ETHEL (DUFFETT) & GEORGE FRAMPTON

A FORWARD

Bear with me gentle reader
If you're inclined to look,
Or perchance scan these pages
you'll find within this book;

I lack the gift good poets have
That express their thoughts in rhyme,
Or portray mental pictures
That make good poems sublime.

I also lack the talent
That bring good poets success,
But with simple inspiration
I've tried to do my best.

If there's one simple poem
That you'll enjoy and read,
Then I will be rewarded,
And be well paid indeed.

SECOND CHILDHOOD

The skilled artisan plys his trade
When making gifts for girls and boys,
The teddy bears and sleeping dolls,
The jumping jack and tinker toys;
And visions of a happy face
He sees when fitting things in place.

At work he often visualize
The noise and clatter Christmas morn,
The scampering feet and whoops of joy,
With din of drums and tooting horn;
With the completion of each toy
He feels a thrill of childlike joy.

Electric trains and spinning tops
Brings joy to many a little lad,
But first he has to wait until
It has been proven by his Dad;
Sprawled on the floor he has real fun
In showing Junior how it's run.

We grown up folks sometimes gives way
To pent-up feeling we retain,
And thinking of our childhood days,
We wish we were a child again
When looking back to days gone by
When we had just some simple toy.

December, 1947

THE SILVER THAW

The trees all crystallized they stand,
As if a fairy's magic wand
Transformed them in the silent night,
and left them sprayed in silvery white.

Tall slender saplings once so straight
Bends low beneath the icy weight,
And old king Sol's first morning rays
A dazzling spectacle displays.

White birches stand beside the hill,
they droops beneath the icy chill,
And fallen icicles below
Lies shattered on the crusted snow.

The alders and the willow trees,
Crackle and shimmer in the breeze,
But in the noonday sun's bright glare
Their coats of armour disappear.

Dame Nature with her magic wand
Spreads charm and beauty o'er the land,
But none is more unique and neat
Than trees transformed by frozen sleet.

RECOLLECTIONS

I always have remembered, tho' it's many years ago
When I would kneel these simple words to pray,
As my Mother morn and evening would recite each
Little prayer,
And I'd try to repeat every word she'd say.

"Now I lay be down to sleep", it was just an evening prayer,
Said in simple language children understand;
And methinks the prayers our mothers taught us
Often helps us through,
When we at times do need a guiding hand.

"Make me good Dear Lord I pray,
Keep and guide me through this day",
Just a daily repetition, nothing new,
Yet it is a recollection, little words I
Ne'er forgot,
Said each morning and quite often hurried through.

Where ever I have wandered, on the land, or o'er the sea
Some childhood scenes have followed all the way;
And the memories I cherish most was by my
Mother's knee,
As she first taught me these little prayers to say.

EXPECTANCY

Have you ever watched a batter,
Poised, and with his bat all set,
Filled with eager expectation,
And in keen anticipation
For that home run he may get?

Have you ever been an angler
Casting with your newest flies?
All the art you knew in fishing
You were trying, hoping, wishing
For a speckled beauty prize.

In the spring you'll see a robin
Gleaning straws to build a nest,
She has no idea of quitting,
And in due time she'll be sitting
With her nestlings 'neath her breast.

Life is filled with expectations
At whatever stage it be,
Youth's ambitions and romances,
Planning, scheming, taking chances
In eager expectancy.

SPRING IS HERE

Songbirds from the south are winging,
Children's skipping ropes are swinging,
Gurgling brooks are merrily singing,
Spring is everywhere;
O'er the mill-dam water's flowing,
Hark, the farmland cattle's lowing,
And the night winds softly blowing
Whispers "Spring is here".

Cease my soul thy sad repining,
See how bright the sun is shining,
It's no time for peevish whining,
Vernal Spring is here;
Banish all misgivings, doubtings,
See the tiny buds are sprouting,
Soon there'll be the annual outings
To the country fair.

Spring means life and resurrection,
Spring means flowers in true perfection,
Bursting out in each direction;
Fragrant is the air;
Springtime brings us consolation,
Spreading beauty through the nation,
May we each in our vocation
Its full beauties share.

Spring, 1950

THE MASTER WORKMAN

When the early morning sunlight
Sweeps across the towering hills,
And the valleys are resounding
To the waterfalls and rills;
With the fields bedecked with daisies,
And the orchards dressed so rare,
Then we see the Master Workman
Manifested everywhere.

When we see the unique pattern
In a leaf or lily bell,
Or some magic work of nature
In the woodland or the dell;
If our eyes detect real beauty,
It is then we'll understand,
that the Master Workman's art is
Unsurpassed by human hand.

Could we climb the highest mountain,
And survey the landscape o'er,
There we'd see the earth's true pattern
As we never saw before;
Lakes and streams, the hills and valleys,
Rolling plains and mountains high,
A panorama of this earth spread out
Beneath an azure sky.

There's no lack of beauty in a
Rainbow's arch suspended high,
Or the tinted clouds at sunset
Midst a flaming western sky;
From the early morning sunlight,
'till the sun sinks in the west,
Morning, noon and night the Master
Workman's art is manifest.

August, 1950

Photo: Albion Falls, Hamilton. Few people are aware that half way between Toronto and Niagara Falls is "The City of Waterfalls" - namely Hamilton. To date 81 waterfalls and cascades have been found within the city boundaries making it possibly the city with the most number of waterfalls in the world for its size of a half million people. Many of these waterfalls can be reached by hiking the Bruce Trail through Hamilton.

IN THE COUNTRY

It is peaceful in the country
In the early morning haze,
Where young lambs skip and frolic,
And the lowing cattle graze.
The old farm looks so peaceful
With snake fence running through,
And the early morning sunlight
Reflects the sparkling dew.

It is peaceful in the country
"Neath the midnight stars at night,
Ere the morning star arises
To usher in the light.
There the scarecrow and the fairies
Meet for their rendezvous,
'Til the rooster crowing loudly,
Proclaims the night is through.

There is beauty in the country
When nature waves her wand,
When Spring in all it's splendour
Spreads beauty o're the land.
O're hill and dale and valley,
In woodland and the dell,
Creation joins in chorus,
"God created all things well".

May, 1950

FRIENDS

I'm thankful for my many friends,
And rightly so,
For in this life so much depends
On friends we know.

I'm thankful for the friends who dwell
Along each street,
And absent friends who wish me well,
But cannot meet.

I'm glad that this old world can still
Boast countless friends,
They are the sowers of goodwill,
And comprehends.

May I be worthy of each friend,
Both old and new,
And may success their way attend
Their whole life through.

And when at last life's journey ends,
And day is done,
It's then I hope to meet my friends,
And thank each one.

December, 1948

THE POPCORN VENDER

The popcorn vender is a man
Who needs no special art,
But two strong arms and sturdy legs
He needs to push his cart.

He trudges 'long his daily route
With slow determined pace,
And now and then he halts to wipe
His hot perspiring face.

The children playing near their homes
Observes him on the street,
And with a coin clasped in their hand,
They scampers for their treat.

He serves each one a bag of corn
So crispy, moist and sweet,
And with a smile for every child,
He proceeds along his beat.

The children are his customers,
He never robs or cheats,
At every block the youngsters flock
The popcorn man to greet.

And when the sun has sank to rest,
He homeward wends his way,
And there he rests his aching feet
Until another day.

ECHOES

While hiking through the glen one morn
When spring was at its best,
I paused beneath a leafy bower
To sit awhile and rest.

O'er head the sky was azure blue,
Below, the earth was green;
White fleecy clouds were floating through
The stratosphere between.

I heard the twittering of the birds,
Their's was the only sound;
As quiet as a sanctuary,
It seemed like hallowed ground.

I called aloud, I know not why,
"A lovely day" I cried,
"A lovely day" came the reply
Back from the steep hillside.

'Twas a reflection of my voice,
Echoes are just a sound,
But it's more pleasant to the ear
When cheerful words rebound.

February, 1949

AT THE CARNIVAL

Whene'er the carnival comes to town
Each summer to the camping ground,
then folks each evening far and near,
Strolls forth to patronize the fair.

If you're a man with goodly means
With spare cash jingling in your jeans;
The carnival is quite a show
Where you may spend your surplus "dough".

Perchance you'll win a kewpie doll,
That's better than no prize at all;
Or if your luck's not up to par,
Maybe you'll get a chocolate bar.

Try shooting birdies on the move,
And see how well your aim improve;
The fish pond too I know you'll try,
But what you catch will be small fry.

Then ride upon the ferris wheel,
You'll be surprised how young you'll feel;
Now up, now down, around you go,
It's the best fun of all the show.

You'll mix and mingle midst the din
In hopes a super prize you'll win;
And if you lose, or if you've won,
The carnival is lots of fun.

April, 1950

TRUE FRIENDS

If you have found a friend you trust,
Who'll share with you his only crust,
And tries to prove your quarrel just;
He really is a friend.

One who'll not hurt by word or deed,
But tries to help in time of need,
And questions not your race or creed;
He really is a friend.

A friend who helps you up life's grade,
Who never cheats whate'er his trade,
And tries to keep the friends he's made,
He really is a friend.

To have such friends is worth much gold,
Their's is a broad untrammeled soul,
And 'though their deeds are never told;
They are true friends indeed.

March, 1947

THE LURE OF THE SEA

When each spring returns, then my heart yearns
With an inwardly emotion,
To hear once more the surf on shore,
Down by th' Atlantic ocean.

To hear again the waves refrain
At dusk when day is dying,
Or the seagull's cry when waves roll high,
And o'er head the scud is flying.

Where fishing boats so proudly floats
After their spring's o'er-hauling,
So neat and trim from stern to stem
Ready for the season's calling.

And to watch each smak on a windard tack
Close reefed, and sea spray flying,
As they come about at the harbour's mouth
When the summer's day is dying.

Far from that shore where the breakers roar,
I hear not the sea's commotion,
But the wind and rain oft brings again
Echoes from the briny ocean.

February, 1950

GEORGE, ED, KANE & ALEX

Left to Right: George Frampton, Ed Duffett (Ethel's brother), Kane Frampton, Alex Duffett (Ethel Frampton's brother).

CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE

When the days seem long and dreary,
And we murmur and complain;
As we look for hours of sunshine,
But instead we find the rain;

'Though the heavens be o'er-shadowed,
And dark clouds obscure the sky,
There is still a silver lining
For the sun still shines on high.

When we meet with some perplextion,
And our worries press us sore,
As we wonder what tomorrow has
For us in future's store;

Then may we have hope and courage
That will banish inward fear,
For worries that upset us most
Seldom do they appear.

When our cares they weigh so heavy,
And the way of life seems hard,
As temptations gather 'round us
To catch us off our guard;

Then let us all endeavour
To try and do our best,
For the world will still have troubles
After we are laid to rest.

LILAC TIME

Lilacs blooming in the springtime
Sheds their beauty far and near,
Bursting out in wild profusion,
So fragrant on the morning air.

By the quiet parks and hedges,
And the rural country side,
In the dell and verdant valleys
Lilacs blossom far and wide.

When the Spring expands its beauty
Songbirds warble a melody,
Basking in the golden sunshine,
Nesting in a lilac tree.

Through the winding paths and byways,
And down lovers lane is seen
Lilac plumes waving a welcome,
Blending with the foliage green.

Spring enchants us with its beauty,
Drest in nature's gar so fair,
Tinting earth's fair land with colour,
Spreading bouquets everywhere.

March, 1950

WHAT WOULD YOU TAKE?

What would you take for that round curly head,
And ringlets all dangling with pink ribbons tied;
For that bright little face with a smile all lit up,
Or her two sparkling eyes when they open so wide,
What would you take?

What would you take for that little round mouth
When it pouts in displeasure or yell with delight;
As she chatters all day in her own simple way,
Or puckers her lips for a kiss at good night.
What would you take?

What would you take for her fingers so small
As you spy little marks on your paintwork so fair,
Or a dish when it falls to the floor with a crash,
Ad she looks in your eyes with a look of despair.
What would you take?

