The Dog.
Of all the beasts beneath the sun
There is no other, not a one,
That clings to man in sweet and bitter
As faithful as the canine critter.
When fortune smiles upon its crest
And all your toil is richly blest
The loyal dog is near at hand
For slightest duty or command.
When poverty comes stalking in
And you have lost your precious tin,
The good old dog is just the same
In dire distress or glittering fame.
In tattered rags or spick and span
He has a truer heart than man,
And when you meet most keen defeat
His sympathy is there to greet.
When you are old and had your day,
With feeble limbs and head of gray,
And angels come to take you home,
The good old dog is last to roam.
He'll watch beneath the stars at night
Beside your grave a sadful sight,
And wait and wait for many a day,
When faded flowers have blown away.
A dog's great love is most sublime,
It lingers near the word divine,
And intertwines from him above,
For dog turned around is God and love.
* * * * *
The Booze.
Oh the ones who drink the booze,
You can tell it by their flues,
The torrid heat within flames up the nose.
At first they're moderate drinkers,
And become the same as thinkers,
And what a sight for pity ere the close.
Chorus.
The booze, the booze,
Any way you choose,
No matter how you figure it you lose.
How many homes that suffer,
When they shelter such a duffer,
Whose presence causes heartaches, tears and blows,
But you can always tell 'em
If you can't then you can smell 'em,
But if all the signs should fail you there's the nose.
If you only take a drop
You know you'll never stop,
Don't you realize that dynamite explodes,
Better take an inventory,
Before you're blown, no not to glory,
But to where they ignite quickly, Jimmy Rhodes.
What's the matter with your clothes,
Or do you for artists pose,
Don't you ever meditate or think
There's enough loam in your hair
To rob an acre bare,
Take an invoice before another drink.
Stop, my friend, don't be a slave,
Do not fill a drunkard's grave,
Be a man from birth until close,
Come to him, the Galilean,
He will make your future clean,
He's the one to take the add from off your nose.
* * * * *
What's the Difference?
It matters not, so some folks say,
Where rests the form when 'neath the clay.
There is no choice when the heart is still,
Some always say and always will.
This may be true when we're forgot,
And aught remains to mark the spot,
But a silent stone that stands all time,
With letters cold to tell mankind.
Some may not care where rest their bones,
In foreign lands or near their homes,
Where tender hearts can shed the tear
And bathe the roses on the bier.
I'd rather rest 'neath shady trees,
That beautify and kiss the breeze
With velvet grass spread over the plot,
With lilies and forget-me-not.
* * * * *
The Steering Wheel.
'Twas a party blithe and gay,
On a joy ride as they say,
Gliding many miles away from home.
Midnight long was by
They were coming in on high
When suddenly there was an awful moan.
The steering wheel went wrong, the papers said,
One was badly injured, three were dead.
The same old story neatly woven in a tale,
The sadness of the scene behind the vale,
And not a line or word to make you think,
What had put the wheel upon the blink.
The verdict of jury, so they say,
Said the steering wheel was loose and had too much play;
But by chance some people looking around,
Some real and newer evidence was found,
'Tis evidence you find and seldom fail
If you let the ribbon bottle tell the tale.
So in the name of justice, as I feel,
Why not exonerate the wheel.
* * * * *
Such High Taxes, Gee-Whilaker.
Meadow larks, as you have undoubtedly noticed, warble many different
songs. They sound like this to me: One says, "Here is your homesick
girl." Another, "Light the light, it is gone down." Another, "Here is
your English preacher." Another, "The smeeking smock bird," and others,
from which the following poem is written, say, "Such high taxes,
Gee-whilaker."
As I stood in the yard of our high taxed home,
And filled my lungs with pure ozone,
My eye went wandering far and nigh,
And I saw a meadow lark flitting by.
He flew to a post for a moment's rest,
And gazed a while both east and west,
And then soared on, going higher and higher,
Till he perched way up on the court house spire.
From a bird's eye view of quaint renown,
He sized up the modern Julesburg town,
The stand pipe built on the court house square,
Is an old eye sore with a record rare.
The power house hid from the passer by
Must been for economy, heat or pie?
