"When it's _got_ to be,"--like! always say,
As I notice the years whiz past,
And know each day is a yesterday,
When we size it up, at last,--
Same as I said when my _boyhood_ went
And I knowed _we_ had to quit,--
"It's _got_ to be, and it's _goin'_ to be!"--
So I said "Good-by" to _it_.
It's _got_ to be, and it's _goin'_ to be!
So at least I always try
To kind o' say in a hearty way,--
"Well, it's _got_ to be. Good-by!"
The time jes melts like a late, last snow,--
When it's _got_ to be, it melts!
But I aim to keep a cheerful mind,
Ef I can't keep nothin' else!
I knowed, when I come to twenty-one,
That I'd soon be twenty-two,--
So I waved one hand at the soft young man,
And I said, "Good-by to _you_!"
It's _got_ to be, and it's _goin'_ to be!
So at least I always try
To kind o' say, in a cheerful way,--
"Well, it's _got_ to be.--Good-by!"
They kep' a-goin', the years and years,
Yet still I smiled and smiled,--
For I'd said "Good-by" to my single life,
And I now had a wife and child:
Mother and son and the father--one,--
Till, last, on her bed of pain,
She jes' smiled up, like she always done,--
And I said "Good-by" again.
It's _got_ to be, and it's _goin'_ to be!
So at least I always try
To kind o' say, in a humble way,--
"Well, it's _got_ to be. Good-by!"
[Illustration]
And then my boy--as he growed to be
Almost a man in size,--
Was more than a pride and joy to me,
With his mother's smilin' eyes.--
He gimme the slip, when the War broke out,
And followed me. And I
Never knowed till the first right's end ...
I found him, and then, ... "Good-by."
It's _got_ to be, and it's _goin'_ to be!
So at least I always try
To kind o' say, in a patient way,
"Well, it's _got_ to be. Good-by!"
I have said, "Good-by!--Good-by!--Good-by!"
With my very best good will,
All through life from the first,--and I
Am a cheerful old man still:
But it's _got_ to end, and it's _goin'_ to end!
And this is the thing I'll do,--
With my last breath I will laugh, O Death,
And say "Good-by" to _you_!...
It's _got_ to be! And again I say,--
When his old scythe circles high,
I'll laugh--of course, in the kindest way,--
As I say "Good-by!--Good-by!"
[Illustration]
"OUT OF REACH?"
You think them "out of reach," your dead?
Nay, by my own dead, I deny
Your "out of reach."--Be comforted:
'Tis not so far to die.
O by their dear remembered smiles
And outheld hands and welcoming speech,
They wait for us, thousands of miles
This side of "out-of-reach."
[Illustration]
"A BRAVE REFRAIN"
When snow is here, and the trees look weird,
And the knuckled twigs are gloved with frost;
When the breath congeals in the drover's beard,
And the old pathway to the barn is lost;
When the rooster's crow is sad to hear,
And the stamp of the stabled horse is vain,
And the tone of the cow-bell grieves the ear--
O then is the time for a brave refrain!
When the gears hang stiff on the harness-peg,
And the tallow gleams in frozen streaks;
And the old hen stands on a lonesome leg,
And the pump sounds hoarse and the handle squeaks;
When the woodpile lies in a shrouded heap,
And the frost is scratched from the window-pane
And anxious eyes from the inside peep--
O then is the time for a brave refrain!
When the ax-helve warms at the chimney-jamb,
And hob-nailed shoes on the hearth below,
And the house-cat curls in a slumber calm,
And the eight-day clock ticks loud and slow;
When the harsh broom-handle jabs the ceil
'Neath the kitchen-loft, and the drowsy brain
Sniffs the breath of the morning meal--
O then is the time for a brave refrain!