What would yo take as each day she grows up,
And toddles around on her two little feet;
When she listens at night-fall a footstep to hear
Then runs to the doorway her Daddy to greet,
What would you take?

What would yo take for her when day is done,
And she lies fast asleep in her own little cot,
As you think of her mischief, her chatter and fun,
Then whispers a prayer for your dear little tot;
Say, what would you take?

December, 1943

HEAVENLY VISIONS

The white robed clouds drifts slowly on
Beneath heaven's vault of azure blue,
Majestical they sail along
To other worlds beyond our view.

Whene'er the sun is sinking low
Amidst a flaming western sky,
It tints the landscape with its glow and
Headland, spire, and mountains high.

An evening rainbow's brilliant hue,
What other beauty can compare?
A symbol of God's covenant true,
And that tomorrow will be fair.

The borealis in the north,
Mysterious are these northern lights,
With dazzling speed they sallies forth
To meet the challenge of the night.

The stars like lamps hang ot by ight,
And all along the Milky Way
On wintry nights they sparkle bright
Until the dawning of the day.

A flaming sunset, evening star,
White fleecy clouds, a rainbow's hue;
What awe inspiring sights they are,
I think they're wonderful, don't you?

CARRYING ON

When we are ill, or in distress,
And lying helpless, feeling low,
We're apt to murmur and complain,
And cry "None other has such woe";

Then let us think and ponder well,
And count the many friends we know,
Then we will likely think of one
Who has a harder drill to hoe.

When we are sad or sore perplexed,
When worries seem to haunt us so,
And troubles always cross our path
In every walk of life we go;

Then may we try and do our best
To bear our load 'though steps be slow,
Ad if we stager 'neath its weight,
We're not the first to stumble so.

Then when the clouds are rolled away,
And skies are blue, soft breezes blow,
May we enjoy each day of life
While living on this earth below;

And if the ordeals of the past
Have made us strong to face the foe,
May we gives thanks for renewed strength,
And pray for weaker folks we know.

REFLECTIONS

When you look into your mirror
Every morning when you rise,
Do you see a true reflection,
Or your visage in disguise?

Do you meet a face that's smiling,
And two eyes so bright and clear,
Or a frown upon your features
As if Life was hard to bear?

When you gaze into the mirror
Of your past vocation's role,
May you find true satisfaction
In the things you there behold.

May these past reflections make you
Proud to feel you played the game,
In your daily work or pleasure
That brought credit to your name.

Looking back upon our failures,
Or on chores that were well done,
We are gazing at reflections,
And memories that linger on.

When we gaze on some old photo,
Or memento of the past,
Then again we see reflections
In our mental looking glass.

April, 1950

WINTERTIME

When winter grips with icy hand,
And Jack Frost roams the forest deep,
Tall stalwart trees like sentinels stand
In silence while Dame Nature sleeps.

At night the silent forest snaps,
The snowshoe rabbit hops around,
And pine tops don their snowy caps
As white show flakes comes whirling down.

A gay woodpecker's loud tattoo
Re-echoes in the early light,
The old horned owl's weird, "Whoo whoo"
Disturbs the silence of the night.

The stars like lamps hang in the sky,
And northern lights dart to and fro,
As clouds obscure the moon on high
Dark shadows flit across the snow.

The slumbering rivers overflow
When spring at last breaks winter's chain,
And on their banks thick willows grow
Where songbirds warble their refrain.

Winter, 1949

SCENES AT SEA

Have you watched the foaming white caps
Rolling down an inland bay,
When a howling late nor'wester
Favours nothing in its way?
Have you seen these waters tranquil,
Mirrored 'neath the stars at night?
If you haven't, then believe me,
You have missed a thrilling sight.

When deep sea leviathans flounder,
And engaged in bitter strife;
Have you watched them as they battled,
Fighting for their very life?
Have you seen a towering ice berg
Glistening in the bright sunlight?
If you haven't, then believe me,
You have missed a thrilling sight.

Have you watched the graceful sea gulls
Riding on the ocean's crest,
And the playful mackerels leaping
Like acrobats at their best?
Have you seen a full rigged clipper
Drest out in her canvas white?
If you haven't, then believe me,
You have missed a thrilling sight.

Have you seen an Arctic ice flow
Crash against a bold head land?
Have you watched a loan sand piper
Hunting on some quiet strand?
Have you seen a sea bird's rookery,
And have watched them there in flight?
If you haven't, then believe me
You have missed a thrilling sight.

April 18, 1950

THE CREATION

When the dawn of day approaching,
Lightens up the eastern sky,
And the morning star is fading,
Signifying day is nigh;
All creation joins in praise
With the sun's first cheering rays.

When the scorching sun at noon day
From on high is shining down,
Waking every pulse of nature
Wheresoever life abound;
Then creation lifts its eyes
To'ards the source of life's supplies.

When the toils of day is over,
And the sun sinks in the west,
When each flower folds up its petals,
And the birds retire to rest;
Then as light of day grows dim
Song birds chant their vesper hymn.

When the midnight moon is beaming,
And the busy world is still,
And the moonlight shadows playing
Hide and seek o'er dale and hill;
Then creation through the night
Keeps its vigil 'till the light.

October, 1947

THE GRASSHOPPER'S EXIT

The old farm looked quiet and peaceful,
The sun shone so brightly each day,
With butterflies, bees and the crickets
So beautiful, busy and gay.

Amongst them there was a grasshopper
Who felt so discouraged and worn,
He couldn't keep pace with his neighbors,
And wished that he never was born.

Quoth he, "I am weary with working,
And hopping and jumping each day,
I think I'll hop out of this country
And seek fairer fields far away.

He told all his cousins and neighbours,
The bumble bee, beetles and gnats,
They wished him good luck on his venture,
And bade him adieu with regrets.

Said the old gobbler as he was passing,
"You're going away Sir I see",
He opened his mouth as the hopper he jumped,
The first hop he landed in Turkey.

August, 1950

SIGNS OF SPRING

Spring smiles again upon our land,
And radiates the quickened earth,
Once more again on every hand
Appears new hope, new life, new birth.

The willow trees don plumes of white,
New life appears in flower and tree,
And nature revels in delight
As song birds chant their melody.

As anglers check their tackle o'er
Hope springs eternal in each breast;
With coloured gadgets in galore,
They'll soon be on a fishing quest.

Again spring fever's in the air,
A malady none can't deny,
As young lads sit with dreamy stare,
And maidens with bewitching eye.

We know it's spring by signs we see,
And sounds that fall upon the ear,
We welcome spring, and all agree
It's the best season of the year.

Spring, 1950

OLD SAILOR BILL

Old Bill he always loved the sea,
He was a sailor bold,
Until he had to stay on shore
As he was growing old.

He never had no family cares,
And never wooed a wife;
The sea was his ambition
And it shared his daily life.

He used to stroll down to the quay
Each day and sit around,
To watch the busy harbour tugs,
And ships all outward bound.

He loved the sea, he loved the ships,
And sitting there each day,
He fancied he could feel the splash
Of flying spume and spray.

He crossed the ocean many times,
And sailed the seven seas,
Oftimes at night in dreams he saw
White topsails in the breeze.

The young lads they would gather 'round,
And listen to his tales
Of far off lands where he had been,
And shipwrecks, storms and gales.

One day they found him very still
With head bowed on his chest,
Old Bill had ended his last voyage,
And reached his port of rest.

LIFE'S CHANGING SCENES

How changing are the scenes of life,
How variant are each day;
Success and failure, hopes and fears
We meet along life's way.
We know not what our future holds,
Nor would we wish to see
The distant scenes which lies ahead,
And moulds our destiny.

The ever shifting sands of time
Our footprints oft times hide,
And fond ambitions, cherished hopes
Are often swept aside.
Changes and chances through the years
have been since time began,
And in the scheme of things we see
The frailty of man.

On wings of flight the days rush by,
The fleeting months roll on,
And soon out o'er the crest of time
Another year has flown.
Life's changing scenes will ever be
Until life's day decline,
So through the days that lies ahead,
Let's take one at a time.

July, 1949

THE WHITE FRAME CHURCH

When e'er I hear the church bells ring
On a quiet Sabbath morn,
My thoughts go drifting back again
To the land where I was born.

Again I see that white frame church
With tombstones standing near,
And every Sabbath day the bell,
Would call the folks to prayer.

Some worshipers they lived close by,
And others far away;
The men folk they would meet and chat,
And then go in to pray.

'Twas there the children small were blest,
And marriage vows were said;
And in that plot with grass so green
We laid away our dead.

Each household had their family pew,
And every day of rest;
All would be seated in their place
Clad in their Sunday's best.

There was no choir in that old church,
But all knew how to sing,
And when they sang these good old hymns
They made the rafters ring.

I loved to go to that old church
To join in prayer and praise;
These memories will forever stay
With me through all my days.

And when the chimes of Sabbath bells
Comes floating through the air,
My thoughts go back to that old church
With tombstones standing near.

Photo: Anglican Church on Gin Cove head

THE FOUR SEASONS

Spring is the season when rebirth
appears, and Nature's unseen hand
Renews with life the quickened earth,
And spreads rare beauty o'er the land.

Then Summer's rain and glowing sun
Matures vast fields of waving grain;
And culminates what Spring begun
As Autumn follows in its train.

At Autumn, harvesting begin
With reaper, and with threshing mill,
And Summer crops are garnered in
As days grow short and nights grow chill.

Then Winter comes with icy breath,
And blankets earth with fallen snow,
Then nature sleeps secure beneath
'Til wakened by the Spring's warm glow.

The seasons all throughout the year,
Each hath their own appointed place,
And each an allotted role to bear,
As earth keeps rolling on in space.

May, 1950

BLESSINGS

How sweet is mem'ries of the past
When we were young and spry,
When every day seemed just the same,
And worries passed us by.

How sweet the sunlight and the air
After the summer's rain,
Likewise ourselves finds sweet relief
In pleasure after pain.

How sweet is sleep when weary limbs,
And brain relax in rest,
Some from their daily strenuous toil,
And some from care and stress.

How sweet to have a home and hearth
'Though poor our lot may be,
And strength to do our daily task,
Dwelling in harmony.

How sweet to have a stedfast faith
In a better world to come,
And daily press towards the goal
Until our course is run.

How sweet when we are growing old,
'Though our mem'ries not the best,
To have a sane and quiet mind,
And later, peaceful rest.

MORNING

When eastern skies proclaim the dawn,
And morning stars they fade away,
With curtains of the night withdrawn
To usher in another day;
Then watchmen waiting for the morn
Proclaims "Awake, behold the dawn."

The Old Sol in full majesty
Arises mid a flaming ray,
Transforming land and all the sea
From darkened night to light of day;
Then man resumes his task once more
Where he left off the day before.

June, 1950

NIGHT

When evening comes at close of day,
The curtain of the night comes down,
Then darkness o'er the land holds sway,
And spreads its mantle all around;
Then beasts of jungle and the plain
Sets forth to stalk their prey again.

At night when all the nation sleep,
The moon and stars keep watch above,
And in the darkened forest deep,
Wild creatures through the wild wood rove;
So pass the night and day is here,
Thus flies a week, a month, a year.

June, 1950

THE SEASON'S PROBLEMS

The winter's going; let it go,
We're getting tired of frost and snow,
And longs to feel the south winds blow
In summer time.

It will b e a change from snow and sleet
The icy walks and snow blocked street,
To swelter in the sultry heat
In summer time.

And when it's ninety in the shade,
We'll pant, and quaff cold lemonade,
And think of nice cool days we had
In winter time.

We never know from day to day
What tricks the weather man will play,
He keeps us guessing all the way
In every clime.

We discuss the weather quite a lot
When it is cold, or much too hot,
But cannot alter it one jot
At any time.

In winter time we shovel snow,
In summer, weeds and grass we mow;
It really keeps us on the go
Most all the time.

