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HARRY G. BURNS 
 
WAY BACK IN 
 INDIANA 
 
 And Other Poems 
 
 HARRY G. BURNS 
 
 ARTIetVeRITATI? 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 THE POET LORE COMPANY 
 
 THE GORHAM PRESS 
 
Copyright, 1918, by Harry G. Burns 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 MADE IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 
 
 The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 
 
 JUN -3 1918 
 I.A497589 
 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 I'd like to leave a word behind, 
 Perhaps some verse in ryme, 
 
 To live down through the ages 
 Until the end of time. 
 
 And if there be a thought or two, 
 To cheer some aching heart, 
 
 It's worth my time and effort 
 For just this little part. 
 
 The Author. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Page 
 
 Way Back in Indiana 1 1 
 
 The Highway of Life 12 
 
 The Old House 13 
 
 A Little Ray of Sunshine 14 
 
 The Boy 15 
 
 Christmas Time 16 
 
 When Old Santa Comes Around 18 
 
 When Grandpa Reads 19 
 
 Selfishness and Pleasure-Bent 21 
 
 My Mamma 22 
 
 Youth and Old Age 23 
 
 Springtime and Winter 24 
 
 Little Kentucky Wild Flower 26 
 
 Mother 27 
 
 Putting On 28 
 
 Not Ever' Kid Is' A Poet 29 
 
 In Eighteen Seventy-Five 31 
 
 The Soldier of Lincoln's Day 35 
 
 From Our Own Home Town 37 
 
 5 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Facing Page 
 
 Harry G. Burns Frontispiece ■ 
 
 Way Back in Indiana I2 
 
 When Grandpa Reads 2 ° 
 
WAY BACK IN INDIANA AND OTHER 
 POEMS 
 
WAY BACK IN INDIANA 
 
 I wandered many years, my boy, 
 
 Through cities great and small, 
 I've seen most everything there is, 
 
 And am weary of them all; 
 I'm old and gray and bent in form, 
 
 As I'm leaving old Montana, 
 But I'm going home to friends that's true, 
 
 Way back in Indiana. 
 
 I'm tired of strife and struggle, lad, 
 
 Of style and all of that, 
 And I'm sick of silly fashions, 
 
 With deceit in gown and hat, 
 I long for friends that's true, my boy, 
 
 Like mother and Sister Anna, 
 So I'm going home to those I knew, 
 
 Way back in Indiana. 
 
 But stop a bit, I'd most forgot, 
 
 It's been a many a year, 
 And there are voices once I knew, 
 
 I could no longer hear, 
 I'd find no loving kinfolks now — 
 
 Not even Uncle Danna — 
 And few there'd be of my old friends, 
 
 Way back in Indiana. 
 
 But if by chance the old house stands, 
 
 Though tenantless and bare, 
 I'd like to be within its walls 
 
 And think of those that were; 
 I'd like to stand on the kitchen floor, 
 
 Where I played with little Anna, 
 And weep alone for those I loved, 
 
 Way back in Indiana. 
 II 
 
THE HIGHWAY OF LIFE 
 
 Along the highway of life. 
 
 Are children, fair and young, 
 Laughing; singing and skipping on 
 
 In the rays of the morning sun. 
 No worries or cares to burden them down 
 
 No sorrows or deep despair, 
 Just happy and free as they dance along 
 
 In the glorious morning air. 
 
 Along the highway of life, 
 
 In the rays of the noon-day sun, 
 We see them again in the mid-day of life 
 
 When burdens and cares have begun. 
 They are filled with hope and ambition, 
 
 For the days that are yet to come, 
 And they are building great air castles, 
 
 To crumble, one by one. 
 
 Along the highway of life, 
 
 In the rays of the setting sun, 
 They travel on with feeble step, 
 
 Till the end of the day is done, 
 There's many turns and ups and downs, 
 
 Along this great highway, 
 And no turning back, just on and on, 
 
 Till they reach the end of the way. 
 
 12 
 
THE OLD HOUSE 
 
 I've a longing for the old house, 
 
 That stood back on the hill. 
 Just beyond the railroad, 
 
 By the creek and the old mill. 
 I love to think of those days, 
 
 When we watched the trains below, 
 Speeding like lightning past us, 
 
 In the years of long ago. 
 
