Part 12 (1/2)

Who thinks he gathers only rue?

The other fellow.

Who sighs because he thinks that he Would infinitely happier he, If he could be like you or me?

The other fellow.

The Open Fire

There in the flame of the open grate, All that is good in the past I see: Red-lipped youth on the swinging gate, Bright-eyed youth with its minstrelsy; Girls and boys that I used to know, Back in the days of Long Ago, Troop before in the smoke and flame, Chatter and sing, as the wild birds do.

Everyone I can call by name, For the fire builds all of my youth anew.

Outside, people go stamping by, Squeak of wheel on the evening air, Stars and planets race through the sky, Here are darkness and silence rare; Only the flames in the open grate Crackle and flare as they burn up hate, Malice and envy and greed for gold, Dancing, laughing my cares away; I've forgotten that I am old, Once again I'm a boy at play.

There in the flame of the open grate Bright the pictures come and go; Lovers swing on the garden gate, Lovers kiss 'neath the mistletoe.

I've forgotten that I am old, I've forgotten my story's told; Whistling boy down the lane I stroll, All untouched by the blows of fate, Time turns back and I'm young of soul, Dreaming there by the open grate.

Improvement

The joy of life is living it, or so it seems to me; In finding shackles on your wrists, then struggling till you're free; In seeing wrongs and righting them, in dreaming splendid dreams, Then toiling till the vision is as real as moving streams.

The happiest mortal on the earth is he who ends his day By leaving better than he found to bloom along the way.

Were all things perfect here there would be naught for man to do; If what is old were good enough we'd never need the new.

The only happy time of rest is that which follows strife And sees some contribution made unto the joy of life.

And he who has oppression felt and conquered it is he Who really knows the happiness and peace of being free.

The miseries of earth are here and with them all must cope.

Who seeks for joy, through hedges thick of care and pain must grope.

Through disappointment man must go to value pleasure's thrill; To really know the joy of health a man must first be ill.

The wrongs are here for man to right, and happiness is had By striving to supplant with good the evil and the bad.

The joy of life is living it and doing things of worth, In making bright and fruitful all the barren spots of earth.

In facing odds and mastering them and rising from defeat, And making true what once was false, and what was bitter, sweet.

For only he knows perfect joy whose little bit of soil Is richer ground than what it was when he began to toil.

Send Her a Valentine

Send her a valentine to say You love her in the same old way.

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.

Pretend that all the years have pa.s.sed Without one cold and wintry blast; That you are coming still to woo Your sweetheart as you used to do; Forget that you have walked along The paths of life where right and wrong And joy and grief in battle are, And play the heart without a scar.

Be what you were when youth was fine And send to her a valentine; Forget the burdens and the woe That have been given you to know And to the wife, so fond and true, The pledges of the past renew 'Twill cure her life of every ill To find that you're her sweetheart still.

Bud

Who is it lives to the full every minute, Gets all the joy and the fun that is in it?