March 8, 1947

THE NAZARENE

Long, long ago at Nazareth
There dwelled a carpenter by trade,
With chisel, saw and plane He wrought,
And due respect to Him was paid.

This Nazarene he had a Son,
And in the Good Old Book we find
Although He was of lowly birth,
Yet He was born of David's line.

And when the time was fully come
His mission He began on earth;
He healed the sick, gave sight to blind,
And raised up invalids since birth.

He taught the poor from day to day,
And children small by Him were blest;
This was His theme, and this His text,
"Come unto Me, I'll give you rest".

In homes and wards of hospitals
Where sick and broken bodies lie,
The great Physician still draws near,
Although unseen by human eye.

May, 1950

GOD'S PRESENCE

God reveals His presence
On a summer's morning,
When the dew is sparkling,
And the flowers adorning;
In a blushing rose so fair
His true handiwork appear.

God reveals His presence
Through the starlight hours,
Or when towering storm clouds
Bursts with drenching showers;
In a rainbow's arch so fair
He reveals His token there.

'Through an earthquake shatters
With the roll of thunder,
And the rushing whirl wind
Causes awe and wonder;
Then that small voice we may hear
Whispering, "Fear not, I am near".

LIFE'S BY-WAYS

Come with me and let us wander
In Life's Byways new and old,
There we'll meditate and ponder
As each role of life unfold'.

While the facts of life we're gleaning,
And we're learning wisdom's lore,
Life will have a fuller meaning
As it's by ways we explore.

JUNIOR'S TROUBLES

Arriving home at eventide,
And feeling quite alright,
My Mom she looks me up and down
And says "Oh you're a fright".

"Where have you been? Go wash yourself,
And hurry on upstairs;
Roll up your sleeves, use lots of soap,
And wash behind your ears".

And so I try to wash my face
And hands to look my best,
But after I have wiped them both
The towel looks a mess.

When I am at the bathing beach
Warm days in summer time,
I wade and splash, and swim and dive,
The water feels just fine.

But when I try to wash at home
It never feels the same,
And if I am not nice and clean
My Mom says I'm to blame.

Now I can do all kinds of stunts,
And exercise by 'heck';
But when I wash I finds it hard
To reach behind my neck.

And I can swing a baseball bat,
Or throw a ball so high,
But when there's chore to do at home
I don't feel half as spry.

ON THE FARM

In the gloaming as the twilight shadows fall o'er vale and hill,
At summertime when days are long and warm,
The tinkling of a cow bells floats o'er the air so still,
There's peace at eventide around the farm.

The lowing cattle gathers 'neath the trees beside the road,
O'er head the night hawk causes no alarm;
The farmer wends his way towards the place of his abode,
His day of toil is over on the farm.

And when the moon resplendent smiles on the earth below,
The scare crow in the pasture waves an arm;
As crickets chirps merrily, and dancing fire flies glow,
The elves and fairies frolic on the farm.

When another day is dawning as it always did before,
The rooster crows so loudly in the barn,
In the east the sun arises and nature is astir once more,
As another day begins around the farm.

January, 1948

SHIPS THAT PASS IN THE NIGHT

Ships are passing in the night,
While on shore, landlubbers sleep,
Far from land, and far from sight,
Tossing on the restless deep.
Weathering storms or pleasant breeze
With rich cargoes in their hold,
They're the nations life line these
'Twixt the New World and the Old.

Ships are passing in the night,
Homeward bound from o'er the foam;
From the Cape the beacon light
Flash it's message "Welcome home".
Home again, the mariner he
Mingles with his kith and kin,
And in dreams oft times he'll see
Towering white caps roll again.

Ships are passing in the night
As they round the harbour buoy,
And the flashing harbour light
Seems to hail them "Ship Ahoy".
Anchored on a moonlit bay
Where is heard the ocean's rote,
Ships their riding lights display
Like some midget town afloat.

Photo: Schooner DLT FRAMPTON. Built in Gin Cove By Edmund Frampton name after his sons Dan, Lindo & Ted

PEACE AT EVENTIDE

Through our hours of toil or leisure,
After anxious cares or pleasure,
May there be in fullest measure
Peace at eventide.

When the morning cares distress us,
Or when noon day heat oppress' us,
May there be at hand to bless us
Peace at eventide.

May we have no cause to borrow
Unknown worries for tomorrow,
May there be instead of sorrow
Peace at eventide.

When the moon on high is beaming,
And the stars so brightly gleaming,
May we have in slumber dreaming
Peace at eventide.

When at last life's day is ending
And through unknown tracts we're wending,
May there be, our souls attending
Peace at eventide.

ENIGMAS

Sometimes we may feel so despondent,
And our troubles appears quite a few,
The Old World seems all topsy turvy,
And nothing is right in our view.

We may grumble and grouch at the weather
If it's stormy, too cold or too hot;
But vain are our sad lamentations,
There's naught we can alter one jot.

We humans sometimes are an enigma,
(I trust this remark you'll excuse)
One day we are so energetic,
The next may be down in the blues.

It makes matters worse by complaining,
No matter how languid we feel,
We're not all alone in the struggle,
But just one more cog in life's wheel.

But when our depression is over,
And we feel like uniting in song,
May we say with our deepest conviction,
'Twas myself, not the world that was wrong.

DAY DREAMS

If I had wings as an eagle,
O'er unknown seas I'd soar,
Beyond the blue horizon,
To some undiscovered shore.
I'd fold my wings at twilight,
And end my ventured flight,
Where the golden hues of morning
Extends to the blue of night.

This virgin land I would possess,
And call it by some name,
With just the fairies hovering near
To hear me press my claim.
And in that quiet solitude,
In a land that's all unknown,
I'd reign supreme for just a day,
A king, but all alone.

And when my stay would terminate,
Then homeward I'd repair,
To hear again the traffic's din,
And factory whistles blare.
But I would think of that fair land
That once I called my own,
And where I ruled for one short day,
A king without a throne.

GROWING UP

How pleasant are the sound of little feet
When Junior first begins to toddle 'round,
With faltering steps he ventures forth alone,
And not a prouder baby can be found.

His Dad returning home when day is done
Sits up the little toddler on his knee,
Ad listens as his prattle seems to say,
"I'm growing up, and soon a man will be."

It's not so long until the mother spies
Some little finger marks upon the door,
And topsy-turvy is the house at times
With playthings strewn around upon the floor.

Sometimes he has a fall and bumps his head,
He yells aloud and seems in awful pain,
Then Mom she quickly runs and picks him up,
And kiss' the spot, and soon it's well again.

He's growing up, and his first day at school
He tells his parents all the fun he had,
Then Dad says he is smart, and getting big,
But Mom says he is just a tiny lad.

He has grown up, and starting out one day
For his first job at office, store or mill,
His father calls him his big grown up son,
But mother thinks of him as baby still.

THE ISLES OF THE BLEST

The enchanted islands of the blest
Lies in untroubled seas,
A haven where there's no unrest,
And every prospect please.
I know not where these islands lie,
They may be east or west,
But yet in fancy oft I spy
These islands of the blest.

Tall fronded palms wave in the air,
And birds in chorus sing
With babbling brooks and flowers fair,
And every day is spring.
Soft breezes waft o'er hill and vale,
Sweet fragrance fills the breast,
And there no woe or cares assail
These islands of the blest.

The sunlit waters of the sea
Lies rippling by the strand,
And romping children in their glee
Plays on the golden sand.
They know no terrors or alarm,
For there no foes molest
In that fair land of magic charm,
These islands of the blest.

November, 1947

THE UNIVERSE

This earth with all it's fullness
Stands firm amidst the seas,
Sublime was it's creation,
Profound it's mysteries.
Vast continents and oceans
This global sphere do span,
From Greenland's icy mountains,
To India's coral strand.

The highest vault of heaven
To ocean's deepest bed,
From pole to pole extended
This Universe is spread.
All oceans living creatures,
The earth's vast human race,
And shining hosts of heaven
This Universe embrace.

Seed time, and then the harvest,
Their course the seasons run,
With winter's crystal snow flakes,
And summer's radiant sun.
On lofty white capped mountains
Lies the eternal snows,
Below in fertile valleys
The fragile lily grows.

Sublime as the Creation,
And this wide Universe
Have lasted through the ages,
Which nothing can disperse.

THE MONTH OF MAY

The month of May is passing on,
And far too brief her stay will be;
O'er hill and dale her magic wand
Has beautified each flower and tree.

The earth attires in dress of sheen
In May, the month of vernal spring,
As Zephyrs whisper in the trees,
And song birds in unison sing.

She tiptoes through the tulips fair,
Bestows sweet essence on each flower;
And through the glen and in the dell
We trace her in each leafy bower.

Fair May thou art a welcome guest,
O linger; whey depart so soon?
We'll say adieu as you pass on
To be replaced by sunny June.

And when another spring arrive,
Again you'll be a welcome guest;
You bring new hope, new life, new charm,
And leaves this fair land at it's best.

GOING HOME

"I'm going away" the Master said,
His disciples then were sad;
Their hearts would grieve if He should leave,
the best Friend that they had.

"But when I go" He then explained,
"A Comforter I'll send,
Be of good cheer, He will be near,
And prove a worthy Friend."

"I'm going away", these few small words
Oft' causes pangs of grief,
An aching void is felt inside,
And nothing brings relief.

Some partings often makes it hard
For those who have to stay,
And carry on with loved ones gone
Throughout each lonely day.

"I'm going home" the Master said
"To prepare a place for you,
And when ye come I'll be at home,
Then our circle we'll renew."

"I'm going home"; a different phrase
From what was used before;
When safe at home, no more we'll roam
And partings will be o'er.

NEWFOUNDLAND

O Newfoundland, isle of the sea,
Thou art the gateway to the West;
May all they future destiny
Be free from all that cause unrest.

Around thy rugged sea girt isle,
Lashed by the ocean night and day,
Thy stalwart sons in honest toil
Braves dangers midst the spume and spray.

Thy landlocked harbours, lakes and bays
Lies mirrored 'neath the moonlit sky,
And summer sunsets flaming rays
Gleams on the bold Gafftopsails high.

Thou hast fair towns and paper mills,
With teeming rivers flowing free,
And hamlets nestled 'neath the hills
Where fishing boats puts out to sea.

They headlands bold the storm defies
When towering waves seethes with unrest,
But when at peace the ocean lies,
Seagulls adorn it's placid breast.

Land of the brave, their Island home,
May Providence they future plan,
Where'er they sons and daughters roam,
They'll ne'er forget thee, Newfoundland.

(The Gafftopsails are high mountain peaks)

Photo: Gin Cove, Newfoundland

THE PILGRIM'S JOURNEY

A Pilgrim set out on life's journey,
The road it was rugged and long,
And often despair and misgivings
Accompanied him instead of a song.
The trail it was rough
O'er moor, fen and buff,
But the bold Pilgrim kept plodding on.

He climbed the bleak hill of Misfortune,
And trod the lone vale of Despair,
On through the deep canyon of Sorrow,
And up the steep mountain of Care.
So rough was the road,
And wary the load
The Pilgrim so often would bear.

As the light of life's day was declining,
And the shadows gave warning of night,
Ahead on the green slopes of Gladness
He beheld a fair city so bright.
His goal it was nigh,
His heart sang with joy,
He had reached the blest mansions of Light.

Approaching the guard o the portal,
"Have you room for a Pilgrim" he cried;
The sentinel he softly made answer
"There is room for all pilgrims in side,
All who comes this way
At the close of life's day,
They forever and ever abide."

September, 1950

THE UNSEEN

When the dawn, replacing light
Ushers in a new born day,
All the stars that shone so bright
Fades before the sun's bright ray;
'Though from sight they disappear,
Yet unseen, they still are there.

When dark clouds obscure the sky
Blotting out it's azure blue,
Watch for cloud rifts then on high,
And the sunlight streaming through;
O'er head still the sun shines bright
'Though unseen by mortal's sight.

When we think of days gone by
While we were so young and free,
Memories that will not die
Often shares our company;
Friends long vanished from our view
'Though unseen seems near to you.