 And how we'd sit on the rail fence 
 
 As the thing went whizzing by, 
 And think of the city it was bound for 
 
 With buildings and steeples high. 
 And dream of success to be had there, 
 
 With honor and fame unknown, 
 Till we forgot the treasure we owned ther 
 
 The house that we called our home. 
 
 But now that success has found us, 
 
 Along with its burdens to share, 
 We find many friends around us, 
 
 To give us attention and care, 
 But with all the city can give us, 
 
 That money can buy to please, 
 There's none like the house in the country, 
 
 With its peace and quiet and ease. 
 
 13 
 
A LITTLE RAY OF SUNSHINE 
 
 There's a little high-toned lady, 
 
 So young and sweet and fair 
 That makes our home the brighter 
 
 Whenever she is there. 
 She wears a big bow-ribbon 
 
 On her golden curly hair, 
 And she seems to scatter sunshine 
 
 About us everywhere. 
 
 She comes a running over 
 
 From her home across the way, 
 And it would be just simply awful 
 
 If she'd chance to miss a day. 
 For something about her little self 
 
 Just makes me love her more, 
 And I think the world is better 
 
 When she's skipping 'round the floor. 
 
 I wish I knew her secret, 
 
 So happy and free from care, 
 With not a single worry, 
 
 Nor even a burden to bear. 
 It would be well worth a million 
 
 To travel in her class 
 So bright and free and happy, 
 
 This gentle little lass. 
 
 14 
 
THE BOY 
 
 Was there ever any where, 
 A man so full of business care 
 
 That he could find no time or joy- 
 In a laugh or joke with a little boy? 
 
 Or could there ever chance to be 
 A man so blind as not to see 
 
 That with no time for the boy 
 Much is lost of earthly joy. 
 
 Call to mind, when you was small, 
 
 Some big man so great and tall 
 Who looked down on your little form 
 
 And took your hand so soft and warm, 
 When you was sure right from the start 
 
 That on this friend you'd set your heart, 
 For he was just what you would be 
 
 When once a man as big as he. 
 
 Then just remember if you can 
 
 And walk as straight as any man, 
 For little eyes are watching you 
 
 As one who's right in all you do, 
 And if you chance to step astray 
 
 They'll take it for the proper way 
 For anyone with sense would know, 
 
 The way was right, or you'd not go. 
 
 15 
 
CHRISTMAS TIME 
 
 When grandpa sits a readin' in his big old rockin' 
 
 chair, 
 I creep along so quiet like and jump and pull 'is 
 
 hair, 
 And 'en he jumps and hollers es if he's scart to 
 
 death, 
 And acts like he ain't goin' to ever get 'is breath. 
 
 But I 'ist hug and kiss 'im and laugh up in 'is face, 
 And say: "Grandpa, you can't read now 'cause you 
 
 'ist lost the place." 
 Then purty soon he'll sit up straight and say he 
 
 guessed he'd know 
 I'd want to hear 'bout Santa Claus a comin' through 
 
 the snow. 
 
 Then alookin' out the window, where it's awful 
 
 dark and still, 
 He says it's mighty lonesome away out on the hill. 
 And sometimes 'at there's robbers wot steals 'most 
 
 half the toys, 
 And that's 'ist why they ain't none for some poor 
 
 little boys. 
 
 And grandpa says it's funny, but it's awa}'s 'most 
 
 the case, 
 They never takes the rich boys' toys, but leaves 'em 
 
 in its place. 
 And when old Santa turns around and sees wot they 
 
 has done 
 He ain't got nothin' left at all fer the poor little 
 
 orphan one. 
 
But grandpa says it ain't so long 'fore Santa 'II take 
 
 'is trip, 
 And travel 'round at Christmas time in a great big 
 
 airship, 
 And 'at '11 make 'im happy fer he'll bring a big lot 
 
 more, 
 And stop at some boys' houses 'at he'd never been 
 
 before. 
 
 17 
 
WHEN OLD SANTA COMES AROUND 
 
 Grandpa says it's funny, 
 
 But it's always most the case, 
 'At when old Santa comes around 
 
 He's never on the place. 
 An' grandpa he 'ist hates it, 
 
 'Cause he's never seen 'm yet, 
 And as long as he's been livin' 
 
 They ain't even ever met. 
 
