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The Common Joys
These joys are free to all who live,
The rich and poor, the great and low:
The charms which kindness has to give,
The smiles which friendship may bestow,
The honor of a well-spent life,
The glory of a purpose true,
High courage in the stress of strife,
And peace when every task is through.
Nor class nor caste nor race nor creed,
Nor greater might can take away
The splendor of an honest deed.
Who nobly serves from day to day
Shall walk the road of life with pride,
With friends who recognize his worth,
For never are these joys denied
Unto the humblest man on earth.
Not all may rise to world-wide fame,
Not all may gather fortune’s gold,
Not all life’s luxuries may claim;
In differing ways success is told.
But all may know the peace of mind
Which comes from service brave and true ;
The poorest man can still be kind,
And nobly live till life is through.
These joys abound for one and all:
The pride of fearing no man’s scorn,
Of standing firm, where others fall,
Of bearing well what must be borne.
He that shall do an honest deed
Shall win an honest deed’s rewards;
For these, no matter race or creed,
Life unto every man affords.
Living Flowers
“I’m never alone in the garden,” he said. ” I’m
never alone with the flowers.
It seems like I’m meeting the wonderful dead
out here with these blossoms of ours.
An’ there’s never a bush or a plant or a tree, but
somebody loved it of old.
An’ the souls of the angels come talkin’ to me
through the petals of crimson an’ gold.
” The lilacs in spring bring the mother once more,
an’ she lives in the midsummer rose.
She smiles in the peony clump at the door, an’
sings when the four o’clocks close.
She loved every blossom God gave us to own, an’
daily she gave it her care.
So never I walk in the garden alone, for I feel
that the mother’s still there.
” These are the pinks that a baby once kissed,
still spicy with fragrance an’ fair.
The years have been long since her laughter I’ve
missed, but her spirit is hovering there.
The roses that ramble and twine on the wall were
planted by one that was kind
An’ I’m sure as I stand here an’ gaze on them all,
that his soul has still lingered behind.
“I’m never alone in the garden,” he said, ” I
have many to talk with an’ see,
For never a flower comes to bloom in its bed, but
it brings back a loved one to me.
An’ I fancy whenever I’m bendin’ above these
blossoms of crimson an’ gold,
That I’m seein’ an’ hearin’ the ones that I love,
who lived in the glad days of old.”
Pleasing Dad
When I was but a little lad, not more than two or
three,
I noticed in a general way my dad was proud of
me.
He liked the little ways I had, the simple things
I said;
Sometimes he gave me words of praise, sometimes
he stroked my head ;
And when I’d done a thing worth while, the
thought that made me glad
Was always that I’d done my best, and that
would please my dad.
I can look back to-day and see how proud he
used to be
When I’d come home from school and say they’d
recommended me.
I didn’t understand it then, for school boys never
do,
But in a vague and general way it seems to me
I knew
That father took great pride in me, and wanted
me to shine,
And that it meant a lot to him when I’d done
something fine.
Then one day out of school I went, amid the
great world’s hum,
An office boy, and father watched each night to
see me come.
And I recall how proud he was of me that
wondrous day
When I could tell him that, unasked, the firm had
raised my pay.
I still can feel that hug he gave, I understand the
joy
It meant to him to learn that men were trusting
in his boy.
I wonder will it please my dad? How oft the
thought occurs
When I am stumbling on the paths, beset with
briars and burrs !
He isn’t here to see me now, alone my race I
run,
And yet some day I’ll go to him and tell him all
I’ve done.
And oh I pray that when we meet beyond life’s
stormy sea
That he may claim the old-time joy of being
proud of me.