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ROSES
When God first viewed the rose He’d made
He smiled, and thought it passing fair;
Upon the bloom His hands He laid,
And gently blessed each petal there.
He summoned in His artists then
And bade them paint, as ne’er before,
Each petal, so that earthly men
Might love the rose for evermore.
With Heavenly brushes they began
And one with red limned every leaf,
To signify the love of man;
The first rose, white, betokened grief;
” My rose shall deck the bride/’ one said
And so in pink he dipped his brush,
” And it shall smile beside the dead
To typify the faded blush.”
And then they came unto His throne
And laid the roses at His feet,
The crimson bud, the bloom full blown,
Filling the air with fragrance sweet.
” Well done, well done ! ” the Master spake ;
“Henceforth the rose shall bloom on earth:
One fairer blossom I will make,”
And then a little babe had birth.
On earth a loving mother lay
Within a rose-decked room and smiled,
But from the blossoms turned away
To gently kiss her little child,
And then she murmured soft and low,
” For beauty, here, a mother seeks,
None but the Master made, I know,
The roses in a baby’s cheeks.”
THE NEIGHBORLY MAN
Some are eager to be famous, some are striving
to be great,
Some are toiling to be leaders of their nation
or their state,
And in every man’s ambition, if we only under-
stood,
There is much that’s fine and splendid; every
hope is mostly good.
So I cling unto the notion that contented I
will be
If the men upon life’s pathway find a needed
friend in me.
I rather like to putter ’round the walks and
yards of life,
To spray at night the roses that are burned and
browned with strife;
To eat a frugal dinner, but always to have a
chair
For the unexpected stranger that my simple
meal would share.
I don’t care to be a traveler, I would rather be
the one
Sitting calmly by the roadside helping weary
travelers on.
I’d like to be a neighbor in the good old-fash-
ioned way,
Finding much to do for others, but not over
much to say.
I like to read the papers, but I do not yearn
to see
What the journal of the morning has been
moved to say of me ;
In the silences and shadows I would live my
life and die
And depend for fond remembrance on some
grateful passers-by.
I guess I wasn’t fashioned for the brilliant
things of earth,
Wasn’t gifted much with talent or designed for
special worth,
But was just sent here to putter with life’s little
odds and ends
And keep a simple corner where the stirring
highway bends,
And if folks should chance to linger, worn and
weary through the day,
To do some needed service and to cheer them
on their way.
A REAL MAN
Men are of two kinds, and he
Was of the kind I’d like to be.
Some preach their virtues, and a few
Express their lives by what they do.
That sort was he. No flowery phrase
Or glibly spoken words of praise
Won friends for him. He wasn’t cheap
Or shallow, but his course ran deep,
And it was pure. You know the kind.
Not many in a life you find
Whose deeds outrun their words so far
That more than what they seem they are.
There are two kinds of lies as well:
The kind you live, the ones you tell.
Back through his years from age to youth
He never acted one untruth.
Out in the open light he fought
And didn’t care what others thought
Nor what they said about his fight
If he believed that he was right.
The only deeds he ever hid
Were acts of kindness that he did.
What speech he had was plain and blunt.
His was an unattractive front.
Yet children loved him; babe and boy
Played with the strength he could employ,
Without one fear, and they are fleet
To sense injustice and deceit.
No back door gossip linked his name
With any shady tale of shame.
He did not have to compromise
With evil-doers, shrewd and wise,
And let them ply their vicious trade
Because of some past escapade.
Men are of two kinds, and he
Was of the kind I’d like to be.
No door at which he ever knocked
Against his manly form was locked.
If ever man on earth was free
And independent, it was he.
No broken pledge lost him respect,
He met all men with head erect,
And when he passed I think there went
A soul to yonder firmament
So white, so splendid and so fine
It came almost to God’s design.