Translate
The Right Family
With time our notions allus change,
An’ years make old idees seem strange
Take Mary there time was when she
Thought one child made a family,
An’ when our eldest, Jim, was born
She used to say, both night an’ morn’:
” One little one to love an’ keep,
To guard awake, an’ watch asleep;
To bring up right an’ lead him through
Life’s path is all we ought to do.”
Two years from then our Jennie came,
But Mary didn’t talk the same ;
” Now that’s just right,” she said to me,
” We’ve got the proper family
A boy an’ girl, God sure is good ;
It seems as though He understood
That I’ve been hopin’ every way
To have a little girl some day ;
Sometimes I’ve prayed the whole night through
One ain’t enough; we needed two.”
Then as the months went rollin on,
One day the stork brought little John,
An’ Mary smiled an’ said to me ;
” The proper family is three ;
Two boys, a girl to romp an’ play
Jus’ work enough to fill the day.
I never had enough to do,
The months that we had only two;
Three’s jus’ right, pa, we don’t want more.”
Still time went on an’ we had four.
An’ that was years ago, I vow,
An’ we have six fine children now;
An’ Mary’s plumb forgot the day
She used to sit an’ sweetly say
That one child was enough for her
To love an’ give the proper care;
One, two or three or four or five
Why, goodness gracious, sakes alive,
If God should send her ten to-night,
She’d vow her fam’ly was jus’ right!
Tommy Atkins’ Way
He was battle-scarred and ugly with the marks
of shot and shell,
And we knew that British Tommy had a stirring
tale to tell,
So we asked him where he got it and what dis
arranged his face,
And he answered, blushing scarlet : ” In a nawsty
little place ”
There were medals on his jacket, but he wouldn’t
tell us why.
” A bit lucky, gettin’ this one,” was the sum of
his reply.
He had fought a horde of Prussians with his
back against the wall,
And he told us, when we questioned : ” H’it
was nothing arfter h’all.”
Not a word of what he’d suffered, not a word
of what he’d seen,
Not a word about the fury of the hell through
which he’d been.
All he said was : ” When you’re cornered, h’and
you’ve got no plyce to go,
You’ve just got to stand up to it! You cawn’t
‘elp yourself, you know.
” H’it was just a bit unpleasant, when the shells
were droppin’ thick,”
And he tapped his leather leggins with his little
bamboo stick.
” What did H’l do ? Nothing, really ! Nothing
more than just my share;
Some one h’else would gladly do it, but H’l ‘ap-
pened to be there.”
When this sturdy British Tommy quits the battle
fields of earth
And St. Peter asks his spirit to recount his deeds
of worth,
I fancy I can hear him, with his curious English
drawl,
Saying : ” Nothing, nothing really, that’s worth
mentioning at h’all.”
The Doubtful To-Morrow
Whenever I walk through God’s Acres of Dead
I wonder how often the mute voices said :
” I will do a kind deed or will lighten a sorrow
Or rise to a sacrifice splendid to-morrow.”
I wonder how many fine thoughts unexpressed
Were lost to the world when they went to their
rest;
I wonder what beautiful deeds they’d have done
If they had but witnessed to-morrow’s bright sun.
Oh, if the dead grieve, it is not for their fate,
For death comes to all of us early or late,
But their sighs of regret and their burdens of
sorrow
Are born of the joys they’d have scattered to
morrow.
Do the friends they’d have cheered know the
thoughts of the dead?
Do they treasure to-day the last words that were
said?
What mem’ries would sweeten, what hearts cease
to burn,
If but for a day the dead friends could return!
We know not the hour that our summons shall
come ;
We know not the time that our voice shall be
dumb,
Yet even as they, to our ultimate sorrow,
We leave much that’s fine for that doubtful
to-morrow.