Sure, they get stubborn at times; they worry and
fret us a lot,
But I'd rather be crossed by a glad little boy
and frequently worried than not.
I don't know what they'll put him at, or what
his post may be;
I cannot guess the task that waits for him across
If nobody smiled and nobody cheered and nobody helped us along,
If each every minute looked after himself and good things all went to the
If nobody cared just a little for you, and nobody thought about me,
And we stood all alone to the battle of life, what a dreary old world it
He little knew the sorrow that was in his vacant chair;
He never guessed they'd miss him, or he'd surely have been there;
He couldn't see his mother or the lump that filled her throat,
You can buy, if you've got money, all you need to drink and eat,
You can pay for bread and honey, and can keep your palate sweet.
But when trouble comes to fret you, and when sorrow comes your way,
For the gentle hand of friendship that you need you cannot pay.
He is marching dusty highways and he's riding bitter trails,
His eyes are clear and shining and his muscles hard as nails.
There's a twinkle in her eye,
O, so merry! O, so sly!
That you never see the wrinkles in her face;
She's so full of fun and play
That you never see the gray
Sittin' on the porch at night when all the tasks are done,
Just restin' there an' talkin', with my easy slippers on,
An' my shirt band thrown wide open an' my feet upon the rail,
Oh, it's then I'm at my richest, with a wealth that cannot fail;
When a little baby dies
And the wee form silent lies,
And the little cheeks seem waxen
And the little hands are still,