Just Folks Part 5

Suns.h.i.+ne and shadow, blue sky and gray, Laughter and tears as we tread on our way; Hearts that are heavy, then hearts that are light, Eyes that are misty and eyes that are bright; Losses and gains in the heat of the strife, Each in proportion to round out his life.

Into the crucible, stirred by the years, Go all our hopes and misgivings and fears; Glad days and sad days, our pleasures and pains, Worries and comforts, our losses and gains.

Out of the crucible shall there not come Joy undefiled when we pour off the sc.u.m?

Out of the sadness and anguish and woe, Out of the travail and burdens we know, Out of the shadow that darkens the way, Out of the failure that tries us to-day, Have you a doubt that contentment will come When you've purified life and discarded the sc.u.m?

Tinctured with sorrow and flavored with sighs, Moistened with tears that have flowed from your eyes; Perfumed with sweetness of loves that have died, Leavened with failures, with grief sanctified, Sacred and sweet is the joy that must come From the furnace of life when you've poured off the sc.u.m.

Unimportant Differences

If he is honest, kindly, true, And glad to work from day to day; If when his bit of toil is through With children he will stoop to play; If he does always what he can To serve another's time of need, Then I shall hail him as a man And never ask him what's his creed.

If he respects a woman's name And guards her from all thoughtless jeers; If he is glad to play life's game And not risk all to get the cheers; If he disdains to win by bluff And scorns to gain by shady tricks, I hold that he is good enough Regardless of his politics.

If he is glad his much to share With them who little here possess, If he will stand by what is fair And not desert to claim success, If he will leave a smile behind As he proceeds from place to place, He has the proper frame of mind, And I won't stop to ask his race.

For when at last life's battle ends And all the troops are called on high We shall discover many friends That thoughtlessly we journeyed by.

And we shall learn that G.o.d above Has judged His creatures by their deeds, That millions there have won His love Who spoke in different tongues and creeds.

The Fis.h.i.+ng Outfit

You may talk of stylish raiment, You may boast your broadcloth fine, And the price you gave in payment May be treble that of mine.

But there's one suit I'd not trade you Though it's shabby and it's thin, For the garb your tailor made you: That's the tattered, Mud-bespattered Suit that I go fis.h.i.+ng in.

There's no king in silks and laces And with jewels on his breast, With whom I would alter places.

There's no man so richly dressed Or so like a fas.h.i.+on panel That, his luxuries to win, I would swap my s.h.i.+rt of flannel And the rusty, Frayed and dusty Suit that I go fis.h.i.+ng in.

'Tis an outfit meant for pleasure; It is freedom's raiment, too; It's a garb that I shall treasure Till my time of life is through.

Though perhaps it looks the saddest Of all robes for mortal skin, I am proudest and I'm gladdest In that easy, Old and greasy Suit that I go fis.h.i.+ng in.

Grown Up

Last year he wanted building blocks, And picture books and toys, A saddle horse that gayly rocks, And games for little boys.

But now he's big and all that stuff His whim no longer suits; He tells us that he's old enough To ask for rubber boots.

Last year whatever Santa brought Delighted him to own; He never gave his wants a thought Nor made his wishes known.

But now he says he wants a gun, The kind that really shoots, And I'm confronted with a son Demanding rubber boots.

The baby that we used to know Has somehow slipped away, And when or where he chanced to go Not one of us can say.

But here's a helter-skelter lad That to me nightly scoots And boldly wishes that he had A pair of rubber boots.

I'll bet old Santa Claus will sigh When down our flue he comes, And seeks the babe that used to lie And suck his tiny thumbs, And finds within that little bed A grown up boy who hoots At building blocks, and wants instead A pair of rubber boots.

Departed Friends

The dead friends live and always will; Their presence hovers round us still.

It seems to me they come to share Each joy or sorrow that we bear.

Among the living I can feel The sweet departed spirits steal, And whether it be weal or woe, I walk with those I used to know.

I can recall them to my side Whenever I am struggle-tried; I've but to wish for them, and they Come trooping gayly down the way, And I can tell to them my grief And from their presence find relief.

In sacred memories below Still live the friends of long ago.

Laughter

Laughter sort o' settles breakfast better than digestive pills; Found it, somehow in my travels, cure for every sort of ills; When the hired help have riled me with their slipshod, careless ways, An' I'm bilin' mad an' cussin' an' my temper's all ablaze, If the calf gets me to laughin' while they're teachin' him to feed Pretty soon I'm feelin' better, 'cause I've found the cure I need.

Like to start the day with laughter; when I've had a peaceful night, An' can greet the sun all smilin', that day's goin' to be all right.

But there's nothing goes to suit me, when my system's full of bile; Even horses quit their pullin' when the driver doesn't smile, But they'll buckle to the traces when they hear a glad giddap, Just as though they like to labor for a cheerful kind o' chap.

Laughter keeps me strong an' healthy. You can bet I'm all run down, Fit for doctor folks an' nurses when I cannot shake my frown.

Found in farmin' laughter's useful, good for sheep an' cows an' goats; When I've laughed my way through summer, reap the biggest crop of oats.

Laughter's good for any business, leastwise so it seems to me Never knew a smilin' feller but was busy as could be.

Sometimes sit an' think about it, ponderin' on the ways of life, Wonderin' why mortals gladly face the toil an care an' strife, Then I come to this conclusion--take it now for what it's worth It's the joy of laughter keeps us plodding on this stretch of earth.

Men the fun o' life are seeking--that's the reason for the calf Spillin' mash upon his keeper--men are hungry for a laugh.

The Scoffer

If I had lived in Franklin's time I'm most afraid that I, Beholding him out in the rain, a kite about to fly, And noticing upon its tail the barn door's rusty key, Would, with the scoffers on the street, have chortled in my glee; And with a sneer upon my lips I would have said of Ben, "His belfry must be full of bats. He's raving, boys, again!"

I'm glad I didn't live on earth when Fulton had his dream, And told his neighbors marvelous tales of what he'd do with steam, For I'm not sure I'd not have been a member of the throng That couldn't see how paddle-wheels could shove a boat along.

At "Fulton's Folly" I'd have sneered, as thousands did back then, And called the Clermont's architect the craziest of men.

Yet Franklin gave us wonders great and Fulton did the same, And many "b.o.o.bs" have left behind an everlasting fame.

And dead are all their scoffers now and all their sneers forgot And scarce a nickel's worth of good was brought here by the lot.

I shudder when I stop to think, had I been living then, I might have been a scoffer, too, and jeered at Bob and Ben.

I am afraid to-day to sneer at any fellow's dream.

Time was I thought men couldn't fly or sail beneath the stream.

I never call a man a b.o.o.b who toils throughout the night On visions that I cannot see, because he may be right.

I always think of Franklin's trick, which brought the jeers of men.

And to myself I say, "Who knows but here's another Ben?"