Just Folks Part 1

Just Folks.

by Edgar A. Guest.

We're queer folks here.

We'll talk about the weather, The good times we have had together, The good times near, The roses buddin', an' the bees Once more upon their nectar sprees; The scarlet fever scare, an' who Came mighty near not pullin' through, An' who had light attacks, an' all The things that int'rest, big or small; But here you'll never hear of sinnin'

Or any scandal that's beginnin'.

We've got too many other labors To scatter tales that harm our neighbors.

We're strange folks here.

We're tryin' to be cheerful, An' keep this home from gettin' tearful.

We hold it dear Too dear for pettiness an' meanness, An' nasty tales of men's uncleanness.

Here you shall come to joyous smilin', Secure from hate an' harsh revilin'; Here, where the wood fire brightly blazes, You'll hear from us our neighbor's praises.

Here, that they'll never grow to doubt us, We keep our friends always about us; An' here, though storms outside may pelter Is refuge for our friends, an' shelter.

We've one rule here, An' that is to be pleasant.

The folks we know are always present, Or very near.

An' though they dwell in many places, We think we're talkin' to their faces; An' that keeps us from only seein'

The faults in any human bein', An' checks our tongues when they'd go trailin'

Into the mire of mortal failin'.

Flaws aren't so big when folks are near you; You don't talk mean when they can hear you.

An' so no scandal here is started, Because from friends we're never parted.

As It Goes

In the corner she's left the mechanical toy, On the chair is her Teddy Bear fine; The things that I thought she would really enjoy Don't seem to be quite in her line.

There's the flaxen-haired doll that is lovely to see And really expensively dressed, Left alone, all uncared for, and strange though it be, She likes her rag dolly the best.

Oh, the money we spent and the plans that we laid And the wonderful things that we bought!

There are toys that are cunningly, skillfully made, But she seems not to give them a thought.

She was pleased when she woke and discovered them there, But never a one of us guessed That it isn't the splendor that makes a gift rare-- She likes her rag dolly the best.

There's the flaxen-haired doll, with the real human hair, There's the Teddy Bear left all alone, There's the automobile at the foot of the stair, And there is her toy telephone; We thought they were fine, but a little child's eyes Look deeper than ours to find charm, And now she's in bed, and the rag dolly lies Snuggled close on her little white arm.

Hollyhocks

Old-fas.h.i.+oned flowers! I love them all: The morning-glories on the wall, The pansies in their patch of shade, The violets, stolen from a glade, The bleeding hearts and columbine, Have long been garden friends of mine; But memory every summer flocks About a clump of hollyhocks.

The mother loved them years ago; Beside the fence they used to grow, And though the garden changed each year And certain blooms would disappear To give their places in the ground To something new that mother found, Some pretty bloom or rosebush rare-- The hollyhocks were always there.

It seems but yesterday to me She led me down the yard to see The first tall spires, with bloom aflame, And taught me to p.r.o.nounce their name.

And year by year I watched them grow, The first flowers I had come to know.

And with the mother dear I'd yearn To see the hollyhocks return.

The garden of my boyhood days With hollyhocks was kept ablaze; In all my recollections they In friendly columns nod and sway; And when to-day their blooms I see, Always the mother smiles at me; The mind's bright chambers, life unlocks Each summer with the hollyhocks.

Sacrifice

When he has more than he can eat To feed a stranger's not a feat.

When he has more than he can spend It isn't hard to give or lend.

Who gives but what he'll never miss Will never know what giving is.

He'll win few praises from his Lord Who does but what he can afford.

The widow's mite to heaven went Because real sacrifice it meant.

Reward

Don't want medals on my breast, Don't want all the glory, I'm not worrying greatly lest The world won't hear my story.

A chance to dream beside a stream Where fish are biting free; A day or two, 'neath skies of blue, Is joy enough for me.

I do not ask a h.o.a.rd of gold, Nor treasures rich and rare; I don't want all the joys to hold; I only want a share.

Just now and then, away from men And all their haunts of pride, If I can steal, with rod and reel, I will be satisfied.

I'll gladly work my way through life; I would not always play; I only ask to quit the strife For an occasional day.

If I can sneak from toil a week To chum with stream and tree, I'll fish away and smiling say That life's been good to me.

See It Through

When you're up against a trouble, Meet it squarely, face to face; Lift your chin and set your shoulders, Plant your feet and take a brace.

When it's vain to try to dodge it, Do the best that you can do; You may fail, but you may conquer, See it through!

Black may be the clouds about you And your future may seem grim, But don't let your nerve desert you; Keep yourself in fighting trim.

If the worst is bound to happen, Spite of all that you can do, Running from it will not save you, See it through!

Even hope may seem but futile, When with troubles you're beset, But remember you are facing Just what other men have met.

You may fail, but fall still fighting; Don't give up, whate'er you do; Eyes front, head high to the finish.

See it through!