 And 'at's wot looks so funny, 
 
 When Santa comes on Christmas eve, 
 Why he lets me hug and kiss 'em, 
 
 An' I begs 'im not to leave. 
 But he always says they's other boys 
 
 Wots 'bout the same as me, 
 'At needs some toys an' other things, 
 
 'At he's 'ist got to see. 
 
 An' wot 'ist looks more funny still, 
 
 W'en Santa Claus is gone, 
 It ain't much more'n a minute 
 
 'Fore grandpa comes along. 
 And I 'ist think 'at Santa Claus 
 
 Don't come where is big men, 
 But slips around w'en they is gone 
 
 To see little boys then. 
 
 But w'en I tells my grandpa 
 
 'At Santa's 'bout his size, 
 With 'ist his kind o' whiskers 
 
 An' most his very eyes, 
 Why he 'ist laughs and hollers, 
 
 An' takes me on his knee, 
 An' says he's mighty happy 
 
 'Cause I got a Christmas tree. 
 18 
 
WHEN GRANDPA READS 
 
 When I get big like grandpa wot everybody knows, 
 I'll sit around the kitchen stove, with specks upon 
 
 my nose. 
 And when I'm readin' in a book and grandma starts 
 
 to scold, 
 I'll twist around and smoke my pipe, and look just 
 
 awful bold. 
 I'll look up just like grandpa does, and play like I'm 
 
 so mad, 
 And say, "Grandma, you fuss so much, no wonder I 
 
 am bad!" 
 I'll have my way, I'll let her know, no matter what 
 
 she sees, 
 I'll poke the fire and make a noise, and do just what 
 
 I please. 
 I'll show old grandma who's the boss, and how to 
 
 run the house. 
 I'll look so mad she'll walk around as quiet as a 
 
 mouse. 
 And when I fuss and scold her more, she'll say she 
 
 wished she'd die, 
 And run off in the other room, and close the door 
 
 and cry. 
 I wonder wot that I'd do then, left sittin' in a stew? 
 I spect I'd look around the room and feel just dread- 
 ful blue; 
 I s'pose I'd soon remember, though, how awful bad 
 
 I'd been, 
 A scoldin' poor old grandma and committin' such a 
 
 sin. 
 
 19 
 
I guess I'd slip up softly and open up the door, 
 And creep along so quiet like, I'd hardly touch the 
 
 floor ; 
 I'd take her hands down from her face, and wipe 
 
 the tears away, 
 And kiss and hug her tight, you'd see, and love her 
 
 all the day. 
 Then grandma she'd look in my eyes and search 'em 
 
 through and through 
 To see if there's a speck of bad that I was goin' to 
 
 do; 
 Then purty soon she'd hug me close, and tell me 
 
 never mind, 
 It ain't no matter wot I done, she'll love me all 
 
 the time. 
 
 20 
 
WHEN GRANDPA READS 
 
SELFISHNESS AND PLEASURE-BENT 
 
 Some people, all for self, 
 
 Have little feeling for others; 
 Always ready to receive 
 
 With nothing for their brothers 
 They must be petted and humored, 
 
 To keep them in good cheer, 
 And pleasures must be all their own, 
 
 With nothing to interfere. 
 
 You can do, and be kind to them, 
 
 With really no end of trouble. 
 You can spend your money on them, 
 
 And handle them like a bubble. 
 But when by some act or word, 
 
 A kindness could be shown, 
 They lavish it on some other one, 
 
 For pleasures all their own. 
 
 Yet a day is sure to come, 
 When burdens and cares are known ; 
 That they will be more thoughtful 
 
 Of the kindness some have shown. 
 And gladly then, they would repay, 
 
 And give each one his due, 
 That selfishness and pleasure-bent 
 
 Has lost the chance to do. 
 
 21 
 
MY MAMMA 
 
 My mamma says some little girls 
 
 Ir, lonesome as can be, 
 'Cause they ain't got no mother, 
 
 Like some other girls, and me ; 
 And I jist wonder wot they does, 
 
 When their prayers is said, 
 With none to hug an' kiss 'em, 
 
 And cover 'em in bed. 
 
