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

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

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

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."

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

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