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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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 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

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

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

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