LIL' FELLER
When th.' sunshine's golden-yeller
Like th' curls upon his head,
Then he wakes—th' lil' feller—
An' he jumps up, outen bed;
An' he scrambles fer his knickers
Flung, perhaps, upon th' floor,
An' he takes his hat (my old 'un),
An' he races through th' door—
An' I hear his voice, a-singin',
In his odd, ole-fashioned way,
'Cause he's glad—th' lil' feller—
In th' mornin' o' the day.
Kinder makes me feel, well, lazy,
So I hurry up, outside,
Where th' mountains smile down, friendly—
And th' earth looks sorter wide;
An' I hear his voice a-callin',
Sayin', "Daddy, come an' see!"
An' I find him makin' gardens
Where a rock pile uster be—
An' I shout, "How goes it, sonny?"
An' my heart feels light an' gay,
Fer he's singin'—lil' feller—
In th' mornin' o' th' day.
Lil' feller, an' his gardens!
It don't matter much ter him,
If th' hoein's hard an' tedgious,
An' th' crop he grows is slim;
Fer he loves ter be a-workin',
An' he loves ter see things start
Outer nothin'.... There's a garden
In th' rock-bed o' my heart
That he's planted, just by singin'
In his odd, ole-fashioned way—
'Cause he's glad, MY LIL' FELLER,
In th' mornin' o' th' day!
TO AN OLD SCHOOLHOUSE
Down by the end of the lane it stands,
Where the sumac grows in a crimson thatch,
Down where the sweet wild berry patch,
Holds out a lure for eager hands.
Down at the end of the lane, who knows
The ghosts that sit at the well-scarred seats,
When the moon is dark, and the gray sky meets
With the dawn time light, and a chill wind blows?
Ghosts—well not ghosts, perhaps, but dreams—
Rather like wistful shades, that stand
Waiting a look or an outstretched hand,
To call them back where the morning gleams—
Dreams of the hopes we had, that died,
Dreams of the vivid youth we sold;
Dreams of a pot of rainbow gold—
Gold that we sought for, eager-eyed!
Dreams of the plans we made, that sleep
With the lesson books on the dusty rack,
Of the joyous years that will not come back—
That are drowned in the tears we have learned to
weep.
Ghosts did I call them! Sweet they are
As a plant that grows in a desert place,
Sweet as a dear remembered face—
Sweet as a pale, courageous star.
Where the sumac grows in a flaming wall,
It stands, at the end of a little lane,
And there do the children come again,
Answering, still, the bell's shrill call,
Just as we came, with their songs unsung,
And their hopes all new, and their dreams dew
kissed,
Brave as the sun in a land of mist—
JUST AS WE CAME WHEN THE WORLD WAS YOUNG!
THE OLD SAILOR
I've crossed the bar at last, mates,
My longest voyage is done;
And I can sit here, peaceful,
And watch th' setting sun
A-smilin' kind of glad like
Upon the waves so free.
My longest voyage is done, mates,
But oh, the heart of me,
Is out where sea meets skyline!
My longest voyage is done....
But—can I sit, in peace, mates,
And watch the settin' sun?
For what's a peaceful life, mates,
When every breeze so free,
When every gale a-blowin',
Brings messages to me?
And is the sky so shinin',
For all it's golden sun,
To one who loves the sea, mates,
And knows his voyage is done?
And, can a year on land, mates,
Match with one day—at sea?
Ah, every wind a-singin'
Brings memory to me!
I've crossed the bar at last, mates,
My longest voyage is past,
And I must watch the sunset,
Must see it fade, at last.
My steps are not so light, mates,
As they were, years ago;
And sometimes, when I'm tired,
My head droops kind of low—
Yet, though I'm old and—weary,
The waves that dance so free,
Keep callin' to my soul, mates,
And thrill the heart of me!