PS 3505 
 ■A5275 
 P6 
 Copy 1 
 
 y 
 
 Popular 
 Poems 
 
 BY 
 
 FRED A. CAMPBELL 
 
 "Poet of the 
 Common People" 
 
 OAKLAND 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 IP I 3DI m 
 
[Ql Z3E3I ID 
 
 Popular 
 Poems 
 
 by 
 FRED. A. CAMPBELL 
 
 "Poet of the 
 Common People" 
 
 OAKLAND 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 i D 
 
We Can Only Have 
 One Mother 
 
 We can only have one mother, 
 Patient, kind and true, 
 No other friend in all this world 
 Will be so true to you ; 
 For all her loving kindness 
 She asks nothing in return ; 
 If all the world desert you, 
 To mother you can turn. 
 
 II 
 
 Many tears you've caused her 
 When you were sad or ill, 
 Maybe many sleepless nights, 
 Tho' grown, you cause her still. 
 So every time you leave her, 
 Or when e'er you come or go 
 Give her a kind word and a kiss, 
 'Tis what she craves I know. 
 
 We can only have one mother, 
 None else can take her place ; 
 You can't tell how you'll need her, 
 Till you miss her loving face. 
 Be careful how you answer her, 
 Choose every word you say, 
 Remember she's your mother, 
 Tho' now she's old and gray. 
 
 n 
 
 We can only have one mother, 
 O, take her to your heart ; 
 You cannot tell how soon the time 
 When you and she must part. 
 Let her know you love her dearly 
 Cheer and comfort her each day, 
 You can never get another, 
 When she has passed away. 
 
The Old Ranch Gate 
 
 I sit, when my day's work is over, 
 
 Tired out with its bustle and din; 
 And I lean back tired and weary. 
 
 Then I feel my eyes grow dim 
 As I see in my thoughts a picture 
 
 Of a cot in a far-off state, 
 A barefoot boy in the old green lane 
 
 And a girl by the old Ranch Gate. 
 
 II 
 
 I can see an old thatched cottage, 
 
 * Way back against the hill ; 
 And the scenes that pass before me 
 
 Give my heart a loving thrill; 
 But the one I love to picture, 
 
 Is that of my Sweetheart, Kate, 
 She was always there to meet me, 
 
 By the side of the old Ranch Gate. 
 
 II 
 
 Oh the dear old days of my boyhood, 
 
 That I see again in my dream. 
 When I ran contented and happy 
 
 And paddled barefoot in the stream 
 With sweet little Kate there beside me 
 
 No king was as proud or great, 
 As we sat side by side in the evening 
 
 And swung on the old Ranch Gate. 
 
 II 
 
 Now the tears will start while dreaming 
 
 As the pictures are thrown on the screen, 
 And in fancy I see the dear faces 
 
 And each loved and familiar scene; 
 Though now I have money and treasures, 
 
 Have been treated most kindly by fate, 
 I'd give wealth, fame and honors 
 
 For those days by the old Ranch Gate. 
 
Dear Kate is my wife here beside me, 
 
 Her hair once golden is gray 
 Now she dresses in silks and satins, 
 
 And her jewels are sparkling and gay, 
 But in fancy I see her standing 
 
 At the tryst where she used to wait. 
 There's where I learned to love her 
 
 As we swung on the old Ranch Gate. 
 
 II 
 
 Now those times are passed forever. 
 
 Yet still my heart does yearn 
 For those happy days of childhood 
 
 Which I know can ne'er return. 
 But I long for the dear old homestead. 
 
 In my native Golden State, 
 Where Kate and I together swung 
 
 And loved on the old Ranch Gate. 
 
Somebody's Sister 
 
 In the Morgue a form is lying 
 Of a maiden young and fair; 
 With teeth as white as pearls 
 And black as night her hair ; 
 No mother mourns beside her — 
 None there to shed a tear — 
 No friend to say "I loved her well,'* 
 No brother or sister near. 
 
 II 
 
 Yet she had a father, a mother. 
 And friends who loved her true, 
 When as a child in the country 
 Sweet as the flowers she grew; 
 She was the pride of that mother 
 The joy of that dear father's life ; 
 Now she lies dead and deserted here 
 Neither a maid nor a wife. 
 
 9 
 
 But why repeat the old story — 
 'Tis told to us over each day, 
 How a tempter came and stole her 
 From home and loved ones away ; 
 How like a woman she loved him 
 And how for her love she fell — 
 How like a demon he dragged her down 
 Dragged her from Heaven to Hell. 
 
