#1918 #EnglishWriters #OverHere
Along a stream that raced and ran Through tangled trees and over sto… That long had heard the pipes o’… And shared the joys that nature ow… I met a fellow fisherman,
Ma has every confidence in Pa, She says she knows he always does… He’s not at all like some folks’ h… Whose conduct very often is a frig… She says that she can trust him an…
We have wandered afar in our hunti… We have scorned the soul’s duty to… We have lived for our laughter and… And paid little heed to the soul’s… But light were the burdens that fr…
I’LL never be rich. I’m too fond of the joy Of a certain small girl And a certain small boy; And the nights full of fun
When an empty sleeve or a sightles… Or a legless form I see, I breathe my thanks to my God on… For His watchful care o’er me. And I say to myself, as the cripp…
He brought me his report card from… He wasn’t very proud of it and sad… He was excellent in reading, but a… And I noticed there were several… But one little bit of credit which…
HE has not lived in vain If men can say When he has passed away: “He labored not for gain.’ If one can truly say:
Each evening on my lap there climb… A little boy of three, And with his dimpled, chubby fists He pounds me shamefully. He gives my beard a vicious tug,
We was speakin’ of folks, jes’ com… An’ we come to this conclusion, That wherever they be, on land or… They warm to a home allusion; That under the skin an’ under the…
THEY tell me that I 'm spoiling… I The neighbors say that you shou… For all the awful things you do, Laid face down over daddy’s knee And spanked and put to bed. That…
What do I want my boy to be? Oft is the question asked of me, And oft I ask it of myself– What corner, niche or post or shel… In the great hall of life would I
If this were all of life we’ll kno… If this brief space of breath Were all there is to human toil, If death were really death, And never should the soul arise
The man who wants a garden fair, Or small or very big, With flowers growing here and ther… Must bend his back and dig. The things are mighty few on earth
Father’s in the woodshed, Cleaning forty fish; Mother’s in the kitchen, Washing every dish; Sister’s upstairs making
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… I’m eagerly waiting the glad days—