When some trouble comes our way,
And besetting ills are rife,
When the cares of every day
Dims the sunlight of our life;
'Though our way seems dark and drear,
God unseen is always near.

MIGRATION TIME

When northern lights flit o'er the sky,
And Arctic winds blow chill,
The honking geese bestir themselves
Their larders to refill.

They know migration time has come,
And soon on wings of flight,
They'll speed away to warmer climes
Far from the Arctic night.

They preen their feathers, test their wings,
And soon they're flying high,
These feathered squadrons from the north
In V-formations fly.

Their instinct is their chart and guide
By night as well as day,
Until they settle down upon
Some quiet lake or bay.

And there beneath the sunny skies
Far from the north's domain,
They spend vacation's term until
It's moving time again.

Then feathered squadrons from the south
When spring breaks winter's chain,
In V-formation back they'll fly
To northern haunts again.

OUR EYES ARE WINDOWS

Our eyes are windows of the soul
Through which we see the light
Of dawning day, the sunset glow,
And twinkling stars at night.

Some folk looks out upon the world
With eyes that seldom see
The beauty in a blooming flower,
Or foliage on a tree.

But others gaze through brighter lens,
Unblemished are their sight,
They see the beauty of the day,
And moon lit lakes at night.

Some folks just seem to glimpse the rain
That always comes their way,
While others catch the sunlight rifts
That pierce the mist and spray.

Our eyes are windows, may we all
Throughout the livelong day,
Detect the fairer thing of earth
That counteracts the gray.

March, 1949

AT CHRISTMASTIME

Christmas bells are ringing,
White robed choirs are singing
All in joyful exultation;
Tinseled trees they glisten,
Little children listen
Filled with eager expectations.
Far and near o'er the air
Comes glad singing voices,
Young and old rejoices.

May goodwill and gladness
Take the place of sadness,
As the yuletide season greets us;
May it in some measure
Give us inward pleasure,
And with goodly favours treat us;
May each one old and young
Sing with heart and voices
As our land rejoices.

Christmas, 1950

A DAILY PRAYER

Within your home please keep this scroll
Hung on the wall throughout the year,
And as your plans each morn unfold,
You may recite this simple prayer.

Our Father, bless this house each day,
As we our daily course pursue;
And may we all Thy Will obey
In everything we plan, or do.

Make our abode a happy home,
Where all is love and harmony;
Where strife or quarrels never come,
And keep from harm and dangers free.

Help us our daily griefs to bear,
Each others faults, quick to forgive;
May we give thanks for joys we share,
And for our bread by which we live.

What e'er our daily task may be,
However humble be our lot;
May each and every one agree
To be content, and murmur not.

May we be spared from day to day
To carry on, and do our best,
And may we all in some small way,
Show forth our love, and thankfulness.

Amen

1944

DAVY JONES LOCKER

Out o'er the stormy deep
When seas roll high,
Wild waves in fury leap,
And sea gulls cry;

But 'neath the raging main
On the ocean's floor,
There peace and stillness reign
Forevermore.

LIFE'S VOYAGE

This life is like an ocean voyage
We're sailing every day,
And stormy seas and pleasant breeze
We encounter on the way.

At times our barque seems small and frail
When buffetted about
Amid each reef of unbelief,
Uncertainty and doubt.

Some due to sad misfortune
Lies shipwrecked on life's shore;
And some so fair just disappear,
Their span of life half o'er.

While others they are wafted on
Towards their port afar,
And at the sunset of their lives
They cross the harbour bar.

There's many dangers to be met
Before we reach that shore,
But safe at last with perils past
We'll sail life's seas no more.

Photo: This wheel house, from the schooner EMA FRAMPTON, was removed from the vessel after she went ashore on the Labrador. It is located in Cartwright, Newfoundland.

DAY AND NIGHT

When the herald of morn
Pipes a new day just born,
And the curtain of night fades away;
When Old Sol in his might
So majestic and bright
From the east sends his first cheering ray,
As the dawn breaks before us
Earth joins in the chorus
To welcome another new day.

When the curtain of night
Shrouds this earth from our sight,
And the stars from their canopies peep;
With the sun sank to rest
And each bird in it's nest,
As wild beasts through the deep forest creep;
While all nature's reclining,
And evening star shining,
Creation it's vigil will keep.

When the midnight moon beams,
And we're deep in our dreams,
While the earth speeds us on to'ards the sun;
As the morning star rise
In the far eastern skies,
Proclaiming the night's course has run,
As the dawn breaks before us
Earth joins in the chorus
To welcome the new day begun.

March, 1951

THE SONGBIRD

Was there ever finer music,
Have you heard a sweeter note
Then the melodious outpouring
From a little songbird's throat?

Midst the willows, in a tree top,
Or a bough close by it's nest,
It pours forth it's paean of gladness
From it's little feathered breast.

It it needs no teacher's tuition,
Nor the pitch in music's scale,
As it chants it's song at vespers
In the twilight of the vale.

Flying south when winter threatens
It returns with vernal spring,
Think how many folk will listen
To that little songbird sing.

Giving freely of it's talent,
It performs a singer's role,
Comforting the sad and lonely,
Warming hearts that have grown cold.

February, 1949

JUST FOR TODAY

If we could live just for today,
And let tomorrows cares go free;
To carry on our daily task
Just four and twenty hours there'd be.

By using one day at a time
As we our daily course pursue,
It leaves less time to fret and whine,
And life takes on a brighter hue.

The days that's gone beyond recall
Will never more return our way,
So while the present we enjoy
Let's put it to good use today.

The hours of yesterday are gone,
Tomorrow seems a long long way,
And while we fret, let's not forget
We're wasting useful hours today.

Just for today; and when each hour
Is spent in helpful things we do,
It fills us with content to know
It was well spent when day is through.

The moments fly, the hours speed on,
And soon another day is here;
By using one day at a time
There'll be none wasted through the year.

THANK GOD FOR SLEEP

Thank God for sleep, the greatest gift to man
When mind and body eased from stress and care
In deep oblivion rests new strength to gain,
To face whate'er tomorrow have to share.

How sweet is sleep a boon to weary souls,
When brain and limbs repose in peaceful rest,
Some from their daily grind and honest toil,
And some from anxious care and daily stress.

How sweet to lie relaxed in quiet rest
Until the weary eyelids gently steep,
Then drift away to dream in slumber land,
'Til wakened once again from restful sleep.

How sweet the slumber of a little child,
So cherubic and radiant she beams;
Their gentle breathing like wee zehyrs flow
And nothing to disturb their little dreams.

How sweet to rest when all around is still,
And moonbeams through the curtains gently sweep,
Then fall asleep, knowing that all is well,
And God above will guard us while we sleep.

May, 1951

GOD'S HANDIWORK

Lift up thine eyes and view on high
The firmament a winter's night,
The panorama of the sky
With myriad stars all shining bright.

When I survey the moon and stars
That shoot across the milky way,
I think "How vain and small is man
Compared with all this vast display."

Some unseen hand by night and day
Directs and keeps them all in place,
The sun, the moon and all the stars
While earth keeps rolling on in space.

The rainbow in the summer sky
With tinted arch and colors rare,
Displays it's brilliant hues and casts
A halo o'er our earthly sphere.

And we who tread this earth below
As we pursue our daily task,
"O what is man compared with all
God's handiwork" we sometimes ask.

LIFE

A frail old man with faltering steps and cane
Amid a jostling crowd just off a train.

A blind news vendor by his dailies stand,
A lone prospector sifts the river sand.

An angler dozing by a purling stream,
A puffing tug boat belching clouds of steam.

Young lovers strolling down through lover's lane,
A white clad nurse easing a brow in pain.

A proud father watching his son at bat,
A sewing circle where they stitch and chat.

A peanut vendor trudging 'long the street,
And farther on, a policeman on his beat.

A toddler climbing up a dangerous stair,
A jilted maiden sobbing in despair.

Two old cronies playing a game of chess,
An old lady waiting her call to rest.

Saint, sinner, parson, people, man and wife,
They all make up this world, we call it LIFE.

THE PASSING STORM

Often in the summer time
When sultry heat oppress,
As we see dark clouds sublime
Rising in the west;
The cattle grazing in the glade
Seeks shelter 'neath the leafy shade.

Soon the driving raindrops splash,
And the storm clouds lower,
Then the vivid lightning flash
As the thunders roar;
All the elements on high
Seems to meet twixt earth and sky.

Soon the storm it passes on
Out towards the sea,
And the raindrops glisten bright
On each flower and tree;
Little children as before
Play around their cottage door.

And when twilight shadows creeps
O'er the evening sky,
Then the stars begin to peep,
And the night hawks fly;
When the light of day grows dim,
Song birds chant their vesper hymn.

THE WINDJAMMERS

No more is seen the lofty ships
That were in days gone by,
As in port they rode with topsails stowed,
And yard arms swinging high.

With costly cargoes stowed below
Each ship would proudly bear
To foreign lands and far off strands,
Beyond our hemisphere.

Drest out in billowing canvas white,
And colours flying free,
With topsails set and scuppers wet,
Their's was a sight to see.

Each ship was manned by seamen bold,
Lighthearted, free and brave,
Where e'er they roamed it was their home
Upon the ocean wave.

No more is seen as days gone by
A full rigged brigantine,
Slip from her quay and sail away,
A roving ocean queen.

March, 1949

PEACE AMID TUMULT

Above a roaring cataract
In an overhanding tree,
A robin built a cosy nest
To raise her family.
And there amid the torrent's din,
Above that rushing flood,
She felt at peace with all the world,
And reared her little brood.

And when the elements were at war,
When thunders roared on high,
Or when the lightning's vivid flash
Lit up the earth and sky;
And when the tree it swayed and shook
That robin's fragile nest,
The little fledgelings lay secure,
And warm beneath her breast.

This little mother reared her brood,
And kept them free from harm
She heeded not the torrent and
Found peace amid the storm.
So may we too if we are called
To face some anxious care,
And like our little feathered friend
Have peace instead of fear.

June, 1947

DIFFERENT OPINIONS

Said a seagull to a penguin
As he was passing by,
"Ye penguins are peculiar birds,
You cannot even fly."

"You are so slow and awkward,
And just waddles 'round each day;
And where you find enough to eat
Is more than I can say."

"A seagull is a nobler bird
I know you will agree;
With wings unfurled I span the world
To lands you'll never see."

"Said the penguin to the seagull,
You may be right my friend,
But there never was a penguin yet
Who on a seagull did depend."

"We may be clumsy, slow of wit,
We may look cross or glum,
But if we thrive where you would starve,
That proves we're not so dumb."

"Some seagulls has a lot to learn,
And brag and boast each day;
But penguins mind their business, and
Just live their simple way."

1947

THE QUIET HOUR

"Come unto me I'll give you rest,"
These bidding words were spoken by
The Master, who while on this earth
Felt weariness as you and I.

"Come ye aside and rest awhile,"
His gracious message is to all,
And at the sunset of their lives
May find repose as shadows fall.

He trod the hills of Galilee,
And often were fatigued, depressed,
And sometimes for a quiet hour
Would steal away for strength and rest.

So may we too when we're depressed,
Or wearied by the noonday heat;
Just shut our closet doors awhile,
And there commune in quiet retreat.

OUR LIFE'S DIARY

Our diary of life are past memories
That will follow us through to the end,
Every day we may meet new adventure,
As each day a new page we begin.

And as we turn backward it's pages
And scan every item thereon,
It brings to our mind many faces
Of friends that are vanished and gone.

Some pages bring back pleasant memories
That have followed us on through the years,
While others were penned in deep sorrow,
And blotted and blurred with our tears.

Some pages were written in sunshine
With our heyday of life at it's best,
While others were penned with misgivings
When we were perturbed by unrest.

Some events we will always remember,
They're indelible, hard to erase,
Maybe happy days in our childhood
That the future will never efface.

Each night as we close up our diary,
We know not what tomorrow may bring,
May there be no tear drops on it's pages,
But instead, happy memories that cling.