The city sewer, electric lights,
Cement side-walks and high school sites,
Was picturesque and nice to heed,
But sad for the one that held the deed.
He raised his head as he ceased to note,
And out from the depths of his golden throat
His voice did peal as he said with a whirr,
Such high taxes, Gee-whilaker.
* * * * *
To the Mrs.
I am going to take a kiss,
And I know it's not a miss,
But before I miss my kisses,
I will take them from the Mrs.
Kisses from the dear old Mrs.
Are the sweetest kind of kisses.
But if the Misses kisses,
Then there will be kisses Mrs.
Just as long as Mrs. kisses,
There's no trouble with the Misses
But let the Misses kisses
And something's doing Misses Mrs.
* * * * *
Don't Procrastinate.
Don't wait till tomorrow,
For joy or sorrow,
And miss the golden today.
For every minute,
Your heart's not in it,
There's something slipping away.
'Twas Jesus who said,
'Ere his spirit fled,
On the cross at Calvary,
That he who had hope,
Need never grope,
For the better things to be.
So don't never worry,
And fret and flurry,
For things that's not for you,
But hammer away,
At life's forge today,
For things that are good and true.
* * * * *
Sister Mary.
Mary, I know not who
Has a truer heart than you.
Your's a life that does excell
For doing every duty well.
In this world of woman kind
A purer life I couldn't find,
If I looked my life time thru,
I would bring the crown to you.
I am proud to tell you, dear,
Your's has been a life of cheer,
Where every hardship, trial and sorrow,
Was sweetly met before tomorrow.
May God's blessing sweetly rest,
In a life so richly blessed
With kind words and cheerfulness,
For every heart that knew distress.
* * * * *
Yes.
'Twas underneath the columbine,
Where dearie said she would be mine,
My heart rejoiced at that glad word,
The sweetest one I ever heard.
I've wondered many times since then
How one word changes lives of men,
Some it makes and others breaks,
And others know they've made mistakes.
It gladdens some and saddens some,
It opens up the way to rum,
It fills the pen, the cells of jails,
It wags the tongue with many tales.
It fills the lawyer's purse with fees,
It crowds the courts with quick decrees,
It to the drug store many guide,
It fills the graves with suicide.
It pulls the trigger of the gun,
It breaks the heart of many a one,
It causes pain where joy should be,
It fills the home with misery.
It joins the short unto the tall,
It never heeds old wisdom's call,
It clasps the hands of slim and stout,
And makes a mess beyond a doubt.
It breaks the dishes on your head,
It makes you wish that you were dead,
It mixes father with the son,
It has no end when once begun.
It's no respecter of your right,
It gets you out at dead of night,
It makes its scars and many a whelt,
It makes you cuss T. Roosevelt.
It makes the Irish like the Dutch,
The black the brown the squaw and such.
It causes if the truth would tell,
A thing on earth you all know well.
So with all wisdom I'll confess,
Before you tackle this word yes,
Have these professions up in G,
Lawyer, preacher and M. D.
* * * * *
The Lay of the Last Hen.
'Twas yesterday the deed was done,
That made my heart feel like a ton,
When cruel fate held its sway,
And robbed my hen of her last lay.
The sympathy swelled in my breast,
For my old hen so long caressed,
Who stood by me for many years,
Thru joy and sorrow, mirth and tears.
When times were hard and crops were light,
There was to me no sweeter sight,
To get that egg and let it melt,
Underneath my gnawing pelt.
The tariff never worried her
She did her duty at one per,
Wilson, Taft or Roosevelt,
Never had a cause she felt.
She built the muscle in my arm,
She paid the taxes on the farm,
She kept the wolf from strolling in,
She clothed the kids from Kate to Win.
She always let the whole world know,
With joyful song in rain or snow,
That she'd performed a duty neat,
That man himself has never beat.
I couldn't help it, I'll confess,
The tears flowed freely, more or less,
When that dear form was tenderly laid,
Beneath the elm tree's pleasant shade.
Here's to the hen upon the nest,
That keeps the table, fills the guest,
Builds up the system, ne'er regrets
And brings results whene'er she sets.
