7 and any additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Who gives but what he'll never miss Will never know what giving is. It is rest they're vainly seeking, love and laughter in the gloam, But they'll never come to claim it, save they claim it here at home. We'll talk about the weather, The good times we have had together, The good times near, The roses buddin', an' the bees Once more upon their nectar sprees; The scarlet fever scare, an' who Came mighty near not pullin' through, An' who had light attacks, an' all The things that int'rest, big or small; But here you'll never hear of sinnin' Or any scandal that's beginnin'. A chance to dream beside a stream Where fish are biting free; A day or two, 'neath skies of blue, Is joy enough for me. I stopped to speak with him awhile; "Oh, tell me, Grandpa, pray, " I said, "why do you work so hard Throughout the livelong day? You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. In matters of finance he can Tell Congress what to do; But, O, he finds it hard to meet His bills as they fall due. "I haven't played in fifteen years, " Said father, "but I know That I can stop the grounders hot, And I can make the throw. My land's the land of many creeds And tolerance for all It is the land of 'splendid deeds Where men are seldom small. Poem myself by guest. In a tone that was gruff I shouted "Hello, " a sign for the talk to begin. The finest tribute we can pay Unto our hero dead to-day, Is not a rose wreath, white and red, In memory of the blood they shed; It is to stand beside each mound, Each couch of consecrated ground, And pledge ourselves as warriors true Unto the work they died to do. An' then I chuckled softly to myself while dreaming there An' I saw her standing o'er me combing out my tangled hair. When I was little, then you said That children should be sent to bed And not allowed to rule the place And lead old folks a merry chase. "
Now my father wasn't wealthy, but I never heard him squeal Because eight of us were sitting at the table every meal. They get their pictures printed, and their names the newsboys shout; There are heroes known to glory that were not afraid to die In the service of their country and to keep the flag on high; There are brave men in the trenches, there are brave men on the sea, But the silent, quiet heroes also prove their bravery. The old have tasks that they must do; The greatest of my joys Is working on this shaded porch, And mending children's toys. " And in her eyes there seems to shine A patriotism that is fine. He stood alone, undaunted, with his little head erect; He would rather take the jeering than to lose his self-respect. When a smile or cheerful greetin' Means so much to fellows sore, Seems we ought to keep repeatin' Smiles an' praises more an' more. Myself poem edgar albert guest. Who can cure every ache that we know, by his smile? Though times have changed and I am old I still confess I race With other grown-ups now and then to get my favorite place. I want to be where I can see the road that lies ahead, To watch the trees go flying by and see the country spread Before me as we spin along, for there I miss the fear That seems to grip the soul of me while riding in the rear. The old home never looks so well, as in that week or two That we are servantless and Nell has all the work to do. She was pleased when she woke and discovered them there, But never a one of us guessed That it isn't the splendor that makes a gift rare— She likes her rag dolly the best. Who wouldn't say so till he'd tried. There's something in a servant's ways, however fine they be, That has a cold and distant touch and frets the soul of me.
I'm satisfied, if I can see One smile that hadn't bloomed before. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. Who is it springs into bed with a leap And thinks it is queer that his dad wants to sleep? They have lived through their days and years for the great rewards to be, When earth's dusty garb shall be laid aside for the robes of eternity. If you received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with your written explanation. And whether I have lost my fight Or whether I have won, I find a faith that I've been right As soon as day is done. There is sorrow in the household; There's a grief too hard to bear; There's a little cheek that's tear-stained There's a sobbing baby there. Just drop the long familiar ways And live again the old-time days When love was new and youth was bright And all was laughter and delight, And treat her as you would if she Were still the girl that used to be. Have you even guessed of the great unrest In the world where you've never been? Long years of preparation mark the pathway for the splendid souls, And generations live and die and seem no nearer to their goals, And yet the purpose of it all, the fleeting pleasure and the woe, The laughter and the grief of life that all who come to earth must know May be to pave the way for one—one man to serve the Will Divine And it is possible that he may be your little boy or mine. There are different kinds of heroes, there are some you hear about.
The only thing that counts with me Is what I've spent my money for. The roads that oft we used to tread In early days when first we mated, When hearts were light and cheeks were red, And days were not with burdens freighted. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification number is 64-6221541. There is too much of wailing and grieving, And too much of railing at care. You may boast your shining silver, and the linen and the flowers, And the music and the laughter and the lights that hang in showers; You may have your cafe table with its brilliant array, But it doesn't charm yours truly when I'm on my homeward way; For a greater joy awaits me, as I hunger for a bite— Just the joy of pantry-prowling in the middle of the night. She said she was sorry the weather was bad The night that she asked us to dine; And she really appeared inexpressibly sad Because she had hoped 'twould be fine. How much would you take in exchange for all The joy that is wrapped in that youngster small? We're past the hurt of fretting—we can talk about it now: She slipped away so gently and the fever left her brow So softly that we didn't know we'd lost her, but, instead, We thought her only sleeping as we watched beside her bed. I envy men whose yards are gay, But never work as hard as they; I also envy men who own More wealth than I have ever known. Show me the boy who never broke A pane of window glass; Who never disobeyed the sign That says: "Keep off the grass. " Each evening finds me growing down. Each one must choose the path he'll go, Then win from it what joy he can.