 I'd liice to find a little girl — 
 
 One without no mother — 
 And bring her home to my house, 
 
 Then run and find another. 
 I wish I'd bring a hundred, 
 
 And let 'em come and see 
 How good and kind and lovin' 
 
 My mother is to me. 
 
 And if they gets more kisses 
 
 From mother, than does me, 
 I'll know that she does it 
 
 'Cause they's got no mother, see? 
 I'll just hug and kiss 'em, too, 
 
 An' run an' romp an' play, 
 An' they can live at our house 
 
 With mother every day. 
 
 And when bed time comes around, 
 
 An' we can hardly see, 
 I'll tell 'em all that mother 
 
 Jist sleeps next up to me. 
 O' course, I want them little girls 
 
 As close as close can be, 
 But I'm always used to mother 
 
 Sleepin' next close up to me. 
 22 
 
YOUTH AND OLD AGE 
 
 It seems the birds sang sweetest 
 
 In those years so long before 
 When life was like the springtime 
 
 With sunshine more and more, 
 And the clear and rippling waters 
 
 With the sparkling of the dew 
 Was like the life God gave her 
 
 So bright and pure and true. 
 
 But youth and sunshine 
 
 Like songbirds come and go 
 And in place of spring and flowers 
 
 There's wintertime with snow, 
 So by the cheerful firelight 
 
 We sit with real content 
 And dream of pleasant springtime 
 
 And happy days we spent. 
 
 23 
 
SPRINGTIME AND WINTER 
 
 It was in the early springtime 
 
 When the sky was bright and clear, 
 Just like the light that sparkled 
 
 In her eyes of Yesteryear. 
 And 'twas in the glorious morning 
 
 When life was young and sweet 
 That he met this little maiden 
 
 Who could make his life complete. 
 
 Yet while the sun was brightest 
 
 And the birds were singing gay, 
 A stranger young and handsome 
 
 Just stole her heart away. 
 And it seemed just for the moment 
 
 That the clouds which hung so low 
 Had shut out all the sunlight 
 
 That life could ever know. 
 
 But in the evening's twilight 
 
 Of life's declining years, 
 He stole back to the haunts again 
 
 That held his hopes and fears. 
 He found her standing by the gate 
 
 The same old gate of yore 
 But not the same sweet maiden 
 
 He knew so long before 
 
 24 
 
How the years had changed her 
 
 Though she was fair to see, 
 With waving hair once so dark 
 
 As white as white could be. 
 There was no smile as before 
 
 When he approached her side 
 For she only saw a stranger 
 
 Who had traveled far and wide. 
 
 But when he called her name 
 
 She seemed to start and stare, 
 For she knew once again 
 
 Her love was standing there. 
 And from her lips there came, 
 
 "Why did you run away? 
 It was just a joke of brother's 
 
 Who'd been gone for many a day.' 
 
 And though the spring had vanished 
 
 And summer time had fled, 
 And Autumn's leaves were strewn 
 
 Along old Winter's tread. 
 Two hearts were young and happy 
 
 Along familiar ways 
 With thoughts of early springtime 
 
 And bright and golden days. 
 
 25 
 
LITTLE KENTUCKY WILD FLOWER 
 
 She was like a little wild flower 
 
 Sparkling in the dew 
 Just a tender blossom 
 
 The kind for me and you. 
 She had the funniest talk 
 
 And the cutest frock and frills 
 And she was from old Kentucky 
 
 Away back in the hills. 
 
 It was "Sure enough," and "You all," 
 
 And all that sort of thing 
 She could laugh, pout and make a mouth 
 
 And then she'd start to sing. 
 She was pleased when she was noticed 
 
 And she'd toss her curly head, 
 And was happy from the morning 
 
 Till it was time to go to bed. 
 
 But ere this tender blossom 
 
 Had bloomed out full and fair 
 We saw it fade and disappear 
 
 Like bubbles in the air. 
 And now our hearts are lonely 
 
 And often times sad, 
 For we lost our little wild flower 
 
 The only one we had. 
 
 26 
 
MOTHER 
 
 She gazed down in the little eyes 
 
 With tenderest mother love 
 And kissed the precious tiny lips 
 
 As pure as Heaven above. 
 And while her mind was centered 
 
 On this loving little one, 
 She dreamed of him in manhood 
 
 In years that were to come. 
 