March, 1947

Photo: Front - L to R - Daughters, Betty & Nina; son, Eric; Wife, Ethel; Daughter-in-law, Eleanor. Back - L to R - George Frampton; son, Roy.

TIME MARCHES ON

The Old Year's gone beyond recall,
A New Year takes it's place;
How quickly time and seasons fly
As earth rolls on in space.

On wings of flight the days rush by,
The fleeting months roll on,
And soon out o'er the crest of time
Another year is gone.

Time marches on, and in it's train
Lies shattered hopes and fears,
Both joy and sorrow, war and peace
Are mingled with the years.

Let's cross the threshold of each year
With firm and eager tread,
Firmly resolved with buoyant hope,
To face what lies ahead.

The New Year bids us carry on,
And leave the Old behind,
And through the days that is to come,
Let's take one at a time.

New Year, 1949

BLOSSOM TIME

As seasons come, and seasons go,
With summer's rain and winter's snow,
The best time in the year I know
Is blossom time.

What other beauty can compete
With orchard trees all dressed so neat,
And springtime air so fresh and sweet
At blossom time?

What other scenery is so rare
As apple blossoms, peach and pear,
And countless other trees so fair
At blossom time?

Old Mother Nature sure is grand
Whene'er she waves her magic wand
To spread such beauty o'er the land
At blossom time.

The ripening fruit we soon shall see
And ripe red cherries on the tree,
But first there always has to be
A blossom time.

How blind to nature must we be
If, when th blossom's on the tree
We cannot some real beauty see
At blossom time.

THE POSTMAN

When the postman ventures out
On his early morning route,
With mailbag filled with all the latest mail;
In the winter's snow or sleet,
Or mid summer's scorching heat,
Every packet he'll deliver without fail.

He carries papers, magazines,
Catalogues and various things,
And letters stacked so neatly by the score;
He's as punctual as a clock,
And there is no need to knock
As he quickly slips a letter through the door.

Many blocks he has to walk,
And he hasn't time to talk,
As he mounts the many steps along the street;
Every letter must go through
Be they many or just few,
When the bag is empty, then his job's complete.

What at last he homeward trot
With the last letter through the slot,
He has a cheerio for every one,
And at home when off his beat
As he rests his tired feet,
He's content to know his days work was well done.

THE STILLY NIGHT

Often in the stilly night
When in our sleep we're dreaming,
The moonbeams from the moon so bright
Through window shades comes streaming.

The moon and clouds play hide and seek
As stars so brightly glitter,
And o'er the moat and by the creek
The eerie shadows flitter.

The night hawk on it's nightly quest
So fleet of wing goes flying,
And snug beneath the robin's breast,
Her little brood is lying.

Wild creatures through the forest trail
With stealthy steps are wending,
And in the night a plaintive cry
Denotes some tragic ending.

The elves and fairies skip and prance
Through all the silent hours,
And moonlight shadows flit and dance
Amongst the leafy bowers.

And sometimes in a stilly night
The hours seem long and weary,
It's then we yearn for the sunlight
To end a night that's dreary.

June, 1950

LIFE'S HIGHWAY

We'll only pass this way but once,
And while we're passing through,
Let's try and help the folks we meet
Who may be feeling blue.

If some wayfarer is cast down,
And weary with his load,
Give him a lift and set his feet
Once more upon life's road.

Some we will meet are old and frail,
And some are young and strong,
While others need a cheery word
To help them carry on.

If we can say a kindly word,
Or lend a helping had,
We'll do a favour to ourselves
As to our fellow man.

The little helpful things we do
To either foe or friend,
Will be rewarded when at last
We reach our journey's end.

November, 1948

MOTHER'S GRACE

It's just a prayer so simple,
And it's in my memory stored
Since we were growing youngsters
Around the family board.

Around the family table
We all would take our place,
Then bow our heads in silence
While mother cited grace.

At morning, noon or evening,
Whene'er her brood were fed,
We all would wait with patience
Until the grace was said.

These memories ever linger
As now my thoughts retrace,
And live again these moments
With mother saying grace.

These days are gone forever,
And time has changed the scene
My mother now is resting
Beneath the plot so green.

But still it is a memory
That time will ne'er efface,
When we were all together
With mother saying grace.

Where ever we may wander,
What ever time or place,
May each of us remember
Our mothers saying grace.

March, 1947

FRUITS OF KINDNESS

There are furrowed fields of kindness
'Neath the sunlight of God's smile,
And good seed so widely scattered,
Germinates in richest soil.

Little deeds of mercy rendered,
Little words of hope and cheer,
Are the seed that's thriving daily
In love's garden bright and fair.

Little gifts so freely given,
By some friend who knows our need,
Often sheds a ray of sunshine,
They're the sowers of good seed.

Willing hands and hearts that cherish,
With a love that ne'er grows cold,
Scatter seeds of human kindness
Bearing fruit a hundredfold.

Nourished by the warmth of friendship,
Tended by each willing hand,
Springing up in paths of duty,
Spreading beauty o'er the land.

May there be a bounteous harvest
Free from every growth of sin,
When the Reaper whets His sickle,
And the sheaves are gathered in.

January, 1948

MUSINGS

Often in the silent watches
When around me all is still,
It is then my thoughts go drifting,
Far away o'er vale and hill.

Mem'ries that will ever linger
Often shares my company,
Midst the old familiar places
Where I once was young and free.

Friends long vanished, high hopes shattered
Both on land and ocean deep,
Love and laughter mixed with sadness
I encounter ere I sleep.

By the silvery moonlit water
Where is heard the lone loon's cry,
There in fancy long I linger
'Til another day draws nigh.

What at last my journey's ended,
And through weariness I sleep,
Then again in dreams I wander,
And another tryst keep.

May, 1948

BY STILL WATERS

Beside the deep still waters
The tall bulrushes grow,
And the placid breast and river's crest
Reflects the sunset glow;
A peaceful scene at eventide
When the sun is sinking low.

From amongst the bending willows
By the stream where fishes swim,
O'er the air there floats the cheery notes
Of a songbird's vesper hymn;
The gentle west wind sinks to rest
As the light of day grows dim.

And when the moon resplendent
Peeps o'er yon hilltop high,
The old grey owl on it's nightly prowl
Sits in a tree nearby,
A fox bays at the pale full moon
As the night hawk circles nigh.

And when the sun arises
The morning stars are gone,
The silent stream in the sunlit gleam
Glides gently on and on,
Through the hills and winding valleys
To'ards the sea, and the great beyond.

March, 1948

TAT - TAT - TATTING

One fine spring's day my wife did say
As in my chair I sat,
There's one thing I must try to learn,
And that is, how to tat.

With her instructor soon she had
A bit of this and that,
And it was not so very long
Until she learned to tat.

And when one day she sat so quiet
I asked "What are you at?"
"Why dear" said she "I thought you knew
That I have learned to tat."

Soon she could ply her shuttle fast
Without an eyelid batting,
But oh the house it was so quiet
While she were at her tatting.

I thought she knew most everything,
As quilting, knitting, matting,
But I found out, it was not so
When my wife started tatting.

THE OLD PLOUGH HORSE

"My master, I am just an old plough horse,
I toils each day and tries to do my best
To pay you for my upkeep and my food,
And for my stall where every night I rest."

"Although I am so dumb and cannot speak,
Yet I am quick to learn and understand,
It cheers me up to hear a kindly word,
Or feel the pat of a kind and friendly hand."

"Make sure my harness fit and will not chafe,
And that I am well shod and groomed each day,
Encourage me with kindly words, and I
Will do my best each day my debt to pay."

"When day is done and safely in my stall
I chew my evening meal of oats or hay,
It's then I'm filled with sweet content to know
I did my duty well again today."

"Then through the silent night I doze and sleep,
And in my dreams I see green pastures fair,
A kingdom for dumb creatures such as me
Where old plough horses graze throughout the year."

"My master when I am too old to work,
Or laid aside and gone to my last rest,
You'll think of me sometimes, a faithful friend
Who toiled for you and tried to do his best."

THE FIRST ROBIN

The robin is a welcome guest
When spring replaces winter's snow,
As o'er the morning air is heard
This little harbinger's "Cheerio."

Arriving from the sunny south
Where he has spent vacation's term,
We'll see him on some grassy plot
Eager to catch the early worm.

Soon with his mate at nesting time
He'll be as busy as a bee,
With fixing up a cosy nest
To raise a family, two or three.

Until we see that little bird
It doesn't seem like spring at all,
We listen in the early morn
To hear a robin redbreast call.

When nature wakes from winter's sleep
We love to feel the south winds blow,
But spring is not complete until
We hear a robin's "Cheerio."

May, 1948

A QUIET RETREAT

I rambled through the wildwood
At a early morning hour,
When the dew it lay profusely
On each blossomed tree and flower.

And as my footsteps wandered
Through the valley in the dell,
I thought of the Creator
Who created all things well.

And as I stopped to listen
To the whisper of the breeze,
His presence seemed to greet me
In the beauty of the trees.

I was filled with silent wonder
As I seemed to hear Him call,
And His voice re-echoed plainly
From a nearby waterfall.

I thought I heard His footsteps
Midst the rustling of the grass,
And in fancy I beheld Him
Tinting daisies as He passed.

Lying 'neath the leafy bowers
As a bird sang near it's nest,
I thought "Surely this is Eden
With all nature at it's best."

If you wish this experience
Take my advice my friend,
Visit nature some fair morning
In the woodland or the glen.

THE CHANGING SEA

I stood one day on a headland bold
When the storm was at it's height,
The angry waves they seethed and fought
Like demons arrayed in fight;
And as the seas came rolling in
To dash against the shore,
They filled the caves of the headlands
With a loud and thunderous roar.

Again I stood on that headland
When the ocean lay at rest,
The seagulls swam so gracefully
Upon it's placid breast;
And as I gazed out o'er the main
Where the sky and ocean meet,
I thought of the giant that lay so still
And peaceful beneath my feet.

Our life is like the changing sea,
Oftimes we are opprest,
When worries and perplexities
Disturb our human breast.
May we each one be wafted on
Toward our port afar,
"Til at the sunset of our lives
We cross the harbor bar.

AUTUMN TIME

The autumn winds are sighing,
They're sighing in the trees,
The Autumn leaves are falling,
And scattering in the breeze;
The Summer days are over,
And wilted are the flowers;
The frost lies on the pumpkin
In the early morning hours.

The Autumn days are waning
With songbirds flying high,
Out o'er the blue horizon,
Towards the southern sky;
The oak trees and the maple
Are dressed in tints of gold;
No more is heard the splash and shout
Down by the swimmin' hole.

Thanksgiving comes with Autumn
When crops are garnered in,
From farmlands and the prairies
Ere Winter storms begin;
The seasons in their order
Bring blessings manifold;
Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter
Each has a leading role.

Autumn, 1948

THE EASTER PARADE

As you stroll along the board walk
At an Easter promenade,
What a mixed conglomeration
You will see in that parade.

All the various shades and colours,
Everything in newest styles,
And the latest fads and fashions
With the quaintest nobby tiles.

Swanky suits and tailored costumes,
New creations bright and loud,
And the nifty Easter bonnets
Worn by fair sex in the crowd.

You will meet some smiling faces,
Others looking sad and long,
It all blends the combination
In this annual Easter throng.

There you'll see the blondes and brunettes
All dressed up from head to toes,
And young swains so brisk and buoyant,
In gay togs and swanky hose.

Aged pedestrians you'll encounter,
Laughing youth with buoyant spring,
Also plump and sedate madams
With wee Fido on a string.

Then you'll ruminate and ponder
As again you homeward jogs,
Easter has a deeper meaning
Than just showing off fine togs.

Easter, 1950

THE SHUT IN'S LAMENT

I feel so insignificant,
There's not much I can do
With limbs as if by fetters tied,
Held down as if with glue.
The outside world goes daily by,
And leaves me on the trail,
As driftwood lying on life's strand,
And tossed up by the gale.

