The Path to Home Part 8

Fatherhood

Before you came, my little lad, I used to think that I was good; Some vicious habits, too, I had, But wouldn't change them if I could.

I held my head up high and said: "I'm all that I have need to be, It matters not what path I tread--"

But that was ere you came to me.

I treated lightly sacred things, And went my way in search of fun; Upon myself I kept no strings, And gave no heed to folly done.

I gave myself up to the fight For worldly wealth and earthly fame, And sought advantage, wrong or right-- But that was long before you came.

But now you sit across from me, Your big brown eyes are opened wide, And every deed I do you see, And, O, I dare not step aside.

I've shaken loose from habits bad, And what is wrong I've come to dread, Because I know, my little lad, That you will follow where I tread.

I want those eyes to glow with pride; In me I want those eyes to see, The while we wander side by side, The sort of man I'd have you be.

And so I'm striving to be good With all my might, that you may know, When this great world is understood, What pleasures are worth while below.

I see life in a different light From what I did before you came; Then anything that pleased seemed right-- But you are here to bear my name, And you are looking up to me With those big eyes from day to day, And I'm determined not to be The means of leading you astray.

A Choice

Sure, they get stubborn at times; they worry and fret us a lot, But I'd rather be crossed by a glad little boy and frequently worried than not.

There are hours when they get on my nerves and set my poor brain all awhirl, But I'd rather be troubled that way than to be the man who has no little girl.

There are times they're a nuisance, that's true, with all of their racket and noise, But I'd rather my personal pleasures be lost than to give up my girls and my boys.

Not always they're perfectly good; there are times when they're wilfully bad, But I'd rather be worried by youngsters of mine than lonely and childless and sad.

So I try to be patient and calm whenever they're having their fling; For the sum of their laughter and love is more than the worry they bring.

And each night when sweet peace settles down and I see them asleep in their cot, I chuckle and say: "They upset me to-day, but I'd rather be that way than not."

What Father Knows

My father knows the proper way The nation should be run; He tells us children every day Just what should now be done.

He knows the way to fix the trusts, He has a simple plan; But if the furnace needs repairs We have to hire a man.

My father, in a day or two, Could land big thieves in jail; There's nothing that he cannot do, He knows no word like "fail."

"Our confidence" he would restore, Of that there is no doubt; But if there is a chair to mend We have to send it out.

All public questions that arise He settles on the spot; He waits not till the tumult dies, But grabs it while it's hot.

In matters of finance he can Tell Congress what to do; But, O, he finds it hard to meet His bills as they fall due.

It almost makes him sick to read The things law-makers say; Why, father's just the man they need; He never goes astray.

All wars he'd very quickly end, As fast as I can write it; But when a neighbor starts a fuss 'Tis mother has to fight it.

In conversation father can Do many wondrous things; He's built upon a wiser plan Than presidents or kings.

He knows the ins and outs of each And every deep transaction; We look to him for theories, But look to ma for action.

Back Home

Glad to get back home again, Where abide the friendly men; Glad to see the same old scenes And the little house that means All the joys the soul has treasured-- Glad to be where smiles aren't measured, Where I've blended with the gladness All the heart has known of sadness, Where some long-familiar steeple Marks my town of friendly people.

Though it's fun to go a-straying Where the bands are nightly playing And the throngs of men and women Drain the cup of pleasure brimmin', I am glad when it is over That I've ceased to play the Rover.

And when once the train starts chugging Towards the children I'd be hugging, All my thoughts and dreams are set there; Fast enough I cannot get there.

Guess I wasn't meant for bright lights, For the blaze of red and white lights, For the throngs that seems to smother In their selfishness, each other; For whenever I've been down there, Tramped the noisy, blatant town there, Always in a week I've started Yearning, hungering, heavy-hearted, For the home town and its s.p.a.ces Lit by fine and friendly faces.

Like to be where men about me Do not look on me to doubt me; Where I know the men and women, Know why tears some eyes are dimmin', Know the good folks an' the bad folks An' the glad folks an' the sad folks; Where we live with one another, Meanin' something to each other.

An' I'm glad to see the steeple, Where the crowds aren't merely people.

The Dead Return

The dead return. I know they do; The glad smile may have pa.s.sed from view, The ringing voice that cheered us so In that remembered long ago Be stilled, and yet in sweeter ways It speaks to us throughout our days.

The kindly father comes again To guide us through the haunts of men, And always near, their sons to greet Are lingering the mothers sweet.

About us wheresoe'er we tread Hover the spirits of our dead; We cannot see them as we could In bygone days, when near they stood And shared the joys and griefs that came, But they are with us just the same.

They see us as we plod along, And proudly smile when we are strong, And sigh and grieve the self-same way When thoughtlessly we go astray.

I sometimes think it hurts the dead When into sin and shame we're led, And that they feel a thrill divine When we've accomplished something fine.

And sometimes thoughts that come at night Seem more like messages that might Have whispered been by one we love, Whose spirit has been called above.

So wise the counsel, it must be That all we are the dead can see.

The dead return. They come to share Our laughter and our bit of care; They glory, as they used to do, When we are splendid men and true, In all the joy that we have won, And they are proud of what we've done.

They suffer when we suffer woe; All things about us here they know.

And though we never see them here Their spirits hover very near.

My Soul and I