 II 
 
 Now on the cold slab she's lying 
 With none of her loved ones there — 
 No one to smooth those dark tresses 
 And no one to murmur a prayer. 
 No marble will tell where she's resting, — 
 A rough board lettered "Unknown" — 
 Will mark the spot in the "Potter's Field" 
 The place where her dust is sown. 
 
And the man who caused the ruin, 
 May be honored by high and by low — 
 Knows not, cares not, for the sorrow 
 The heart-aches, the tears and the woe 
 That blighted the poor little creature 
 Lying dead and cold on the stone; 
 Fain would I know how 'twill be over there 
 When they meet at the great white throne. 
 
 II 
 
 We must hear the tales of the street 
 
 Where women struggle and die 
 
 'Tho the stories be old as the hills 
 
 As varied as the clouds in the sky. 
 
 But is there no cry for a warning 
 
 As the world-old story they tell 
 
 How an angel strayed from the path one day 
 
 And fell from Heaven to Hell? 
 
 If 
 L'ENVOI 
 
 There's a moral to this story 
 It is old but it is true; 
 You should always do to others 
 As you'd have them do to you. 
 So ponder well the picture 
 This simple tale has shown 
 Remember you've a mother 
 And a sister of your own. 
 
The Damphool Club 
 
 Have you heard of our society? 
 Now what I say is true — 
 It's getting mighty popular 
 And growing daily, too. 
 You may know all about it, 
 But on the strict Q. T. 
 I will tell you of some members 
 In our great fraternity. 
 
 II 
 
 Did you ever see an idiot 
 
 At a seashore rock a boat, 
 
 To show the girls how bold he was — 
 
 Just the cutest thing afloat? 
 
 After he'd upset the thing 
 
 And drowned two or three — 
 
 We elected him a member 
 
 Of the Damphool Club, you see. 
 
 II 
 
 And there's that other fellow, 
 With the blamed old empty gun, 
 Who points it at his dearest friend 
 And laughs to see the fun. 
 He "didn't know 'twas loaded" 
 But his friend died just the same; 
 Now on the Damphool's roster 
 You'll be sure to find his name. 
 
 W 
 
 There's the man who plays the ponies 
 Reads the dope sheet every day — 
 Then he steals the boss's money 
 On the "sure thing" horse to play; 
 Now he's working for the county 
 Gets free lodgings and his grub — 
 You can bet that he's a member 
 Of the Damphool Club. 
 
Now the fellow with a contract 
 To put the breweries on the bum: 
 He attends to business strictly 
 And he thinks it lots of fun ; 
 But his wife and little kiddies — 
 Ah! there, my boy's the rub — 
 Now he holds the highest office 
 In the Damphool Club. 
 
 II 
 
 If you want to be a member 
 
 I'll tell you what to do, 
 
 Be a "winner" with the ladies 
 
 And go the limit, too. 
 
 Dally with the "booze," my boy, 
 
 Be a "spender," never "chub," 
 
 Then you'll be a star performer 
 
 In the Damphool Club. 
 
 9 
 
The Man I'll Try to Be 
 
 I'll try to lead a cleanly life 
 
 And set my standard high, 
 Try to do some kindly act 
 
 As each day passes by; 
 I'll strive to aid some toiling one, 
 
 Help smooth out their rough places 
 Try to make a smile appear 
 
 On care-worn, mournful faces. 
 
 Other's faults I see each day, 
 
 I'll try hard to forget them; 
 To bear my crosses as I should 
 
 Though hard my tasks to do them. 
 If my life's path be steep and rough 
 
 And pleasures hard in earning, 
 I'll try to do the best I can — 
 
 Not always be complaining. 
 
 I'll try to build my character 
 
 Upon an upright plan, 
 To look the whole world in the face 
 
 And be an honest man. 
 I may not reach the goal I seek, 
 
 Win praises, wealth, or fame, 
 I'll try to play as best I may 
 
 A decent, manly game. 
 
A California Christmas 
 
 Bells of Christmas now are ringing 
 
 Ringing out their joyous lay; 
 For the land is filled with gladness 
 
 On this happy Christmas day. 
 And our voices rise in singing 
 
 Songs of gladness and of praise, 
 Giving thanks for all life's blessings 
 
 That are scattered on earth's ways. 
 
