The little path that leads to home,
That is the road for me,
I know no finer path to roam,
Here's our story, page by page,
Happy youth and middle-age,
Smile and tear-drop, weal and woe
Such as all who live must know-
The road to laughter beckons me,
The road to all that's best;
The home road where I nightly see
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,
Home was never home before,
Till the baby came.
Love no golden jewels wore,
Till the baby came.
The little house has grown too small, or rather we have grown
Too big to dwell within the walls where all our joys were known.
And so, obedient to the wish of her we love so well,
I have agreed for sordid gold the little home to sell.
GLAD to be back home again,
Where abide the friendly men;
Glad to see the same old scenes
When Pa comes home, I'm at the door,
An' then he grabs me off the floor
An' throws me up an' catches me
When I come down, an' then, says he:
Some folks leave home for money
And some leave home for fame,
Some seek skies always sunny,
And some depart in shame.
Home is the place where the laughter should ring,
And man should be found at his best.
Let the cares of the day be as great as they may,
The night has been fashioned for rest.
Peace, unto this house, I pray,
Keep terror and despair away;
Shield it from evil and let sin
Never find lodging room within.
The little house is not too small
To shelter friends who come to call.
Though low the roof and small its space
When the young folks gather 'round in the good old-fashioned way,
Singin' all the latest songs gathered from the newest play,
Or they start the phonograph an' shove the chairs back to the wall
An' hold a little party dance, I'm happiest of all.
Then I sorter settle back, plumb contented to the core,
An' I tell myself most proudly, that's what home's intended for.
MISCHIEVOUS and full of fun,
Eyes that sparkle like the sun;
Mouth that's always in a smile,
Hands in trouble all the while.
Tugging this and tugging that,
Let the old fire blaze
An' the youngsters shout
An' the dog on the rug
Sprawl full length out,
An' Mother an' I
No war is won by cannon fire alone;
The soldier bears the grim and dreary role;
He dies to serve the Flag that he has known;
His duty is to gain the distant goal.
Some folks there be who seem to need excitement fast and furious,
An' reckon all the joys that have no thrill in 'em are spurious.
Some think that pleasure's only found down where the lights are shining,
An' where an orchestra's at work the while the folks are dining.
THERE'S the mother at the doorway, and the children at the gate,
And the little parlor windows with the curtains white and straight.
There are shaggy asters blooming in the bed that lines the fence,
When you were just our little boy, on many a night we crept
Unto your cot and watched o'er you, and all the time you slept.
We tucked the covers round your form and smoothed your pillow, too,
And sometimes stooped and kissed your cheeks, but that you never knew.
NEVER so happy as when I 'm at home,
I 'm not so anxious to wander or roam;
Rather sit down with the folks who love me,
Curling smoke from a chimney low,
And only a few more steps to go,
Faces pressed at a window pane
Watching for someone to come again,
'Wait till your Pa comes home!' Oh, dear!
What a dreadful threat for a boy to hear.
Yet never a boy of three or four
Give me the house where the toys are strewn,
Where the dolls are asleep in the chairs,
Where the building blocks and the toy balloon
And the soldiers guard the stairs.
The world is filled with bustle and with selfishness and greed,
It is filled with restless people that are dreaming of a deed.
You can read it in their faces; they are dreaming of the day
When they'll come to fame and fortune and put all their cares away.