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A Convalescin’ Woman
A convalescin’ woman does the strangest sort o’
things,
An’ it’s wonderful the courage that a little new
strength brings;
O, it’s never safe to leave her for an hour or two
alone,
Or you’ll find th’ doctor’s good work has been
quickly overthrown.
There’s that wife o’ mine, I reckon she’s a sample
of ‘em all;
She’s been mighty sick, I tell you, an’ to-day can
scarcely crawl,
But I left her jes’ this mornin’ while I fought
potater bugs,
An’ I got back home an’ caught her in the back
yard shakin’ rugs.
I ain’t often cross with Nellie, an’ I let her have
her way,
But it made me mad as thunder when I got back
home to-day
An’ found her doin’ labor that’d tax a big man’s
strength ;
An’ I guess I lost my temper, for I scolded her
at length,
Til I seen her teardrops fallin’ an’ she said : “I
couldn’t stand
To see those rugs so dirty, so I took ‘em all in
hand,
An’ it ain’t hurt me nuther see, I’m gettin’
strong again ”
An’ I said : ” Doggone it ! can’t ye leave sich
work as that f er men ? ”
Once I had her in a hospittle fer weeks an’ weeks
an’ weeks,
An’ she wasted most to nothin’, an’ th’ roses left
her cheeks;
An’ one night I feared I’d lose her; ’twas the
turnin’ point, I guess,
Coz th’ next day I remember that th’ doctor said :
“Success!”
Well, I brought her home an’ told her that for
two months she must stay
A-sittin’ in her rocker an’ jes’ watch th’ kids at
play.
An’ th’ first week she was patient, but I mind the
way I swore
On th’ day when I discovered ‘at she’d scrubbed
th’ kitchen floor.
O, you can’t keep wimmin quiet, an’ they ain’t
a bit like men ;
They’re hungerin’ every minute jes’ to get to
work again ;
An’ you’ve got to watch ‘em allus, when you
know they’re weak an’ ill,
Coz th’ minute that yer back is turned they’ll
labor fit to kill.
Th’ house ain’t cleaned to suit ‘em an’ they seem
to fret an’ fume
‘Less they’re busy doin’ somethin’ with a mop
or else a broom;
An’ it ain’t no use to scold ‘em an’ it ain’t no use
to swear,
Coz th’ next time they will do it jes’ the minute
you ain’t there.
The Change-Worker
A feller don’t start in to think of himself, an’
the part that he’s playin’ down here,
When there’s nobody lookin’ to him fer support,
an’ he don’t give a thought to next year.
His faults don’t seem big an’ his habits no worse
than a whole lot of others he knows,
An’ he don’t seem to care what his neighbors may
say, as heedlessly forward he goes.
He don’t stop to think if it’s wrong or it’s right;
with his speech he is careless or glib,
Till the minute the nurse lets him into the room
to see what’s asleep in the crib.
An’ then as he looks at that bundle o’ red, an’ the
wee little fingers an’ toes,
An’ he knows it’s his flesh an’ his blood that is
there, an’ will be just like him when it
grows,
It comes in a flash to a feller right then, there is
more here than pleasure or pelf,
An’ the sort of a man his baby will be is the sort
of a man he’s himself.
Then he kisses the mother an’ kisses the child, an’
goes out determined that he
Will endeavor to be just the sort of a man that
he’s wantin’ his baby to be.
A feller don’t think that it matters so much what
he does till a baby arrives;
He sows his wild oats an’ he has his gay fling an’
headlong in pleasure he dives ;
An’ a drink more or less doesn’t matter much
then, for life is a comedy gay,
But the moment a crib is put in the home, an’ a
baby has come there to stay,
He thinks of the things he has done in the past,
an’ it strikes him as hard as a blow,
That the path he has trod in the past is a path
that he don’t want his baby to go.
I ain’t much to preach, an’ I can’t just express
in the way that your clever men can
The thoughts that I think, but it seems to me now
that when God wants to rescue a man
From himself an’ the follies that harmless ap
pear, but which, under the surface, are
grim,
He summons the angel of infancy sweet, an’ sends
down a baby to him.
For in that way He opens his eyes to himself, and
He gives him the vision to see
That his duty’s to be just the sort of a man that
he’s wantin’ his baby to be.
His Example
There are little eyes upon you, and they’re watch
ing night and day;
There are little ears that quickly take in every
word you say;
There are little hands all eager to do everything
you do,
And a little boy that’s dreaming of the day he’ll
be like you.
You’re the little fellow’s idol, you’r* the wisest
of the wise;
In his little mind about you n^ suspicions ever
rise;
He believes in you devoutly, holds that all you
say and do
He will say and do in your way when he’s grown
up just like you.
Oh, it sometimes makes me shudder when I
hear my boy repeat
Some careless phrase I’ve uttered in the language
of the street;
And it sets my heart to grieving when some little
fault I see
And I know beyond all doubting that he picked
it up from me.
There’s a wide-eyed little fellow who believes
you’re always right,
And his ears are always open and he watches
day and night ;
You are setting an example every day in all
you do
For the little boy who’s waiting to grow up to
be like you.