 But while the sun was brightest 
 
 In the springtime of his life 
 An Angel took the mother 
 
 From this world of care and strife. 
 But her sweet and precious memory 
 
 Forever will remain, 
 To keep his soul and honor 
 
 Without a single stain. 
 
 But now in the evening's twilight 
 
 By my fireside's gentle glow 
 I long for her, my mother 
 
 I knew so long ago. 
 Though years have passed between us 
 
 Her face I plainly see, 
 And I wonder how much I've accomplished 
 
 That mother had wished of me. 
 
 27 
 
PUTTING ON 
 
 Some folks think, just putting on 
 
 Is all they need to do 
 They never do act natural 
 
 And you can read them through. 
 For there is nothing in their lives 
 
 But just false pretense 
 And at times they seem to be 
 
 Without an ounce of sense. 
 
 They always act ridiculous 
 
 When putting on their airs 
 And seem to think the whole world 
 
 And all it holds are theirs. 
 They even believe that others 
 
 Are far beneath their rank 
 And come right out and say it 
 
 In words loud and frank. 
 
 They forget that sickness 
 
 Could put them down and out 
 And misfortune take their money 
 
 And put their style to route 
 And even forget that pride 
 
 Always goes before a fall 
 And the ones with the biggest feelings 
 
 Drops the hardest of them all. 
 
 28 
 
NOT EVER' KID IS' A POET 
 
 My Grandpa he says' to me 
 
 When we was both to home 
 'At he 'ist know'd a little boy 
 
 Wot read a Riley Poem. 
 'Bout a little orphan girl 
 
 'At went some place to stay 
 To wash the cups and saucers up 
 
 And put 'em all away. 
 
 And the boy 'ist thought to his self 
 
 It's easy 'nough to do 
 And he'd 'ist write some pieces 
 
 And be a poet too. 
 So he 'ist tooked a pencil 
 
 And started in to write 
 But he couldn't think of nothin' 
 
 Though he tried wil all his might. 
 
 And en' his little sister says 
 
 Write about an orphan too 
 Wat has'ent got no mother 
 
 Or a papa fond and true 
 So he 'ist wrote six pages 
 
 And sent 'em to a paper 
 And 'en he felt 'at he was big 
 
 A cuttin' such a caper. 
 
 29 
 
But he 'ist know'd he see it 
 
 A printed through an' through 
 And he'd get so much money 
 
 'At he would 'nt know what to do. 
 So he kept a fellin' bigger 
 
 And bigger all the time 
 Till he imagined he was Riley 
 
 A writin' things that ryme. 
 
 And when the mail man corned around 
 
 And looked all through his pack 
 He found one from the printer 
 
 With his name on the back. 
 But when he tored it open 
 
 He almost went to rack 
 For they wus'ent a speck of money 
 
 'Cause they sent his poem back. 
 
 And now he's 'ist a common boy 
 
 No bigger than he wus 
 And he don't write no pieces 
 
 And don't care if he ever does. 
 But he 'ist says no wonder 
 
 'At Riley wus big and great 
 Fer not ever Kid is a poet 
 
 Wot carries a book an' slate. 
 
 30 
 
IN EIGHTEEN SEVENTY-FIVE 
 
 If a young man of twenty 
 
 Or perhaps say twenty-five 
 Could wake up in the morning 
 
 Back in eighteen seventy-five. 
 And if he'd given no time or thought 
 
 Upon the things that's past 
 He'd hardly think that they could change 
 
 In a manner quite so fast. 
 
 The first thing to greet his ears 
 
 When he awakes in the olden time 
 Is the bells on the little street car mules 
 
 With their peculiar jingle chime 
 And possibly a little lad 
 
 Yelling, papers of the day 
 Whose names are unfamiliar 
 
 To the ones he's heard them say. 
 
 His attention is attracted 
 
 To a boot black on the street 
 With box flung over the shoulder 
 
 Crying "Shine!" to all he'll meet. 
 And a little farther on, is a boy 
 
 With a ladder and nimble feet 
 Turning off the gas lights 
 
 On each corner of the street. 
 
 31 
 
He see's the old bouldered streets 
 
 And wonders how you'd get to work 
 On these little toy mule cars 
 
 Jumping the track at every jerk. 
 And failing to find anything 
 
 That seems familiar to him 
 He looks on still farther 
 
 But finds the chances slim. 
 