 § 
 
 While the Christmas bells are ringing 
 
 Out glad tidings of good cheer, 
 Let us not forget the many 
 
 In their cities cold and drear. 
 Where the snow and wind and blizzard 
 
 Howl around each Christmas day, 
 And the deadly wild tornado 
 
 Blows disaster and dismay. 
 || 
 Here you'll find the poppies blooming 
 
 Smell the roses* sweet perfume; 
 And the sun so brightly shining 
 
 Drives away all clouds and gloom. 
 Here the birds are sweetly singing 
 
 On this Christmas day so grand; 
 Singing thanks to God who made them 
 
 For he gave them his own land. 
 
 II 
 
 So come out and spend a Christmas 
 
 'Neath an azure sky of blue, 
 Where the violets breathe sweet incense 
 
 And the poppies kiss the dew. 
 While the meadow lark is singing 
 
 Sweetly singing to his mate, 
 Come and sing your Christmas carols 
 
 In our Glorious Golden State. 
 
What's It All About? 
 
 Life's a funny proposition, 
 
 Have you ever thought it out? 
 
 Why did we come? Why are we here? 
 
 And what's it all about? 
 
 Life's a funny proposition 
 
 Don't it seem the same to you? 
 
 All the hard, luck comes to many, 
 
 All the good luck to a few. 
 
 II 
 
 To the few why — all is sunshine, 
 And the dark clouds never show, 
 Just the pretty silver lining 
 About the clouds is all they know. 
 While the many strive and struggle, 
 Toil right on unto the last, 
 The right to work, the right to die, 
 Then this funny life is passed. 
 
 To some is given all the brains, 
 
 And to others all the money, 
 
 There's few who seem to have them both. 
 
 That's why this life seems funny. 
 
 The ones who do the planning 
 
 And work the great schemes out, 
 
 Are the ones who do the starving, 
 
 And the ones least talked about. 
 
 m 
 
 Life's a funny proposition, 
 
 A hard and wicked game, 
 
 Still there's mighty few among us, 
 
 But hang on just the same. 
 
 And the ones who do the harping 
 
 About the mansions in the sky, 
 
 Are the ones who yell the loudest 
 
 When they have to say good-bye. 
 
Hustle! 
 
 Don't stand around a-wishing 
 That things will come to you ; 
 Just get right in and hustle, 
 There's a lot for you to do. 
 There's only one man ever lived 
 Whom the ravens fed with bread, 
 And that old duffer, on my word, 
 Has been a long time dead. 
 
 II 
 
 So get right in and hustle, 
 Don't stand around and moan; 
 You never saw the crops grow 
 Where the seed has not been sown 
 If you lie beneath the apple tree, 
 Your mouth open to the chin, 
 Don't expect the other fellow 
 Will drop the juicy apple in. 
 
 W 
 Whatever is worth having, 
 You've got to hustle for; 
 If you have a little money, 
 You should hustle to get more. 
 If you want to win a lady 
 Don't lie around and sigh; 
 Just get a hustle on you, 
 You'll catch them on the fly. 
 
 My boy, you've got to hustle 
 From the cradle to the grave; 
 The battle is an easy one 
 If you'll hustle and be brave; 
 But if you're tired and lazy 
 The world will pass you by; 
 You'd better find a nice soft spot 
 And lay you down and die. 
 
I Did My Best 
 
 Suppose the clouds are heavy, 
 
 And the sky is wet with rain; 
 Suppose your heart is aching 
 
 And your body racked with pain, 
 Don't you know the glorious sunshine 
 
 Will soon dispel the rain? 
 Don't you know that smiling faces 
 
 Often cure the greatest pain? 
 
 9 
 
 So what's the use to grumble 
 
 When days are dark and drear; 
 Or what's the use to worry 
 
 And what's the use to fear; 
 The sun is bound to shine again 
 
 And pleasure follows pain. 
 So do not be discouraged 
 
 Get up and fight again. 
 €1 
 If perchance you meet a brother 
 
 Who is wrecked upon life's strand, 
 Can't you say a kindly word to him 
 
 And take him by the hand? 
 It doesn't cost a cent to say 
 
 A kind and cheerful word; 
 It may be the sweetest music 
 
 The poor devil ever heard. 
 
 II 
 
 Just scatter rays of sunshine 
 
 As through this life you go; 
 Do the very best you can, 
 
 You can't do more, you know. 
 Speak a kind word now and then, 
 
 Save some weak one from a fall, 
 And when you go to judgment 
 
 Say: I did my best, that's all. 
 
Looking Backward 
 
 Are you looking back, dear brother 
 At things now past and gone? 
 Are you anchored to the past 
 When everything went wrong? 
 Or are you marching onward, 
 With steady step and true, 
 And looking on with pleasure 
 To what you have to do? 
 
