When Day is Done Part 17

What Home's Intended For

When the young folks gather 'round in the good old-fas.h.i.+oned way, Singin' all the latest songs gathered from the newest play, Or they start the phonograph an' shove the chairs back to the wall An' hold a little party dance, I'm happiest of all.

Then I sorter settle back, plumb contented to the core, An' I tell myself most proudly, that's what home's intended for.

When the laughter's gaily ringin' an' the room is filled with song, I like, to sit an' watch 'em, all that glad an' merry throng, For the ragtime they are playin' on the old piano there Beats any high-toned music where the bright lights s.h.i.+ne an' glare, An' the racket they are makin' stirs my pulses more and more, So I whisper in my gladness: that's what home's intended for.

Then I smile an' say to Mother, let 'em move the chairs about, Let 'em frolic in the parlor, let 'em shove the tables out, Jus' so long as they are near us, jus' so long as they will stay By the fireplace we are keepin', harm will never come their way, An' you'll never hear me grumble at the bills that keep me poor, It's the finest part o' livin'--that's what home's intended for.

Safe at Home

Let the old fire blaze An' the youngsters shout An' the dog on the rug Sprawl full length out, An' Mother an' I Sort o' settle down-- An' it's little we care For the noisy town.

Oh, it's little we care That the wind may blow, An' the streets grow white With the drifted snow; We'll face the storm With the break o' day, But to-night we'll dream An' we'll sing an' play.

We'll sit by the fire Where it's snug an' warm, An' pay no heed To the winter storm; With a sheltering roof Let the blizzard roar; We are safe at home-- Can a king say more?

That's all that counts When the day is done: The smiles of love And the youngsters' fun, The cares put down With the evening gloam-- Here's the joy of all: To be safe at home.

When Friends Drop In

It may be I'm old-fas.h.i.+oned, but the times I like the best Are not the splendid parties with the women gaily dressed, And the music tuned for dancing and the laughter of the throng, With a paid comedian's antics or a hired musician's song, But the quiet times of friends.h.i.+p, with the chuckles and the grin, And the circle at the fireside when a few good friends drop in.

There's something 'round the fireplace that no club can imitate, And no throng can ever equal just a few folks near the grate; Though I sometimes like an opera, there's no music quite so sweet As the singing of the neighbors that you're always glad to meet; Oh, I know when they come calling that the fun will soon begin, And I'm happiest those evenings when a few good friends drop in.

There's no pomp of preparation, there's no style or sham or fuss; We are glad to welcome callers who are glad to be with us, And we sit around and visit or we start a merry game, And we show them by our manner that we're mighty pleased they came, For there's something real about it, and the yarns we love to spin, And the time flies, Oh, so swiftly when a few good friends drop in.

Let me live my life among them, cheerful, kindly folks and true, And I'll ask no greater glory till my time of life is through; Let me share the love and favor of the few who know me best, And I'll spend my time contented till my sun sinks in the west; I will take what fortune sends me and the little I may win, And be happy on those evenings when a few good friends drop in.

The Book of Memory

Turn me loose and let me be Young once more and fancy free; Let me wander where I will, Down the lane and up the hill, Trudging barefoot in the dust In an age that knows no "must,"

And no voice insistently Speaks of duty unto me; Let me tread the happy ways Of those by-gone yesterdays.

Fame had never whispered then, Making slaves of eager men; Greed had never called me down To the gray walls of the town, Offering frankincense and myrrh If I'd be its prisoner; I was free to come and go Where the cherry blossoms blow, Free to wander where I would, Finding life supremely good.

But I turned, as all must do, From the happiness I knew To the land of care and strife, Seeking for a fuller life; Heard the lure of fame and sought That renown so dearly bought; Listened to the voice of greed Saying: "These the things you need,"

Now the gray town holds me fast, Prisoner to the very last.

Age has stamped me as its own; Youth to younger hearts has flown; Still the cherry blossoms blow In the land loused to know; Still the fragrant clover spills Perfume over dales and hills, But I'm not allowed to stray Where the young are free to play; All the years will grant to me Is the book of memory.

Pretending Not to See

Sometimes at the table, when He gets misbehavin', then Mother calls across to me: "Look at him, now! Don't you see What he's doin', sprawlin.' there!

Make him sit up in his chair.

Don't you see the messy way That he's eating?" An' I say: "No. He seems all right just now.

What's he doing anyhow?"

Mother placed him there by me, An' she thinks I ought to see Every time he breaks the laws An' correct him, just because There will come a time some day When he mustn't act that way.

But I can't be all along Scoldin' him for doin' wrong.

So if something goes astray, I jus' look the other way.

Mother tells me now an' then I'm the easiest o' men, An' in dealin' with the lad I will never see the bad That he does, an' I suppose Mother's right for Mother knows; But I'd hate to feel that I'm Here to scold him all the time.

Little faults might spoil the day, So I look the other way.

Look the other way an' try Not to let him catch my eye, Knowin' all the time that he Doesn't mean so bad to be; Knowin', too, that now an' then I am not the best o' men; Hopin', too, the times I fall That the Father of us all, Lovin', watchin' over me, Will pretend He doesn't see.

The Joys of Home

Curling smoke from a chimney low, And only a few more steps to go, Faces pressed at a window pane Watching for someone to come again, And I am the someone they wait to see-- These are the joys life gives to me.

What has my neighbor excelling this: A good wife's love and a baby's kiss?

What if his chimneys tower higher?

Peace is found at our humble fire.

What if his silver and gold are more?

Rest is ours when the day is o'er.

Strive for fortune and slave for fame, You find that joy always stays the same: Rich man and poor man dream and pray For a home where laughter shall ever stay, And the wheels go round and men spend their might For the few glad hours they may claim at night.

Home, where the kettle shall gaily sing, Is all that matters with serf or king; Gold and silver and laurelled fame Are only sweet when the hearth's aflame With a cheerful fire, and the loved ones there Are unafraid of the wolves of care.

So let me come home at night to rest With those who know I have done my best; Let the wife rejoice and my children smile, And I'll know by their love that I am worthwhile, For this is conquest and world success-- A home where abideth happiness.

We're Dreamers All