Horse and Cutter Days
Winters are not what they used to be in the cities of haste and rush;
The snow is white for a little while, then turns to an ugly slush.
And the rapid wheels of the motor cars grind all of its beauty down—
But I long for the horse and cutter days we knew in the little town.
Then the world stayed white for a month or two and the snow drifts higher grew
And cheeks were pink with the glow of health and the joys we youngsters knew,
Then sleigh bells added a merry lilt to the cold and crispy air
And youth and maid in an open sleigh were always a happy pair.
We hitched a ride to the runners strong and the snow flew from our feet,
But it's dangerous now to hitch a ride on the dark and crowded street,
And the raucous honk of the motor horn has banished the sleigh bell's song,
For winter days are cheerless now and winter nights are long.
Perhaps it's well that our customs change and good that we travel on,
But blent with the smiles of our newer joys are sighs for the pleasures gone,
And I sometimes long for the drifted snow and the white and frosty ways,
For the cheeks of pink and the laughter gay of our horse and cutter days.
The Old-Time Lilac Bush
A lilac bush is a lovely thing
Wherever it blossoms in early spring,
But I have a tenderer regard
For the old-time bush in an old-time yard,
With the house near-by and the youngsters flown,
And the old folks living there all alone,
For always I fancy I can see
The visions that cling to the lilac tree.
The house still stands, but the walls are still,
And the storms have battered each window sill;
There's a tired, worn look on the humble place,
Like the weary look on the mother's face,
Yet somehow or other I seem to know
That joy reigned here in the long ago,
And somehow or other I seem to see
The dreams which cling to the lilac tree.
Time was those feeble hands were strong
And the faltering footsteps danced along;
Time was youth romped in that lonely place,
But never the years will halt their pace,
And the young must go, but the old will cling
To the home they've loved to the final Spring,
For they hear the laughter that used to be,
When the bloom comes back to the lilac tree.