Despondency is hard to beat
When weary hours seem slow,
The mystery of this short life
I guess I'll never know.
Some folk enjoy their life in full,
Their cup of nectar drain,
While others sip the bitter dregs
That causes grief and pain.

But there is comfort in the thought
That daily on life's trail,
Thousands enjoy their journey through
'Though others fall and flail.
Life's governed by some higher Source,
And worked out by a plan,
And at some future date maybe
We'll know and understand.

September, 1950

BY DEED AND WORD

Kind deeds are acts of kindness wrought
By those who chose that better part,
Kind words are like a healing balm
That penetrate and soothes the heart.

How comforting to hear a voice
That speaks kind words of hope and cheer,
It's like a tonic to the soul
That make life's load less hard to bear.

How beautiful the hands of those
Who minister to souls in need,
Their skill and patience with goodwill
Makes them true friends, true friends indeed.

And willing feet with buoyant tread,
Eager to help their fellow man;
Missions of mercy they complete
That leaves a trail upon life's sand.

Kind deeds make earth a better place,
Kind words will help when cares assail,
It is the Brotherhood of man,
And thrives where other sources fail.

March, 1948

PEACE OF MIND

A man may travel through this world
From one end to the other,
He may be free from every care,
And not have any bother;
He may be some great man of state
Some noble benefactor,
But if he hasn't peace of mind,
He's just a silly actor.

He may have riches laid in store,
And living in a palace,
Have lots of friends and servants too
Who bears no ill or malice;
But if he's lacking peace of mind
He ne'er will find true pleasure,
True peace it is a gift sublime,
The world's most priceless treasure.

He may be some great bard or poet,
Or talented musician,
But if he haven't peace of mind
It will not bear fruition,
He may be wise in wisdom's lore,
With literature and learning,
But if he still lack peace of mind
His heart will still be yearning.

He may be king, have armies too,
And conquer many nations,
May revel in the spoils he won
With joyous jubilations;
But if he haven't peace of mind,
He'll have no peace, no never,
Until one day he'll disappear,
And leave this world forever.

THE DEITY

I believe in a Great Deity,
Maker and Finisher is He
Of earth and sea and starry heights,
And slumbers not by day or night.

Vast oceans lie within His hand,
And thunders roar at His command.
Sun, moon and hosts of stars so bright
He governs and directs their flight.

The cattle on a thousand hills
Are His, and all the sparkling rills.
Who hears the famished raven's cry,
And sees the sparrow fall and die.

None is too great or none too small
For Him to answer when they call.
From highest heaven to ocean's floor,
Both east and west, from shore to shore.

On every planet, globe and sphere,
He rules, invisible but near,
Creator of the human race,
And not confined to time or place.

This is my creed; A Deity,
Whose source is love and majesty.

March, 1949

A MOTHER'S LOVE

A mother's love, how sweet the name,
What is a mother's love?
It is an inward fervent flame
Enkindled from above;
And like an ever clinging vine,
The family circle it entwine.

A mother's love will ever grow
Until the end of time,
It's height and depth we'll never know,
It is a gift sublime;
Wherever sons and daughters rove,
They'll ne'er outspan a mother's love.

True mother love has stood the test
Through all preceding years,
And often joy, with care and stress
Are mingled with their tears;
In grief or pleasure, joy or pain,
A mother's love will still remain.

May every mother, everywhere
Again on Mother's Day,
Be free from anxious care
That often comes their way,
And may their sons and daughters prove
Worthy to share a mother's love.

May, 1948

THE BEND IN THE ROAD

"Where are our friends of yesterday,"
He asked in accents low;
"They're gone and vanished from our sight,
Where are they, do you know?"

"Some of them lived their span of years,
Their life's course was well run,
While others seemed to disappear
Leaving their work half done."

"These friends" I answered "That we lament,
Who trod the road we tread,
They awaits for us around the bend
Of the road that lies ahead."

"And all our friends who disappeared
Like passing ships at night,
Are they now watching us each day,
Or, are we hid from sight?"

"And can they see us when we fall
Beside life's rugged road,
And beckons us to 'Carry on'
When weary with our load?"

"I do not know, I cannot tell,
But his I will contend,
Our friends are waiting for us now,
And just around the bend."

"When we have finished our last mile,
And reached our journey's end,
It's then we'll meet the friends that wait
For us around the bend."

April, 1944

SPRING CLEANING

Spring cleaning time will soon be here,
On this I'm most emphatic,
Then everything will be disturbed
From cellar to the attic.

Housewives will don their dust caps then,
To start their overhauling,
And busy brushing cobwebs down,
Or from step ladders falling.

The vacuum cleaners soon will hum,
And dust they will be chasing,
All paintwork will be washed so clean,
The doors, the walls and casing.

The pantry shelves will all be cleaned,
The pie plates and the custard,
And everything put back in place
From pepper pots to mustard.

The winter woolies will be stored
With moth balls in the closets,
To keep the pesky little moths
From leaving their deposits.

House cleaning is a lot of work
As I have here presented,
But when the job it is well done
The housewife sleeps contented.

April, 1944

HARVEST THANKSGIVING HYMN

Creator of this earth below
We come to Thee our vows to pay,
May each and every heart o'er flow
With thankfulness this festal day.

Father accept the thanks we give
To Thee for all Thy love and care,
For this fair land in which we live,
And all earth's blessings that we share.

All comes from Thee at Thy command,
The early and the latter rain;
Thy bounteous goodness fills the land
With waving fields of ripening grain.

Lord of the harvest by whose hand
Thy children day by day are fed,
Enrich the poor in every land,
Give them each day their daily bread.

O Thou from whom all goodness flow
Help us to choose that better part,
Grant that in each of us may grow
The gift of love in every heart.

O may this fair Dominion be
Kept free from famine, war and stress,
And may there rise from sea to sea
Glad songs of praise and thankfulness.

This hymn was sung in St. Chad's Church, Harvest Thanksgiving Sunday, October 3, 1943

JUDGE NOT

Judge not any man whose demeanor
Appears to be rugged and gruff,
Beneath his crude style
He may be all the while,
A diamond that's hid in the rough.

Despise not the man whose misfortunes
Have netted him nothing but dross;
To offset his hard luck
He may possess real pluck
That's an asset instead of a loss.

Fret not if today skies are gloomy,
And the forecast warns 'Showers to come',
In the morn you may see
Glistening on flower and tree
Bright rain drops reflecting the sun.

Sometimes you will fret and may worry
When problems of life seem so hard;
Judge not by the way
Life may treat you today,
Tomorrow may bring it's reward.

SPRINGTIME

Spring, gentle spring is earth's rare gem,
And time's vast calendar
Show many days when spring displays
Rare beauty near and far.

How beautiful creation is
When vernal spring is here,
Lilacs in bloom and catkins's plume
Spreads beauty far and near.

The gardener with the hoe and spade
Toils through the sunny hours,
And soon the earth by a rebirth
Repays him with fair flowers.

The farmer with his horse and plow
And harrow tills the sod,
By honest toil he seeds the soil,
and trust it's growth with God.

How wonderful creation is
To those who love the spring,
May all rejoice with heart and voice,
And with the songbirds sing.

ODDS AND ENDS

When clearing out the bureau drawers
As the busy housewife cleans,
She finds a lot of odds and ends,
Let's listen as she gleans.

"Here is a recipe I had
To make my Christmas cake,
And here's a letter I received
Last year from cousin Jake."

"Here is a ball of mending wool,
A box of carpet tacks;
Some score cards used in playing bridge,
A marble and some jacks."

"An old worn deck of playing cards,
A ball of coloured twine,
My smelling salts I thought was lost;
It all turns up in time."

"How all this stuff accumulates
It's more than I can say,
But bureau drawers is just the place
For hiding things away."

THE GREAT DIVIDE

There is a land beyond our sight,
And often we may yearn
To catch a glimpse of that blest shore,
From whence none e'er return;
But when some day we launch away
To sail that rolling tide,
May we be safely wafted on
Across the Great Divide.

At time when evening shadows fall,
In fancy we may hear
Those voices calling from afar
Beyond our earthly sphere;
And as we sit and meditate
Beside life's changing tide,
We know our friends awaits us there
Beyond the Great Divide.

When life's short day draws to an end
Led by an evening star,
We'll launch our barque and sail away
Out o'er the harbour bar;
Our Pilot will be waiting there
To guide us o'er the tide,
And there contented we will dwell
Beyond the Great Divide.

June, 1948

THE VOICE OF SPRING

The voice of spring is in the air,
And heard by those who understand,
As year by year they sees unfold
Such beauty by some unseen hand.

When old Dame Nature wakes from sleep,
She gently waves her magic wand,
And soon in budding tree and flower
Spring spreads her charm o'er all the land.

The babbling brook sweet music make'
As songbirds in the wildwood sing,
And catkins bending in the breeze
Curtsies to welcome vernal spring.

A bullfrog croaks down in the creek,
The robin builds a cosy nest,
And far and near o'er dale and hill
Earth soon will don her beauteous dress.

The echo from a waterfall,
A cowbells tinkle o'er the air,
The bleating of a little lamb
All tells us plainly; spring is here.

How wonderful Creation is
To those who sometimes steal away
From busy streets and factory's din,
To dwell with nature for a day.

Spring, 1948

YEARNINGS

Whatever talent we possess,
Whatever course we may pursue,
Sometimes we fail to meet success
In things we plan, or try to do.

There is within each human breast
Ofttimes a longing to aspire
To greater things and higher press,
And seek new talent we desire.

Some craves the gift of poetic art
To write on pamphlet or on scroll,
And satisfy a yearning heart,
The impulse of a poetic soul.

Each one can only do their best
Whate'er may be their daily role,
Though we at times may be depressed
In failing to achieve our goal.

We may improve as time goes by,
Let's do our best tho' it be frail,
And welcome critics when they try
To show us where we sometimes fail.

MEMORIES

If time would turn back for a season,
For a year in the past that are gone,
I would romp once again in my boyhood,
And the days would speed merrily along.

When the catkins are blowing in springtime,
And the robin comes bobbin' along,
As the song sparrow sings in the tree top
With nothing to mar it's sweet song.

I'd hear once again the waves murmur,
And sniff the salt tang of the sea,
I'd watch the white sails in the sunset
And the sea gulls so graceful and free.

There would be the cool breezes at even,
I would hear the loon's cry in the night,
As it calls to it's mate o'er the water
Lit up by the moon's silvery light.

I'd wade once again in sea water,
And dig my bare toes in the sand,
And hunt the nest of the sand piper,
Where I'd gather sea shells in the strand.

These days they are gone past forever,
But a mem'rie they ever will be,
There a youngster with never a worry,
Once dwelt by the side of the sea.

THE CREATOR

Creator of the starry heights,
And ocean depth's below,
How mighty are Thy wondrous works
As all creation know.

Thy lofty snow-capped mountains stand
Like sentinels in their might,
They glistens in the morning sun,
And sun sets glow at night.

Ten thousand times ten thousand stars
Lights up the Milky Way,
The sun and moon their course pursues
As night replaces day.

Vast ocean's restless rolling seas
Harrass the ocean's shore,
And vivid lightnings pierce the skies
As thunders loudly roar.

The rainbow's arch across the sky
Sets forth Thy covenant plain,
Summer and winter, day and night
Shall be while earth remain.

February, 1949

WINTER SCENES

The snow flakes from the ether world
Comes whirling down in flight,
And soon the bosom of the earth
Lies clothed in spotless white.

King Winter with his magic wand
O'er earth a mantle throws,
And seats upon a crystal throne
The Lady of the Snows.

The borealis in the night
Lights up the northern sky,
And blazing sunsets shine and glint
On snow clad mountains high.

When winter nights are cold and clear
The stars like candles glow,
Moonbeams and shadows skip and dance
O'er fields of drifted snow.

A snow man on the corner lot,
Show shovel's grating sound,
And sparrows feeding 'round the door
Mean, winter's come to town.

