Part 9

And can never sit and listen To the rattle and the clatter Of the sound of spoon on platter. I am sorry for the single, For they miss the thrill and tingle Of the splendid time of year When the cannin' days are here.

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THE DULL ROAD

It's the dull road that leads to the gay road; The practice that leads to success; The work road that leads to the play road; It is trouble that breeds happiness.

It's the hard work and merciless grinding That purchases glory and fame; It's repeatedly doing, nor minding The drudgery drear of the game.

It's the passing up glamor or pleasure For the sake of the skill we may gain, And in giving up comfort or leisure For the joy that we hope to attain.

It's the hard road of trying and learning, Of toiling, uncheered and alone, That wins us the prizes worth earning, And leads us to goals we would own.

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THE APPLE TREE

When an apple tree is ready for the world to come and eat, There isn't any structure in the land that's "got it beat." There's nothing man has builded with the beauty or the charm That can touch the simple grandeur of the monarch of the farm. There's never any picture from a human being's brush That has ever caught the redness of a single apple's blush.

When an apple tree's in blossom it is glorious to see, But that's just a hint, at springtime, of the better things to be; That is just a fairy promise from the Great Magician's wand Of the wonders and the splendors that are waiting just beyond The distant edge of summer; just a forecast of the treat When the apple tree is ready for the world to come and eat.

Architects of splendid vision long have labored on the earth, And have raised their dreams in marble and we've marveled at their worth; Long the spires of costly churches have looked upward at the sky; Rich in promise and in the beauty, they have cheered the passer-by. But I'm sure there's nothing finer for the eye of man to meet Than an apple tree that's ready for the world to come and eat.

There's the promise of the apples, red and gleaming in the sun, Like the medals worn by mortals as rewards for labors done; And the big arms stretched wide open, with a welcome warm and true In a way that sets you thinking it's intended just for you. There is nothing with a beauty so entrancing, so complete, As an apple tree that's ready for the world to come and eat.

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THE HOME-TOWN

Some folks leave home for money And some leave home for fame, Some seek skies always sunny, And some depart in shame. I care not what the reason Men travel east and west, Or what the month or season-- The home-town is the best.

The home-town is the glad town Where something real abides; 'Tis not the money-mad town That all its spirit hides. Though strangers scoff and flout it And even jeer its name, It has a charm about it No other town can claim.

The home-town skies seem bluer Than skies that stretch away, The home-town friends seem truer And kinder through the day; And whether glum or cheery Light-hearted or depressed, Or struggle-fit or weary, I like the home-town best.

Let him who will, go wander To distant towns to live, Of some things I am fonder Than all they have to give. The gold of distant places Could not repay me quite For those familiar faces That keep the home-town bright.

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TAKE HOME A SMILE

Take home a smile; forget the petty cares, The dull, grim grind of all the day's affairs; The day is done, come be yourself awhile: To-night, to those who wait, take home a smile.

Take home a smile; don't scatter grief and gloom Where laughter and light hearts should always bloom; What though you've traveled many a dusty mile, Footsore and weary, still take home a smile.

Take home a smile--it is not much to do, But much it means to them who wait for you; You can be brave for such a little while; The day of doubt is done--take home a smile.

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COURAGE

Courage isn't a brilliant dash, A daring deed in a moment's flash; It isn't an instantaneous thing Born of despair with a sudden spring It isn't a creature of flickered hope Or the final tug at a slipping rope; But it's something deep in the soul of man That is working always to serve some plan.

Courage isn't the last resort In the work of life or the game of sport; It isn't a thing that a man can call At some future time when he's apt to fall; If he hasn't it now, he will have it not When the strain is great and the pace is hot. For who would strive for a distant goal Must always have courage within his soul.