Around from all the neighboring streets
The wond'ring neighbors ran,
And swore the Dog had lost his wits,
To bite so good a Man.
The wound it seem'd both sore and sad
To every Christian eye;
And while they swore the Dog was mad,
They swore the Man would die.
But soon a wonder came to light,
That show'd the rogues they lied:
The Man recover'd of the bite,
The Dog it was that died.
MOTHER'S WAY
[Footnote: From Father Ryan's Poems, copyright by P. J. Kennedy &
Sons, N. Y.]
By FATHER RYAN
Oft within our little cottage,
As the shadows gently fall,
While the sunlight touches softly
One sweet face upon the wall,
Do we gather close together,
And in hushed and tender tone
Ask each other's full forgiveness
For the wrong that each has done.
Should you wonder why this custom
At the ending of the day,
Eye and voice would quickly answer:
"It was once our mother's way."
If our home be bright and cheery,
If it holds a welcome true,
Opening wide its door of greeting
To the many—not the few;
If we share our father's bounty
With the needy day by day,
'Tis because our hearts remember
This was ever mother's way.
Sometimes when our hands grow weary,
Or our tasks seem very long;
When our burdens look too heavy,
And we deem the right all wrong;
Then we gain a new, fresh courage,
And we rise to proudly say:
"Let us do our duty bravely—
This was our dear mother's way."
Then we keep her memory precious,
While we never cease to pray
That at last, when lengthening shadows
Mark the evening of our day,
They may find us waiting calmly
To go home our mother's way.