January, 1949

SUCCESS AND FAILURE

Through all our days while life shall last
We'll have our expectations,
However noble be our task.
Or lowly be our stations;
Whatever talent we possess
Sometimes we'll fail to meet success
In all our life's vocations.

We often fail to do our best,
Despite our best endeavour,
While others always pass the test,
Although they seem less clever;
Then in discouragement may say,
"Why is it that I toil each day,
And meet with failure ever?"

It's then we need more courage, and
Stedfast determination,
To carry on, to work and plan
To reach our estimation;
And having done our very best,
Our work may be crowned with success
Beyond our expectation.

So let us strive and never shirk
To do what is worth trying,
We'll find more pleasure in our work,
Less time for mournful sighing,
And when our call will come to rest,
Then having done our very best,
'Twill comfort us in dying.

GROUND HOG'S DAY

Old Bruin awoke, and fumed awhile,
Then lumbered from his lair,
He looked all-round both up and down,
And growled and sniffed the air.

Again midwinter had arrived,
The temperature was low,
His shadow he could plainly see
Upon the crusted snow.

Growled he "The winter will be long,
It's just about half o'er,
Snow's in the air I greatly fear
So I'll retire once more."

The ground hog too was sitting by
The door of his domain,
Quoth he "It's cold and I am old,
I'll go to bed again."

Again these two went back to sleep
The ground hog and the bear,
To dream and snore six weeks or more,
And spring will then be near.

BEAN TOWN

Bean Town is just a village small
With just one street it's thoroughfare,
But if you chance to pass that way
You'll always find a welcome there.

Joe Banks who keeps the general store
Sells everything from soup to shoes,
And men folk after chores are done,
Keeps 'droppin' in to hear the news.

They sit around the heated stove,
Plays checkers and discuss the crop,
And always there's an atmosphere
Of friendliness in that old shop.

They are good neighbours young and old,
And each know how his neighbour 'stand',
If some misfortune comes his way,
They'll try and help him to a man.

Beantown may seem a sleepy place,
But if you walk along it's street,
You'll find it has a goodly store
Of friendliness that's hard to beat.

November, 1948

THE SLEEPING DOLL

A little girl sat deep in thought,
Paper and pencil in each hand;
At last in serious mood she wrote,
"Dear Santa Claus" her note began.

"I'm writing you to say that if
You haven't dolls enough to share
With every little girl, then please
Don't bring a doll to me this year."

"Just down our street ten doors away
Where the big elm tree grows so tall,
There is a little orphan girl
Who haven't any doll at all."

"So if you please dear Santa Claus,
Bring her a doll, one that will cry,
And go to sleep when lying down,
When on our street you're passing by."

And when her father read the note
Scrawled by a little hand so small,
Said he, "I'll tell old Santa Claus
To bring that little girl a doll."

And in that house on Christmas morn
Where the big elm tree grows so tall,
A little girl was thrilled with joy,
Because she owned a sleeping doll.

Christmas, 1944

OLD JEFF

Old Jeff he was a quiet man,
And never heard to 'cuss',
He never argued with his wife
When she would start a fuss.

He'd sit around the house at night
With leg crossed o'er his knee,
and smoke his pipe with sweet content;
A happy man was he.

He was an easy going soul,
Folks said he had no pride,
But Jeff took everything in fun,
And never seemed annoyed.

Old Jeff he was an honest man,
He seemed too slow to rob,
But when he had his work to do
He did an honest job.

He went each Sunday to his church,
And sat in the same pew;
He'd listen to the parson preach
The things he ought to do.

Until one day old Jeff passed on
Into a better land,
And 'though he leaved no wealth behind,
He died an honest man.

April, 1944

GUY FAWKE'S DAY - November 5th

I always loved his time of year
When I was just a lad,
When Guy awke's day would rol around
What fun we youngsters had.

Guy Fawkes was no concern of ours,
Or the plot he did conspire,
But this we knew, November fifth
Was the night for our bonfire.

Right after school each day we'd work
With ardour you'd admire,
We'd chop small spruce and balsam fir,
And pile them higher and higher.

And when at last the evening came
With weather fair and dry,
Both boys and girls would gather 'round
To watch the sparks fly high.

That ight on many a knoll and hill
In really grand display,
Bonfires would flare and youngsters cheer
That's how we kept Fawke's day.

November, 1948

WATCH YOUR STEP

Watch your step, it is a warning,
And advice to one and all,
For it's when you're not expecting
You may have your greatest fall.

Watch your step when on life's highway,
And each stage of life unfold,
Loiter not in any by-way
But press on towards your goal.

Watch your step and set then firmly
In the way that's planned for you,
And the signposts pointing onward
They will safely guide you through.

Watch your step in your vocation
Use precaution it is best,
Many are the broken bodies
Laid aside though carelessness.

A FISHERMAN'S PRAYER

Great Pilot of the restless sea
By Thee were all our fathers led,
Grant me success from day to day,
That I may earn my daily bread.

'Twas in a little fishing boat
Close by the shores of Galilee,
Where Thou once sat and taught the folk,
And humble fishermen like me.

And on the Galilean sea
When winds blew strong and waves raged high,
Thou hear Thy faint disciples call,
And answered "Fear not, it is I."

Protect me through the gloomy night
When skies above are overcast,
My little boat it seems so small
Upon Thine ocean wide and vast.

Strengthen my will when toil seems vain,
Uphold me when my courage fail,
And may I hear they still small voice
Both in the calm and raging gale.

And when at last my voyage is done,
When my last fishing trip is o'er,
Then master as I hear the strand
May I behold thee on the shore.

Then pilot me safe home at last
Into that Port of quiet rest,
Where I shall find safe anchorage
From every storm that cause unrest.

September, 1945

FARM YARD FRIENDS

"Bow wow wow" barked the old watch dog,
"I guard this place at night,
When prowling thieves comes snooping 'round
I puts them all to flight."

"Meow, meow" purred the tabby cat,
"I'm the most important one,
I chase the thieving mice away,
And keeps them on the run."

"Cock a doodle doo" crowed the rooster,
"Hear what I have to say;
I awake you all in the early morn,
And you don't sleep in all day."

"Cluck, cluck" clucked the little white hen
As she pecked at a grain of corn,
"My master has a nice fresh egg
For his breakfast every morn."

The farmer then came on the scene,
He listened to each one,
He gave the cat a dish of milk,
To the dog he threw a bone.

To the chickens all he threw some corn,
And then they heard him say,
"You all are useful around this place,
Each in a different way."

A STITCH IN TIME

The careless man is quick to plan,
But put things off from day to day,
And as time flies he seldom tries
To do his chores without delay.

As time goes by you'll hear him cry,
"Some day when I'll have less to do,
I'll mend that chair that need repair,
And make it almost good as new."

Until one day that chair gives way
Beneath his heavy avoirdupois,
It's only good for firewood
As on the floor a wreck it lies.

A stitch in time saves eight or nine.
Time never waits for anyone,
Let's never shirk our daily work
And take delight in jobs well done.

Time that's well spent oft' brings content
To him who plys his daily toil,
and little things so often brings
Delight to know it was worth while.

January, 1948

WHAT THE SPARROW CHIRPED

It was a bright cold winter's day
When snow lay on the ground,
And the earth lay 'neath it's mantle
For many miles around.

A little flock of sparrows
Came fluttering through the air;
And soon they all were busy
Pecking bread crumbs scattered near.

And then one little fellow
More braver than the rest,
Came hopping up towards me,
And this was his address.

"I am only a little sparrow,
A bird of low degree;
And my food is sometimes scanty,
But there's One who cares for me."

"He gave me a coat of feathers,
They are very fine I know,
For they keeps me warm in winter
When the wintry winds do blow."

"He sees each fallen sparrow,
And hears their plaintive cry;
He counts us all each evening
When night is drawing nigh."

"Our earthly friends show kindness,
And strew bread crumbs around;
They pity us poor sparrows
When snow lies on the ground."

"My little heart is grateful
For food that's given free,
I know my feathered cousins
All think the same as me."

"Although I'm not a songster
I'll do the best I can,
To cheer you up each morning
When spring smiles on the land."

And when their meal was ended
Back to the eave they flew;
They all were filled and happy,
And it made me happy too.

January, 1946

THE MASTER ARTIST

The master artist plans His work with care,
And blends bright colours in each landscape fair;
He tints the blushing rose and daffodil,
And beautifies each fragrant lily bell.

No earthly artist can with brush display
A glowing sunset at the close of day,
As he who paints each cloud with magic wand,
And radiates it's charm o'er sea and land.

Behold the rainbow in the evening sky,
Such radiant beauty meets the human eye,
It's arch is tinted with bright colours rare,
That spreads a halo o'er our earthly sphere.

The starry firmament a winter's night,
Shines like a million diamonds, sparkling bright;
The panorama of the Milky Way
Shows forth His handiwork in grand display.

When oak and maple dons their autumn dress,
We seek His work in nature at it's best,
A blaze of colour spreads o'er the woodland
In grandeur unsurpassed by human hand.

It fills us with new hope whene'er we see
The beauty of a flower or maple tree,
Then with our faith renewed we onward plod,
And challenge those who say there is no God.

CANADA

Hail Canada; They name is manifest,
Thy vast Dominion of the west
Behooves us all with thankfulness
To laud this land of freedom.

In bygone years brave pioneers
Transformed this land by sweat and tears,
And left to us as rightful heirs
This land of hope and freedom.

Truly a favoured people we
That dwells within they boundary,
And shares a nation's liberty
In this our land of freedom.

From ocean unto ocean's strand,
Both east and west through all the land,
Nature bestows with bounteous hand
A fruitful land of freedom.

Rich mineral in thy bosom lies,
Broad prairies yield their vast supplies,
No other nation dare despise
This land of wealth and freedom.

With freedom for our guiding light,
May we for freedom's cause unite,
Let no-one dare dispute our right
To love our land of freedom.

May, 1950

BE KIND TO THY MOTHER

Be kind to your mother
You'll ne'er have another,
So cherish her while she is near;
Let no ill will or shame
Ever blight your good name,
That may bring silver threads in her hair.

In days long gone by
When you were but knee high,
On her you could always rely;
She were your best friend,
And on her would depend,
For she shared both your troubles and joy.

As the years they unfold,
And your mother grows old,
Then respect those gray locks in her hair;
Never let it be said
When her spirit has fled
That you caused her remorse or despair.

You'll ne'er find another
To replace your mother,
One who will prove true to the end;
May her old vacant chair
Never cause you a tear,
But instead, happy memories may blend.

July, 1946

OUR SOUVENIRS

Past memories are like souvenirs
That has been store away,
And what we prize and treasure most
Are our friends of yesterday.

The friends that always were sincere,
And share our company,
They are real keepsakes of the past
In all sincerity.

'Though some are in the Great Beyond,
And are no longer here,
Yet still their memory will remain
To us a souvenir.

At every stage of life we find,
Whatever role we play,
The thoughts that's foremost in our mind
Are the friends of yesterday.

And as we count our souvenirs
We think of days long past,
And know they'll ever with us stay
As long as mem'ries last.

March, 1949

THE DESERTED HOMESTEAD

The pale full moon was sinking very low
As the weary traveller halted with a sigh,
He gazed on the old home he used to know
That stood silhouetted 'gainst the starry sky.

No barking watch dog met him at the gate
With wagging tail to show it's keen delight,
He knew too well he'd tarried far too late,
For there was none to welcome him tonight.

The old house stood deserted and forlorn,
The winds played hide and seek around the eaves;
A shutter lay by wind from hinges torn,
And all around tall grass and fallen leaves.

He heard no eager footsteps in the hall,
No loving voice to bid him welcome home,
There was none there to answer at his call,
The old house was as silent as a tomb.

The echo of his footsteps like a knell
Resounded as he climbed the musty stair
And entering every room he knew so well
Was met by haunting memories lurking there.

Thick dust lay on the mantel where the clock
Had stood for years and ticked the hours away,
But now this silence only seemed to mock
These mem'ries of the past when life was gay.

