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

RECOLLECTIONS

I always have remembered, tho' it's many years ago
When I would kneel these simple words to pray,
As my Mother morn and evening would recite each
Little prayer,
And I'd try to repeat every word she'd say.

"Now I lay be down to sleep", it was just an evening prayer,
Said in simple language children understand;
And methinks the prayers our mothers taught us
Often helps us through,
When we at times do need a guiding hand.

"Make me good Dear Lord I pray,
Keep and guide me through this day",
Just a daily repetition, nothing new,
Yet it is a recollection, little words I
Ne'er forgot,
Said each morning and quite often hurried through.

Where ever I have wandered, on the land, or o'er the sea
Some childhood scenes have followed all the way;
And the memories I cherish most was by my
Mother's knee,
As she first taught me these little prayers to say.

REFLECTIONS

When you look into your mirror
Every morning when you rise,
Do you see a true reflection,
Or your visage in disguise?

Do you meet a face that's smiling,
And two eyes so bright and clear,
Or a frown upon your features
As if Life was hard to bear?

When you gaze into the mirror
Of your past vocation's role,
May you find true satisfaction
In the things you there behold.

May these past reflections make you
Proud to feel you played the game,
In your daily work or pleasure
That brought credit to your name.

Looking back upon our failures,
Or on chores that were well done,
We are gazing at reflections,
And memories that linger on.

When we gaze on some old photo,
Or memento of the past,
Then again we see reflections
In our mental looking glass.

April, 1950

THE WHITE FRAME CHURCH

When e'er I hear the church bells ring
On a quiet Sabbath morn,
My thoughts go drifting back again
To the land where I was born.

Again I see that white frame church
With tombstones standing near,
And every Sabbath day the bell,
Would call the folks to prayer.

Some worshipers they lived close by,
And others far away;
The men folk they would meet and chat,
And then go in to pray.

'Twas there the children small were blest,
And marriage vows were said;
And in that plot with grass so green
We laid away our dead.

Each household had their family pew,
And every day of rest;
All would be seated in their place
Clad in their Sunday's best.

There was no choir in that old church,
But all knew how to sing,
And when they sang these good old hymns
They made the rafters ring.

I loved to go to that old church
To join in prayer and praise;
These memories will forever stay
With me through all my days.

And when the chimes of Sabbath bells
Comes floating through the air,
My thoughts go back to that old church
With tombstones standing near.

Photo: Anglican Church on Gin Cove head

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.

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

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

MEMORIES

If time would turn back for a season,
For a year in the past that are gone,
I would romp once again in my boyhood,
And the days would speed merrily along.

When the catkins are blowing in springtime,
And the robin comes bobbin' along,
As the song sparrow sings in the tree top
With nothing to mar it's sweet song.

I'd hear once again the waves murmur,
And sniff the salt tang of the sea,
I'd watch the white sails in the sunset
And the sea gulls so graceful and free.

There would be the cool breezes at even,
I would hear the loon's cry in the night,
As it calls to it's mate o'er the water
Lit up by the moon's silvery light.

I'd wade once again in sea water,
And dig my bare toes in the sand,
And hunt the nest of the sand piper,
Where I'd gather sea shells in the strand.

These days they are gone past forever,
But a mem'rie they ever will be,
There a youngster with never a worry,
Once dwelt by the side of the sea.

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

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 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

LOOKING BACK

Sometimes as evening shadows fall,
And the evening star appears,
We sit in silent reverie
And think of bygone years.

Far down the road of yesterday,
Our thoughts then take their flight;
Old scenes, old friends we meet again
That long have passed from sight.

The old homestead we see again,
The family circle too,
All gathered 'round the family board
Just as they used to do.

Our past is like a book that's read,
A tale that has been told,
Our memories are life's diaries, and
Each day a page unfold.

And as we journey on through life
Sometimes we rest awhile,
And gaze far back to bygone days
When we were just a child.