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LIVING
THE MISER thinks he s living when he s hoarding up his
gold;
The soldier calls it living when he s doing something
bold;
The sailor thinks it living to be tossed upon the sea,
And upon this very subject no two men of us agree.
But I hold to the opinion, as I walk my way along,
That living s made of laughter and good-fellowship
and song.
I wouldn t call it living to be always seeking gold,
To bank all the present gladness for the days when
I ll be old.
I wouldn t call it living to spend all my strength for
fame,
And forego the many pleasures which to-day are mine
to claim.
I wouldn t for the splendor of the world set out to
roam,
And forsake my laughing children and the peace I
know at home.
Oh, the thing that I call living isn t gold or fame at
all!
It s fellowship and sunshine, and it s roses by the
wall.
It s evenings glad with music and a hearth-fire that s
ablaze,
“Living
From a painting by FRANK X. L E Y E N D E c K E R.
And the joys which come to mortals in a thousand
different ways.
It is laughter and contentment and the struggle for a
goal;
It is everything that s needful in the shaping of a
soul.
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