* * * * *
The Dear Old Hod.
When I've labored hard all day,
And the supper's cleared away,
There's a joy before I nod,
When I load my dear old hod.
As the smoke curls in the air,
Chasing from me life's dull care,
I can lean far back and think,
And put the worry on the blink.
Here's to thee, Missouri cob,
Many years upon the job,
Your's a mission not all bad,
If you ease the load on dad.
* * * * *
Dear Old Kate.
I know I stayed a little late,
The last time that I courted Kate,
I had a speech I wished to try,
And how the hours hurried by.
The question that I wished to pop,
Would never let me have the flop,
My cheeks would burn, my throat get dry,
I was nearly hot enough to fry.
I guess I tried a dozen times,
I drilled myself in all the lines,
But when I reached the vital point,
The whole blame works got out of joint.
It made me mad and also sad,
I felt like going to the bad,
I'd practised long, out in the trees,
Just how to face her on my knees.
I'd hold the bough as Katie's hand,
And with the best at my command,
I'd bare my soul with pleading tears,
For her to join me all the years.
I guess I never would have won,
If Katie hadn't just for fun
Heard my appeal with silent feet,
And said, "Why, sure, you dear old sweet."
* * * * *
Tim.
Once I knew a man named Tim,
Thought a mighty lot of him,
For his goodness, heart and mind,
Were of such a loving kind.
Never heard him boast or tell,
Of the things he'd done so well:
Lips would kinda set with tension,
If his past you'd slightly mention.
Kinda made his face look sad,
Maybe some great grief he'd had,
But he'd pass it off and say,
Kinda looks like rain today.
Wasn't much past fifty-nine,
Led a life serene and fine,
Lived just on the edge of town,
Liked to have the folks look round.
Greatest chum of little tads,
Liked to humor all their fads,
Fixed their wagons, made them trains,
Soothed their many cares and pains.
Made no difference to Tim,
If you'd never heard of him,
He would always say, "Hello,"
Said his mother taught him so.
Worldly goods he hadn't much,
Never seemed to care for such,
Said he liked the Master's way,
Of doing things for just today.
Dear old Tim took sick one night,
Thought his spirit would take flight,
But we all just hurried in,
And it helped revive old Tim.
Said it made him awful glad,
Wished a larger house he had,
But we all said, get well, Tim,
Couldn't lose a man like him.
* * * * *
The Business Man.
Here is to the business man,
Who does the very best he can,
And pays to each their honest debt,
And don't forget it makes him sweat.
He labors from the morn till night,
With brain and muscle in the fight,
To keep his head above the stream,
When finances are not serene.
He's to the one you always go,
When life has pained you with a woe,
You know his purse is always free,
To lessen grief or misery.
You toss on him most carelessly,
The gratis job of town trustee,
And then you pass around the word,
He's just the man for the school board.
He helps to school your girls and boys,
He shares with you your pains and joys,
He helps to pay the preacher's bill,
And aids the churches with good will.
He has to pay his bills when due,
But if he asks the same of you,
You think your credit's met his fears,
And let it run along for years.
You let him long and look and look,
At your account upon the book,
And you'll admit if you are frank,
He pays your interest at the bank.
If he would say and tell you true,
When your account has long been due,
That ten per cent was charged to you,
You'd swear until the air was blue.
If he helps you, then why not him,
And don't keep sending off your tin,
But give it to your home merchants,
And keep the gloss from off their pants.
* * * * *
Falling Snow.
There's something in the falling snow,
That brings back years of long ago,
That makes you think of younger days,
Behind a span of gallant bays.
The frosty air, the rosy dames,
The secrets and the loving names,
Of days gone by long years ago,
Comes back today with falling snow.
The laughter pealed o'er rocks and trees,
The songs re-echoed with the breeze,
Of merry rides so bright and gay,
Are chasing thru my mind today.
The biting air with keen delight,
Puts crispness in the appetite,
And mother's pies of golden hue,
Soon faded like the morning dew.
And how I wish I could today,
Turn back the years the youthful way,
And drive the bays and see them go,
And blush with youth midst falling snow.