Then out into the night he turned once more
And gazed on the old homestead so forlorn,
Moonbeams and shadows played around the door
Where he once played, and where high hopes were born.

January, 1947

OLD MAN WINTER

When old man Winter from the north
Comes sweeping down from Arctic lands,
He show no favors as he grips
All nature with his icy hands.

All life is dead in frozen soil
That lies beneath earth's mantle white;
And sturdy oaks stand stripped and nude
Like specters in the starlit night.

The snow flakes whirl around our door,
As biting winds go rushing past,
And when we venture out our ears
And fingers tingle in the blast.

Though winter may act rough and rude,
And boisterous winds may howl and whine;
Yet there's sweet comfort in the thought
That Spring is not so far behind.

Then old man Winter will depart,
And Spring again will smile on earth
With budding trees and springing flowers,
And nature shall regain new birth.

January, 1947

THE MANTEL CLOCK

The mantel clock sits on the shelf,
It's pedestal for many a day,
From morn 'til eve, and through the night
It ticks the passing hours away.

When all the house is hushed and still,
And midnight hour is past and gone,
The mantel clock it slumbers not,
And through the silent night ticks on.

And as the silent hours drags on
Towards the dawn of a new day,
I listens to that mantel clock,
And this is what it seems to say.

"My hands are moving 'round and 'round,
They never rests by day or night;
Each minute I have to be on time
So that each hour will come just right."

"I'm always faithful to my trust,
And on the hour I sound my gong,
Reminding you the whole day through
That time is always marching on."

And when at last through weariness
My tired eyelids gently steep,
All through the night the faithful clock
Will keep it's vigil while I sleep.

February, 1947

PEACE

There is peace beside still waters,
And the Psalmist sang it's praise,
Where the young lambs skip and frolic,
And the lowing cattle graze.

Where the sunlit silent river
Gently flows toward the sea.
And the song birds in the willows
Sing their notes of melody.

There is peace in many a valley,
Where the farmer tills the sod,
And the rustling waving wheat fields
Speaks of nature and of God.

There is peace where sons and daughters
Live their lives in harmony,
When no discord or commotion
Mar their homes and unity.

There is peace in many a bosom
Though dull cares may press them sore;
Peace that passeth understanding;
Peace of God that shall endure.

October, 1947

DOWN BY THE SEA

It was a dark and stormy night,
The rolling waves beat on the shore;
A cottage stood beside the sea,
And salt sea spray swept by the door.

A light shone in the window bright,
'Though long had passed the hour for sleep,
A fisher's wife her vigil kept
While he were on the stormy deep.

And in his cot her baby lay
Asleep, a chubby little lad,
He were too young to know the cares
And anxious hours his mother had.

The mother kept her vigil when
The storms blew wild and waves ran high,
And prayed that God would keep him safe,
The father of her darling boy.

In many a home down by the sea
Are anxious wives and mothers too,
Great pilot of the restless deep,
Protect their kin, and bring them through.

October, 1947

MOODS AND MANNERS

What funny folk we humans are
With all our different moods and ways,
Some likes the weather when it's cold,
While others like nice summer days.
And some they like the city life,
Others prefer a one horse town,
Some love to travel 'round the world
While others like to settle down.

In winter time it gets too cold,
Oftimes we shiver and complain,
In summer time we wipe our brow,
And wish that it was cold again.
Some people try to put on weight,
And others diet to keep it down;
Some like to live in peace at home
While others like to travel 'round.

Some always has a lot to tell,
But others haven't much to say,
Some find real pleasure in their work,
While others watch the clock all day.
And so it goes from day to day,
I guess it is as it should be,
If everyone were just alike,
Think how monotonous life would be.

THE OLD ELM TREE

The old elm towers above the lawn
With it's ranches drooping down,
And one by one it's withered leaves
Falls fluttering to the ground.

Long years a landmark it has been,
This sentinel of the street,
Have defied many a raging storm,
And winter's snow and sleet.

In spring this elm admired by all
Displays it's leaves so green,
And stands so stately and so tall
Dress in a coat of sheen.

Now it's a nuisance neighbours say
When all it's falling leaves
Are cluttering up the walks and lawn,
And choking up the eaves.

So now this tree stands mute and sad,
And wonders at it all,
Why it should be admired in spring,
And frowned at in the fall.

October, 1947

GIVING THANKS

For the beauty of the earth,
For our land that gave us birth,
And for friends, our home and hearth;
Dear Lord we give Thee thanks.

For past sunshine and the rain,
Ripened fruit, and garnered grain,
May we all each day exclaim
Dear Lord, we give Thee thanks.

Thou has given us eyes to see
Nature's beauty, flower and tree;
All earth's blessings come from Thee;
Dear Lord we give Thee thanks.

For our strength to carry on
When life's way seems hard and long
Through our weakness make us strong;
Dear Lord we give thee thanks.

For this vast Dominion's store,
Mountain, prairie, ocean's shore,
And henceforth for evermore,
May thanks dear Lord to Thee be given.

October, 1947

LOOKING BACK

Sometimes as evening shadows fall,
And the evening star appears,
We sit in silent reverie
And think of bygone years.

Far down the road of yesterday,
Our thoughts then take their flight;
Old scenes, old friends we meet again
That long have passed from sight.

The old homestead we see again,
The family circle too,
All gathered 'round the family board
Just as they used to do.

Our past is like a book that's read,
A tale that has been told,
Our memories are life's diaries, and
Each day a page unfold.

And as we journey on through life
Sometimes we rest awhile,
And gaze far back to bygone days
When we were just a child.

SOLITUDE

Sometimes I fain would sit awhile
Beside still waters deep,
And there in silent solitude
A tryst I would keep.

So far are moved from factory's din,
And city's noisy street,
I'd dwell with nature for awhile
In quiet safe retreat.

And in the silence of the night
I'd count the stars on high,
And listen to a waterfall,
Or hear the night hawks cry.

Maybe I'd hear that still small voice
While in that quiet zone,
Reminding me in simple trust
That I am not alone.

And when my stay would terminate,
Then homeward I'd repair,
Firmly resolved with strength renewed
To meet tomorrow's care.

A DREAMER'S VACATION

Let us go on our vacation,
And enjoy a relaxation
Far from the busy city's noisy throng,
Out among the open spaces
Where we'll see no worried faces,
And be happy as the summer days are long.

By some foaming whirling eddy,
Or a purling brook or steadie
We'll fish for trout in running brook or stream,
As we land the speckled beauties,
We'll forget our cares and duties,
And wonder if it isn't all a dream.

Lying 'neath the leafy bowers
We will bask in sunlight hours,
Gazing up where fleecy clouds drifts on,
Or at night when stars are gleaming
If we're not asleep or dreaming,
We may hear the noisy bullfrog in the pond.

We may scan some sunlit mountain
Or bathe in a cooling fountain,
And hear the passing storm in tree tops roar,
And by watching nature's teachers
Different birds and living creatures,
We may learn something we never knew before.

In the early morning hours
If it threatens rain or showers,
We will just relax and fall asleep again,
And if rain drops loudly patter
On the roof it will not matter,
We'll forget about our troubles and the rain.

It will be a grand vacation
For a man of any station
To enjoy the passing moments of each day,
And when winter gales are whining,
When at home he's safe reclining,
He'll be telling how the big one got away.

March, 1944

THE RIVER'S RAMPAGE

When the melting snow of winter
Rushes down the mountain steep,
Old man river starts a rampage
Like a giant 'roused from sleep.

Soon it's whirling, seething swirling,
Swollen by the spring tide rain,
Bearing debris on it's bosom,
Gathering speed none can retain.

O'er a cataract it crashes
With a roar heard far and wide,
Winds it's way through hills and valleys
With momentum in it's stride.

Through the canyon steep it races,
Heeding not the echo's roar,
Down the gorge and through the woodland,
On towards the ocean's shore.

When at last it's race is ended,
And the sea impedes it's pace,
It is swallowed up forever
In the ocean's vast embrace.

November, 1947

THE SABBATH DAY

The Sabbath day was made for man
To pause, and rest awhile,
This day well spent oft brings content
To men of honest toil.

Each Sabbath morn church bells ring out
Their message o'er the air,
Come one come all, they seem to call,
And join in praise and prayer.

Old folks with slow uncertain steps,
And youth with buoyant spring,
All wend their way, their vows to pay,
And psalms and hymns to sing.

They've kept the faith their fathers knew
And in their steps have trod,
A heritage from age to age
Freedom to worship God.

It matters not your race or creed,
Or if you're dark or fair,
There's One who'll met, and waits to greet
You in His house of prayer.

November, 1947

THE CHRISTMAS STORY

Ring out ye bells across the sky,
Peal forth your message loud and clear;
The Yuletide season's drawing nigh,
A season of goodwill and cheer.

It's nigh two thousand years ago,
Since humble shepherds in the glen
Heard seraphs from the starlight glow
Sing "Peace on earth, goodwill to men."

"I bring good tidings of great joy;"
This message thrilled the shepherds ears,
From herald angels hovering night,
And it was echoed through the years.

And soon throughout all Christendom,
The story will again be told,
How wise men guided by a star,
Brought gifts with incense, myrrh and gold.

So may we all our homage pay
With one accord glad tributes bring;
May young and old on Christmas day,
Proclaim the birthday of their King.

December, 1947

TRUSTING

I do not wish
To know what waits around the bend
Of this life's road on which I wearily wend,
There'll be safe lodgings at its farther end
When day is done.

I do not ask
Or yearn to know what lies before,
Or what each day in future have in store;
But when at last this pilgrimage is o'er
I'll understand.

I would not choose
To journey through this world again,
Amidst discomfort, weariness and pain;
But life is sweet, and here I shall remain
Until life's end.

I dare not choose
My path I tread from day to day,
'Though oft I fain would choose some smoother way;
But trusting to a greater Strength I'll say
Thy will be done.

I'll ask no favours when at last my score
Is added up, but this I will implore,
For just a humble place, just 'round the door
Of God's great love.

May 9, 1951

A PRAYER IN VERSE

Dear Lord and Saviour, hear our humble prayer,
We seek They guidance through a world of sin;
Be Thou our strength, and shield from every snare,
From foes without, and lurking fears within.

No goodness of our own have we to please,
We are not worthy of they mercies, Lord;
But Thou will hear the prayers of those in need,
As Thou has promised in They faithful Word.

We pray for those in trouble, and distress,
And weary souls all longing to be free;
May they at last repose in peaceful rest,
And find their consummation, Lord in thee.

For those we pray who falter on life's way,
And find their daily cross so hard to bear;
O keep, and guide them to a better day,
And grant them rest and peace from toil, and care.

We pray for faith to chase all gloom, and doubt,
And hope to trust Thee through all earthly life;
For perfect love that will all fears cast out,
A threefold strength to shield us in the strife.

And when at last our course on earth is run,
Dear Father may we find our rest in Thee;
And dwell forever with they blessed Son,
And Holy Spirit through eternity.

January, 1943

I SAT BY MY WINDOW

I sat by my window when the morning was bright,
As I watched my wife hanging out washing so white,
And she was so busy with work and with care,
While I sat so helpless here in my wheel-chair.

I sat by my window, when the sun it shone high,
As the wife began taking her clothes in so dry,
And as she was ironing her laundry so fair
I felt so despondent, sitting in my wheel-chair.

I sat by my window, watched my neighbour next door
Attending his garden and doing his chore,
And I thought of the day when I was busy too,
But now I seemed useless with nothing to do.

These thoughts then came to me, and I started this poem.
"Sure I should be thankful with family, and home;
With so many blessings, why should I despair,
I should feel so lucky, to have a wheel-chair."

When we are down-hearted, and feeling so blue,
Let us count our blessings, although they be few;
And think of the sufferers, the pain they all bear
That would feel so thankful to sit in a chair.

Photo: L to R - Sons, Eric & Ches; George Frampton; wife, Ethel; daughter, Betty; Son, Roy; daughter-in-law, Eleanor