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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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 LAND OF DREAMS

Beyond the blue horizon
Where the ocean meets the sky,
To a land of peace and beauty
Oftimes I fain would fly,
Where palm trees wave a welcome,
And bluebirds chant their lay,
And laughing brooks in chorus
Rolls merrily on their way.

Where the sun in all it's glory
Sets in a flaming sky,
An early morning sunlight
Glints on tall mountains high;
Where sloping fields in colour
Reaches the flowing stream,
Where anglers sit in patience
All day and idly dream.

There is heard no note or discord,
No clamor, strife or stress,
Where Sabbath days are holy
And observed as days of rest;
Where is heard no sad lamenting,
No unkind words are said,
and the balm of love's affection
Anoints the weary bed.

I know there is no country
'Neath heaven's high vault as this,
Yet in fancy oft I wander
In a land of earthly bliss.

March, 1949

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

I know a winsom little girl
Just two years old; not three,
She has the cutest little curl,
Her name is Valerie.

Her birthday comes this time each year,
When signs of spring we see,
It give good cheer when spring is near,
And also Valerie.

As early dew drops in the sun,
Or on a budding tree,
Her eyes they sparkle in her fun
Vivacious Valerie.

She trots around the house at play
As busy as a bee,
And chatters all the livelong day,
The toddler Valerie.

She has a smile for young and old
Including you and me,
I doubt if all her weight in gold
Would buy Miss Valerie.

May she grow up to womanhood,
From every snare kept free,
And like her parents always good,
Young winsome Valerie

March 23, 1949
(Valerie's Birthday)