 There is no Soldier's Monument 
 
 Nor State House standing there 
 And not even the terminal station 
 
 With the interurban, he'll declare 
 But he may see the railway station 
 
 With its high tower and clock 
 Above the little old city 
 
 Just down another block. 
 
 But even this is missing 
 
 Though there is an old brick depot 
 With about five archways 
 
 Where trains are passing slow 
 But now he's just a little tired 
 
 And wants some place to go 
 So he decides to take a rest 
 
 In a moving picture show. 
 
 But if he stops to ask a man 
 
 That man will surely say, 
 He never heard of a picture moving 
 
 Like actors in a regular play. 
 Nor does he know of a telephone 
 
 Unless its across the street, 
 Where they have one on exhibition 
 
 And the like has never been beat. 
 32 
 
Well how about an automobile 
 
 A buggy running without a horse 
 And the man just laughs still louder 
 
 Until he's almost hoarse. 
 But after laughing, and laughing, 
 
 Until he can laugh no more, 
 He says I plainly see now 
 
 The asylum your looking for. 
 
 But this young man who awoke 
 
 In Eighteen Seventy-Five 
 Finds things mighty dull 
 
 And not very much alive. 
 The Civil War had ended 
 
 Only ten years before 
 And the Centennial at Philadelphia 
 
 Was talked of more and more. 
 
 But this will be enough for him 
 
 And as he stands there all alone 
 I see a shade of discontentment 
 
 On his face so plainly shown. 
 And as the night draws on again 
 
 With the dim glow of the street lights too 
 He sees how gloomy it all is 
 
 Compared to the things he knew. 
 
 Ah, yes, these old times are interesting 
 
 And pleasant in every way 
 But "I'm ready to go back," he murmurs 
 
 And so he would be, it's fair to say. 
 But to us who remember, it is different 
 
 We would not give up the convenience of today 
 And be willing to go back again 
 
 To the real old fashioned way. 
 33 
 
Yet the remembrance of dim street lights 
 
 Slow mule cars and other ways 
 Brings no thought or gloom to our minds 
 
 But reflect pleasant association of those days. 
 Association with those we respected 
 
 Whose memory still survives, 
 And lingers with us always 
 
 To cheer and brighten our lives. 
 
 34 
 
THE SOLDIER OF LINCOLN'S DAY 
 
 I saw a faded picture 
 
 Of a scene in sixty-five 
 The death chamber of Lincoln 
 
 Who was scarcely yet alive 
 It was a scene that's been recorded 
 
 In history's final page 
 The sad and tragic ending 
 
 Of a great and noble sage. 
 
 There must be scenes in memory 
 
 That present themselves to view 
 To those whose lives were connected 
 
 With this great man they knew. 
 From the statesman to the soldier 
 
 Who fought the bloody war 
 To keep our country united 
 
 As it always was before. 
 
 But as I stood enchanted 
 
 With thoughts upon the past 
 My eyes were turned abruptly 
 
 On a scene that cannot last. 
 For the soldiers of the Union 
 
 Are fading one by one, 
 And few are left who answered 
 
 Lincoln's call to shoulder gun. 
 
 35 
 
No wonder it was hanging there 
 
 This picture that caught my eye, 
 For close before my vision 
 
 A casket was carried by 
 Draped in the grand old colors 
 
 Of the stars and strips of old 
 In honor of the soldier dead 
 
 Who fought so brave and bold. 
 
 It was the turning of the pages 
 
 Of History which begun 
 Way back in Civil War days 
 
 In eighteen sixty-one 
 But it will soon be ended 
 
 For the veteran of that awful affray 
 Will only be in memory 
 
 The Soldier of Lincoln's Day. 
 
 36 
 
FROM OUR OWN HOME TOWN 
 
 In the strange Land, 
 
 Far and Near 
 A familiar voice, 
 
 Is good to hear 
 And often times, 
 
 Where ere' we go 
 We chance upon, 
 
 Some friend we know. 
 
 But North or South, 
 
 East or West 
 The one we always, 
 
 Greet the best 
 Is the fellow who 
 
 Just happens down 
 From way back up 
 
 In our own home town. 
 
 37