The Path to Home Part 7

Pleasure's Signs

There's a b.u.mp on his brow and a smear on his cheek That is plainly the stain of his tears; At his neck there's a glorious sun-painted streak, The bronze of his happiest years.

Oh, he's battered and bruised at the end of the day, But smiling before me he stands, And somehow I like to behold him that way.

Yes, I like him with dirt on his hands.

Last evening he painfully limped up to me His tale of adventure to tell; He showed me a grime-covered cut on his knee, And told me the place where he fell.

His clothing was stained to the color of clay, And he looked to be n.o.body's lad, But somehow I liked to behold him that way, For it spoke of the fun that he'd had.

Let women-folk prate as they will of a boy Who is heedless of knickers and s.h.i.+rt; I hold that the badge of a young fellow's joy Are cheeks that are covered with dirt.

So I look for him nightly to greet me that way, His joys and misfortunes to tell, For I know by the signs that he wears of his play That the lad I'm so fond of is well.

Snooping 'Round

Last night I caught him on his knees and looking underneath the bed, And oh, the guilty look he wore, and oh, the stammered words he said, When I, pretending to be cross, said: "Hey, young fellow, what's your game?"

As if, back in the long ago, I hadn't also played the same; As if, upon my hands and knees, I hadn't many a time been found When, thinking of the Christmas Day, I'd gone upstairs to snoop around.

But there he stood and hung his head; the rascal knew it wasn't fair.

"I jes' was wonderin'," he said, "jes' what it was that's under there.

It's somepin' all wrapped up an' I thought mebbe it might be a sled, Becoz I saw a piece of wood 'at's stickin' out all painted red."

"If mother knew," I said to him, "you'd get a licking, I'll be bound, But just clear out of here at once, and don't you ever snoop around."

And as he scampered down the stairs I stood and chuckled to myself, As I remembered how I'd oft explored the topmost closet shelf.

It all came back again to me--with what a shrewd and cunning way I, too, had often sought to solve the mysteries of Christmas Day.

How many times my daddy, too, had come upstairs without a sound And caught me, just as I'd begun my clever scheme to snoop around.

And oh, I envied him his plight; I envied him the joy he feels Who knows that every drawer that's locked some treasure dear to him conceals; I envied him his Christmas fun and wished that it again were mine To seek to solve the mysteries by paper wrapped and bound by twine.

Some day he'll come to understand that all the time I stood and frowned, I saw a boy of years ago who also used to snoop around.

Bud Discusses Cleanliness

First thing in the morning, last I hear at night, Get it when I come from school: "My, you look a sight!

Go upstairs this minute, an' roll your sleeves up high An' give your hands a scrubbing and wipe 'em till they're dry!

Now don't stand there and argue, and never mind your tears!

And this time please remember to wash your neck and ears."

Can't see why ears grow on us, all crinkled like a sh.e.l.l, With lots of fancy carvings that make a feller yell Each time his Ma digs in them to get a speck of dirt, When plain ones would be easy to wash and wouldn't hurt.

And I can't see the reason why every time Ma nears, She thinks she's got to send me to wash my neck and ears.

I never wash to suit her; don't think I ever will.

If I was white as sister, she'd call me dirty still.

At night I get a scrubbing and go to bed, and then The first thing in the morning, she makes me wash again.

That strikes me as ridiklus; I've thought of it a heap.

A feller can't get dirty when he is fast asleep.

When I grow up to be a man like Pa, and have a wife And kids to boss around, you bet they'll have an easy life.

We won't be at them all the time, the way they keep at me, And kick about a little dirt that no one else can see.

And every night at supper time as soon as he appears, We will not chase our boy away to wash his neck and ears.

Tied Down

"They tie you down," a woman said, Whose cheeks should have been flaming red With shame to speak of children so.

"When babies come you cannot go In search of pleasure with your friends, And all your happy wandering ends.

The things you like you cannot do, For babies make a slave of you."

I looked at her and said: "'Tis true That children make a slave of you, And tie you down with many a knot, But have you never thought to what It is of happiness and pride That little babies have you tied?

Do you not miss the greater joys That come with little girls and boys?

"They tie you down to laughter rare, To hours of smiles and hours of care, To nights of watching and to fears; Sometimes they tie you down to tears And then repay you with a smile, And make your trouble all worth while.

They tie you fast to chubby feet, And cheeks of pink and kisses sweet.

"They fasten you with cords of love To G.o.d divine, who reigns above.

They tie you, whereso'er you roam, Unto the little place called home; And over sea or railroad track They tug at you to bring you back.

The happiest people in the town Are those the babies have tied down.

"Oh, go your selfish way and free, But hampered I would rather be, Yes rather than a kingly crown I would be, what you term, tied down; Tied down to dancing eyes and charms, Held fast by chubby, dimpled arms, The fettered slave of girl and boy, And win from them earth's finest joy."

Our Country

G.o.d grant that we shall never see Our country slave to l.u.s.t and greed; G.o.d grant that here all men shall be United by a common creed.

Here Freedom's Flag has held the sky Unstained, untarnished from its birth; Long may it wave to typify The happiest people on the earth.

Beneath its folds have mothers smiled To see their little ones at play; No tyrant hand, by shame defiled, To them has barred life's rosy way.

No cruel wall of caste or cla.s.s Has bid men pause or turn aside; Here looms no gate they may not pa.s.s-- Here every door is opened wide.

Here at the wells of Freedom all Who are athirst may drink their fill.

Here fame and fortune wait to call The toiler who has proved his skill.

Here wisdom sheds afar its light As every morn the school bells ring, And little children read and write And share the knowledge of a king.

G.o.d grant that we shall never see Our country slave to l.u.s.t and greed; G.o.d grant that men shall always be United for our nation's need.

Here selfishness has never reigned, Here freedom all who come may know; By tyranny our Flag's unstained!

G.o.d grant that we may keep it so.