a.ce to spare For the breeder of hatred and black despair.

We have room for the man who will neighbor here, Who will keep his hands and his conscience clear; We have room for the man who'll respect our laws And pledge himself to our country's cause, But we haven't an inch of land to give To the alien breed that will alien live.

Against the vicious we bar the gate!

This is no breeding ground for hate.

This is the land of the brave and free And such we pray it shall always be.

We have room for men who will love our flag, But none for the friends of the scarlet rag.

The Boy and the Flag

I want my boy to love his home, His Mother, yes, and me: I want him, wheresoe'er he'll roam, With us in thought to be.

I want him to love what is fine, Nor let his standards drag, But, Oh! I want that boy of mine To love his country's flag!

I want him when he older grows To love all things of earth; And Oh! I want him, when he knows, To choose the things of worth.

I want him to the heights to climb Nor let ambition lag; But, Oh! I want him all the time To love his country's flag.

I want my boy to know the best, I want him to be great; I want him in Life's distant West, Prepared for any fate.

I want him to be simple, too, Though clever, ne'er to brag, But, Oh! I want him, through and through, To love his country's flag.

I want my boy to be a man, And yet, in distant years, I pray that he'll have eyes that can Not quite keep back the tears When, coming from some foreign sh.o.r.e And alien scenes that f.a.g, Borne on its native breeze, once more He sees his country's flag.