MAKE somebody happy today! Each morning that motto repeat, and life, that was gloomy and gray, at once becomes pleasant and sweet. No odds what direction you go, whatever the pathway you wend, there’s somebody weary of woe, there’s somebody sick for a friend; there’s somebody needing a guide, some pilgrim who’s wandered astray; oh, don’t let your help be denied—make somebody happy today! There’s somebody tired of the strife, the wearisome struggle for bread, borne down by the burden of life, and envying those who are dead; a little encouragement now may drive his dark visions away, and smooth out a seam from his brow—make somebody happy today! There’s somebody sick over there, where sunlight is shut from the room; there’s somebody deep in despair, beholding no light in the gloom; there’s somebody needing your aid, your solace, wherever you stray; then let not your help be delayed—make somebody happy today. Make somebody happy today, some comfort and sympathy give, and Christmas shall ne’er go away, but always and ever shall live.
THE OLD MAN
BE kind to your daddy, O gamboling youth; his feet are now sluggish and cold; intent on your pleasures, you don’t see the truth, which is that your dad’s growing old. Ah, once he could whip forty bushels of snakes, but now he is spavined and lame; his joints are all rusty and tortured with aches, and weary and worn is his frame. He toiled and he slaved like a government mule to see that his kids had a chance; he fed them and clothed them and sent them to school, rejoiced when he marked their advance. The landscape is moist with the billows of sweat he cheerfully shed as he toiled, to bring up his children and keep out of debt, and see that the home kettle boiled. He dressed in old duds that his Mary and Jake might bloom like the roses in June, and oft when you swallowed your porterhouse steak, your daddy was chewing a prune. And now that he’s worn by his burden of care, just show you are worth all he did; look out for his comfort, and hand him his chair, and hang up his slicker and lid.
WINTER NIGHT
HAIL, Winter and wild weather, when we are all together, about the glowing fire! Let frost be e’er so stinging, it can’t disturb our singing, nor can the Storm King’s ire. The winds may madly mosey, they only make more cozy the home where we abide; the snow may drift in billows, but we have downy pillows, and good warm beds inside. The night indeed has terrors for lonely, lost wayfarers who for assistance call; who pray for lights to guide them—the lights that are denied them—may God protect them all! And to the poor who grovel in wretched hut and hovel, and feel its icy breath, who mark the long hours dragging their footsteps slow and lagging, the night seems kin to Death. For cheery homes be grateful, when Winter, fierce and fateful, comes shrieking in the night; for books and easy rockers, for larders filled and lockers, and all the warmth and light.
GRANDMOTHER
OLD granny sits serene and knits and talks of bygone ages, when she was young; and from her tongue there comes the truth of sages. “In vanished years,” she says, “my dears, the girls were nice and modest, and they were shy, and didn’t try to see whose wit was broadest. In cushioned nooks they read their books, and loved the poets’ lilting; with eager paws they helped their mas at cooking and at quilting. The maidens then would shy at men and keep them at a distance, and each new sport who came to court was sure to meet resistance. The girls were flowers that bloomed in bowers remote from worldly clamor, and when I view the modern crew they give me katzenjammer. The girls were sweet and trim and neat, as fair as hothouse lilies, and when I scan the modern clan I surely have the willies. Refinement fades when modern maids come forth in all their glory; their hats are freaks, their costume shrieks, their nerve is hunkydory. They waste the night and in daylight they’re doctoring and drugging; when they don’t go to picture show, they’re busy bunny-hugging.” Then granny takes her pipe and breaks some plug tobacco in it, and smokes and smokes till mother chokes and runs out doors a minute.