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

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 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.

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

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

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

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

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

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 QUILTING BEE

One morning I heard my wife say,
This will be my shopping day;
There's some pretty cotton on
I must get before it's gone.

Later on I heard her say;
I must start my quilt today;
I have got a pattern new,
And some pretty cotton too.

Soon I heard her scissors snip
As she shaped each little bit;
Then she sorted it so true,
A bit of red, and a bit of blue.

Oh, what patience she has got,
And I know she needs a lot,
As she sewed each little bit
To the piece that it should fit.

Then one day some ladies came
When she had it in the frame,
And 'twas plain as A, B, C,
We would have a quilting bee.

Soon they stitched, and as they sat,
Talked of this, and talked of that;
All was happy as could be
When we had that quilting bee.

When the job it was well done,
My wife thanked them everyone;
Then she made us all some tea,
And that ended the quilting bee.