BE GOOD, PAPA.
Two voices cry, "Be good, papa,
Don't work too hard to-day!"
And I turn to see the waving hands
Of my little Beth and Faye.
Two girls of bright and sunny hair,
Of deep and thoughtful eyes;
And in their voices, touched with love,
What tender magic lies!
All day, along the crowded street,
Within the busy town,
I seem to hear their voices sweet;
They chase me up and down.
And their dear words of
warning love
Pursue, where'er I
go;
They mean far more,
far more to me
Than those who speak
them know.
Have I no helping hand to reach
Out to my brother's need?
Do I seek my gain by others' loss?
Am I led to some wrong deed?
Do temptations press, within, without?
Do wrong impulses urge?
Of some dishonorable act
Stand I upon the verge?
Then comes that message, soft and clear,
From the dear home, miles away.
"Be good, papa! be good, papa!"
The childish voices say.
There rise before my faltering eyes
My little Beth and Faye.
I feel I dare not do the wrong;
I dare not go astray.