An' then as he looks at that bundle o' red, an' the wee little fingers an' toes,
An' he knows it's his flesh an' his blood that is there, an' will be just like him when it grows,
It comes in a flash to a feller right then, there is more here than pleasure or pelf,
An' the sort of a man his baby will be is the sort of a man he's himself.
Then he kisses the mother an' kisses the child, an' goes out determined that he
Will endeavor to be just the sort of a man that he's wantin' his baby to be.
A feller don't think that it matters so much what he does till a baby arrives;
He sows his wild oats an' he has his gay fling an' headlong in pleasure he dives;
An' a drink more or less doesn't matter much then, for life is a comedy gay,
But the moment a crib is put in the home, an' a baby has come there to stay,
He thinks of the things he has done in the past, an' it strikes him as hard as a blow,
That the path he has trod in the past is a path that he don't want his baby to go.
I ain't much to preach, an' I can't just express in the way that your clever men can
The thoughts that I think, but it seems to me now that when God wants to rescue a man
From himself an' the follies that harmless appear, but which, under the surface, are grim,
He summons the angel of infancy sweet, an' sends down a baby to him.
For in that way He opens his eyes to himself, and He gives him the vision to see
That his duty's to be just the sort of a man that he's wantin' his baby to be.
A Convalescin' Woman
A convalescin' woman does the strangest sort o' things,
An' it's wonderful the courage that a little new strength brings;
O, it's never safe to leave her for an hour or two alone,
Or you'll find th' doctor's good work has been quickly overthrown.
There's that wife o' mine, I reckon she's a sample of 'em all;
She's been mighty sick, I tell you, an' to-day can scarcely crawl,
But I left her jes' this mornin' while I fought potater bugs,
An' I got back home an' caught her in the back yard shakin' rugs.
I ain't often cross with Nellie, an' I let her have her way,
But it made me mad as thunder when I got back home to-day
An' found her doin' labor that'd tax a big man's strength;
An' I guess I lost my temper, for I scolded her at length,
'Til I seen her teardrops fallin' an' she said: "I couldn't stand
To see those rugs so dirty, so I took 'em all in hand,
An' it ain't hurt me nuther—see, I'm gettin' strong again--"
An' I said: "Doggone it! can't ye leave sich work as that fer men?"
Once I had her in a hospittle fer weeks an' weeks an' weeks,
An' she wasted most to nothin', an' th' roses left her cheeks;
An' one night I feared I'd lose her; 'twas the turnin' point, I guess,
Coz th' next day I remember that th' doctor said: "Success!"
Well, I brought her home an' told her that for two months she must stay
A-sittin' in her rocker an' jes' watch th' kids at play.
An' th' first week she was patient, but I mind the way I swore
On th' day when I discovered 'at she'd scrubbed th' kitchen floor.
O, you can't keep wimmin quiet, an' they ain't a bit like men;
They're hungerin' every minute jes' to get to work again;
An' you've got to watch 'em allus, when you know they're weak an' ill,
Coz th' minute that yer back is turned they'll labor fit to kill.
Th' house ain't cleaned to suit 'em an' they seem to fret an' fume
'Less they're busy doin' somethin' with a mop or else a broom;
An' it ain't no use to scold 'em an' it ain't no use to swear,
Coz th' next time they will do it jes' the minute you ain't there.