Every night I must stoop to see The fresh little cuts on her arm or knee; The little hurts that have marred her play, And brought the tears on a happy day; For the path of childhood is oft beset With care and trouble and things that fret. To-day I drive a car And three glad youngsters madly strive to share the "seat with Pa. " And older folks that ride with us, I very plainly see, Maneuver in their artful ways to sit in front with me; Though all the cushions in the world were piled up in the rear, The child in all of us still longs to watch the engineer. Sue's got a baby now, an' she Is like her mother used to be; Her face seems prettier, an' her ways More settled-like. And he's the one that sits all night to watch beside the dead, And sends the worn-out sorrowers and broken hearts to bed. The wrongs are here for man to right, and happiness is had By striving to supplant with good the evil and the bad. And the little old man in the suit that was black, And once might have perfectly fitted his back, Has a boy's chubby fist in his own wrinkled hand, And together they trudge off to Light-Hearted Land; Some splendid excursions he gives every day To the boys and the girls in his funny old way. I may not own the skill to rise To glory's topmost height, Nor win a place among the wise, But I can keep the right. The Stick-Together Families. He knows the way to fix the trusts, He has a simple plan; But if the furnace needs repairs, We have to hire a... More Poems about Activities. Some day perhaps, in years to come, When he is older grown, He, too, will be assailed as I, By youngsters of his own. 3, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal fees. No idle moment Grandpa spends, But finds some work to do, And hums a snatch of some old song, That in his youth he knew. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email Email contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official page at For additional contact information: Dr. Gregory B. Newby Chief Executive and Director Section 4. While his mother tries to soothe him, I am sitting here alone; In the life that lies behind me; Many shocks like that I've known.
Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1. But they're the roads where lovers stray, Where wives and husbands walk together And children romp along the way Whenever it is pleasant weather. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm collection. Last night I got to thinkin' of the pleasant long ago, When I still had on knee breeches, an' I wore a flowing bow, An' my Sunday suit was velvet. At night I leave the job behind; At morn I face the same old grind. There's no disgrace in being broke, Unless it's due to flying high; Though poverty is not a joke, The only thing that counts is "why? " Oh, it's hard now to picture the peace of the place! He filled each pond and stream and lake With fish for man to come and take; Then stretched a velvet carpet deep On which a weary soul could sleep. The day I find a man who'll say He's never known a rainy day, Who'll raise his right hand up an' swear In forty years he's had no care, Has never had a single blow, An' never known one touch o' woe, Has never seen a loved one die, Has never wept or heaved a sigh, Has never had a plan go wrong, But allus laughed his way along; Then I'll sit down an' start to whine That all the hard luck here is mine. "Men will grow weary, " said the Lord, "Of working for their bed and board. I am eager once more to feel easy, I'm weary of thinking of dress; I'm heartily sick of stiff collars, And trousers the tailor must press. Old-fashioned winters had their charms, a fact I can't deny, But after all I'm really glad that they have wandered by; We used to tumble out of bed, like firemen, I declare, And grab our clothes and hike down stairs and finish dressing there. And there's nothing that money can buy or do That means so much as that boy to you. In her face It seemed the angels left a trace Of Heavenly beauty to remain Where once had been the lines of pain An' with the baby in her arms Enriched her with a thousand charms.
We're tryin' to be cheerful, An' keep this home from gettin' tearful. When you solemnly stare at the world out there Can you see where the future lies? Show the flag and fall in line! Her laughter has a clearer ring Than all the bubbling of a spring, An' in her cheeks love's tender flame Glows brighter since the baby came. You may prate of gold, but your fortune lies, And you know it well, in your boy's bright eyes. And so, more thoughtful than I am, He talks of lofty things, And thus an evening hour we spend Sedate and grave as kings. Let us do our best to smooth it and to make it bright and fair; Let us travel it with kindness, let's be careful as we tread, And give unto the living what we'd offer to the dead. "Wait just a little while. " It' is every day within us—all the rest is hippodrome— And the soul that is the gladdest is the soul that builds a home. Who sighs because he thinks that he Would infinitely happier he, If he could be like you or me? Suppose that his body were racked with pain, How much would you pay for his health again?
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