Yes. ’Twas underneath the columbine, Where dearie said she would be mine, My heart rejoiced at that glad word, The sweetest one I ever heard. I’ve wondered many times since then How one word changes lives of men, Some it makes and others breaks, And others know they’ve made mistakes. It gladdens some and saddens some, It opens up the way to rum, It fills the pen, the cells of jails, It wags the tongue with many tales. It fills the lawyer’s purse with fees, It crowds the courts with quick decrees, It to the drug store many guide, It fills the graves with suicide. It pulls the trigger of the gun, It breaks the heart of many a one, It causes pain where joy should be, It fills the home with misery. It joins the short unto the tall, It never heeds old wisdom’s call, It clasps the hands of slim and stout, And makes a mess beyond a doubt. It breaks the dishes on your head, It makes you wish that you were dead, It mixes father with the son, It has no end when once begun. It’s no respecter of your right, It gets you out at dead of night, It makes its scars and many a whelt, It makes you cuss T. Roosevelt. It makes the Irish like the Dutch, The black the brown the squaw and such. It causes if the truth would tell, A thing on earth you all know well. So with all wisdom I’ll confess, Before you tackle this word yes, Have these professions up in G, Lawyer, preacher and M. D.
The Lay of the Last Hen. ’Twas yesterday the deed was done, That made my heart feel like a ton, When cruel fate held its sway, And robbed my hen of her last lay. The sympathy swelled in my breast, For my old hen so long caressed, Who stood by me for many years, Thru joy and sorrow, mirth and tears. When times were hard and crops were light, There was to me no sweeter sight, To get that egg and let it melt, Underneath my gnawing pelt. The tariff never worried her She did her duty at one per, Wilson, Taft or Roosevelt, Never had a cause she felt. She built the muscle in my arm, She paid the taxes on the farm, She kept the wolf from strolling in, She clothed the kids from Kate to Win. She always let the whole world know, With joyful song in rain or snow, That she’d performed a duty neat, That man himself has never beat. I couldn’t help it, I’ll confess, The tears flowed freely, more or less, When that dear form was tenderly laid, Beneath the elm tree’s pleasant shade. Here’s to the hen upon the nest, That keeps the table, fills the guest, Builds up the system, ne’er regrets And brings results whene’er she sets.
The Dear Old Hod. When I’ve labored hard all day, And the supper’s cleared away, There’s a joy before I nod, When I load my dear old hod. As the smoke curls in the air, Chasing from me life’s dull care, I can lean far back and think, And put the worry on the blink. Here’s to thee, Missouri cob, Many years upon the job, Your’s a mission not all bad, If you ease the load on dad.
Dear Old Kate. I know I stayed a little late, The last time that I courted Kate, I had a speech I wished to try, And how the hours hurried by. The question that I wished to pop, Would never let me have the flop, My cheeks would burn, my throat get dry, I was nearly hot enough to fry. I guess I tried a dozen times, I drilled myself in all the lines, But when I reached the vital point, The whole blame works got out of joint. It made me mad and also sad, I felt like going to the bad, I’d practised long, out in the trees, Just how to face her on my knees. I’d hold the bough as Katie’s hand, And with the best at my command, I’d bare my soul with pleading tears, For her to join me all the years. I guess I never would have won, If Katie hadn’t just for fun Heard my appeal with silent feet, And said, “Why, sure, you dear old sweet.”
Tim. Once I knew a man named Tim, Thought a mighty lot of him, For his goodness, heart and mind, Were of such a loving kind. Never heard him boast or tell, Of the things he’d done so well: Lips would kinda set with tension, If his past you’d slightly mention. Kinda made his face look sad, Maybe some great grief he’d had, But he’d pass it off and say, Kinda looks like rain today. Wasn’t much past fifty-nine, Led a life serene and fine, Lived just on the edge of town, Liked to have the folks look round. Greatest chum of little tads, Liked to humor all their fads, Fixed their wagons, made them trains, Soothed their many cares and pains. Made no difference to Tim, If you’d never heard of him, He would always say, “Hello,” Said his mother taught him so. Worldly goods he hadn’t much, Never seemed to care for such, Said he liked the Master’s way, Of doing things for just today. Dear old Tim took sick one night, Thought his spirit would take flight, But we all just hurried in, And it helped revive old Tim. Said it made him awful glad, Wished a larger house he had, But we all said, get well, Tim, Couldn’t lose a man like him.