Taking medicine to-day isn't what it used to be.
Castor oil is castor oil, but they've banished senna tea,
And they've sugar coated now all the bitter things we took,
Mother used to brew for us from the family doctor book.
Now I tell that boy of mine when he starts to make a fuss,
He is lucky not to be taking what they gave to us.
Seems the kitchen stove back then always had a pan or two
Brewing up a remedy for the ailments which we knew,
Something mother said we'd need surely in a little while,
Senna tea for stomach ills and its brother, camomile;
But I vow the worst of all remedies they gave to me
Was that gummy, sticky stuff known and served as flaxseed tea.
Boy, put down that little pill, take your powders and be glad
You're not getting what they gave when your father was a lad.
Mother's hand was gentle, but rough and hard it seemed to be
When she sat beside my bed rubbing goose-grease into me.
Getting well is easy now. Take your medicine and smile,
You are lucky that it's not senna tea or camomile.
The Tumbler at the Sink
The houses of the rich folks are very fine to see,
But after all I fancy they'd never do for me—
For a butler guards the doorway, and a staff of servants wait
To gratify your slightest wish, like messengers of state.
They're there to do your bidding, and should you want a drink
They'll never let you get it from the tumbler at the sink.
Now it may be I'm old fashioned, but to really feel at home,
I like to be permitted all around the house to roam,
And I like to find the kitchen, with the towel upon the door,
And the gayly colored picture from the corner grocery store.
There's a comfortable feeling which the great folks miss, I think,
In drinking, when you're thirsty, from the tumbler at the sink.
There's a charm about the kitchen which no other room can boast,
And when you think about it, it's the one we need the most.
It is there we find her smiling when we come back home at night,
There the children dance about her as they're pleading for a bite,
And it's there that eyes are brightest, cheeks the pinkest of the pink,
And it's there, for all the thirsty, there's the tumbler at the sink.
The Garden Catalogue