I am eager once more to feel easy,
I'm weary of thinking of dress;
I'm heartily sick of stiff collars,
This is the sort of a man was he:
True when it hurt him a lot to be;
Tight in a corner an' knowin' a lie
HE has not lived in vain
If men can say
When he has passed away:
"He labored not for gain.'
They spoke it bravely, grimly, in their darkest hours of doubt;
They spoke it when their hope was low and when their strength gave out;
We heard it from the dying in those troubled days now gone,
And they breathed it as their slogan for the living: 'Carry on!'
He brought me his report card from the teacher and he said
He wasn't very proud of it and sadly bowed his head.
He was excellent in reading, but arithmetic, was fair,
When I was but a little lad, my old Grandfather said
That none should wind the clock but he, and so, at time for bed,
He'd fumble for the curious key kept high upon the shelf
Adown the lanes of memory bloom all the flowers of yesteryear,
And looking back we smile to see life's bright red roses reappear,
The little sprigs of mignonette that smiled upon us as we passed,
The pansy and the violet, too sweet, we thought those days, to last.
'Taint nothin' to laugh at as I can see!
If you'd been stung by a bumble bee,
An' your nose wuz swelled an' it smarted, too,
You wouldn't want people to laugh at you.
If you had a lump that wuz full of fire,
The little kindergarten miss,
Source of all my joy and bliss,
Every evening in the window
Waits and watches just for me;
Waits and watches for her daddy,