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

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 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 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 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 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.

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

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.

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

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

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

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