 II 
 
 What's the use of worrying 
 Of times now passed away — 
 It ought to keep you busy 
 Thinking how to live today; 
 The fellow that's the live one 
 Lets all his troubles pass; 
 The one that's always dreaming 
 Is a silly sort of ass. 
 
 n 
 
 Mistakes are bound to happen; 
 When they do, just let them go, 
 There's no use to remember 
 What happened long ago. 
 "Today" is what to think about — 
 And tomorrow is not far — 
 It makes no difference what you were, 
 But only what you are. 
 
 In every life there is a page 
 That never should be read — 
 So what's the use to read about 
 The things that's passed and dead? 
 Now's the time to hustle — 
 You want to live today; 
 We need hold no post-mortem 
 On mistakes that've paved our way. 
 
The Old West Is Passing 
 
 The grand old West is passing, 
 And the old time boys are gone, 
 But they left behind a heritage 
 Of history and of song, 
 And their sons who follow after 
 Forget them they can never, 
 For the spirit of the great old West 
 Shall live and live forever. 
 
 They loved the laws that God laid down, 
 
 Deny this no one can, 
 
 Love, loyalty and chivalry 
 
 Became the laws of man. 
 
 They blazed the way along the front, 
 
 Tho* rough the road and hard, 
 
 Where every man was brother, 
 
 And every friend was "Pard." 
 
 Love was their only slogan, 
 Loyalty was their aim, 
 Benevolence their motto, 
 That's how they played the game. 
 The open world they lived in, 
 Those men so brave and true, 
 Oh, what a lesson they have left 
 To men like me and you. 
 
 W 
 So let us take the lesson, 
 Enshrine it in each heart, 
 And let us all resolve to play 
 A decent, manly part. 
 Although the fight may weary, 
 And the road be rough and hard, 
 Make every man your brother, 
 And every friend your Pard. 
 
"Hold Your Tongue" 
 
 Could we look beneath the surface 
 And see what's written there, 
 We'd put a bridle on our tongue 
 And speak with greater care. 
 For a word though lightly uttered 
 May cause much grief and pain, 
 And like the arrow that is sped 
 Will not come back again. 
 
 II 
 
 A word like the bite of an adder, 
 May smart with a venomous sting, 
 Even the word that is said in jest 
 Many bitter tears may bring; 
 And the evil we say of others 
 The damage we never can know, 
 May bring to the soul that's pure as gold 
 Dishonor, disgrace and woe. 
 
 P 
 So speak kindly, speak no evil, 
 From each word remove the sting; 
 May your ears hear only gladness 
 Not the songs the gossips sing. 
 For should you repeat the story — 
 'Tis no telling where 'twill fall — 
 Maybe the one that's talked about 
 Is the best one after all. 
 
 II 
 
 Why should we draw the bitter tear, 
 With whispers soft and low? 
 When we start to judging others 
 We should travel very slow. 
 The wind is surely bound to veer, 
 Then our turn will come, you know ; 
 And the mean words said of others 
 May smite us — blow for blow. 
 
Where the Golden 
 Poppies Grow 
 
 As in distant lands I wander 
 
 Far from those to me so dear, 
 
 I sit and sadly ponder 
 
 Life to me seems sad and drear, 
 
 As the pictures come before me 
 
 And my thoughts will come and go, 
 
 I long for California, 
 
 Where the Golden Poppies Grow. 
 
 'Tis no matter where I travel, 
 Or where I chance to go, 
 To me there's but one country 
 Where the Golden Poppies Grow. 
 God planted them and blessed them 
 With his sunshine's gentle glow, 
 And the zephyrs always sing there 
 Where the Golden Poppies Grow. 
 
 II 
 
 There are many other countries, 
 God made them all I know, 
 But in dear old California 
 He made Golden Poppies grow. 
 The good Lord must have loved us 
 And loved us well, you know, 
 For he gave us his own country 
 Where the Golden Poppies Grow. 
 
 9 
 
 On the hills of California 
 And in her valleys low, 
 Where the sun is always shining 
 And the gentle breezes blow, 
 Where the birds are always singing, 
 Where her pretty rivers flow — 
 My own dear California 
 WTiere the Golden Poppies Grow. 
 
How Played You the Game? 
 
 You will find, I am sure, 
 As the world onward goes, 
 That Fate always pays 
 All the debts that she owes. 
 If you play the game fair, 
 You will find in your need 
 That the straight, honest course 
 Is no barren creed. 
 
 II 
 
 If you have neither money, 
 Nor glory, nor fame, 
 When you see others prosper 
 With each crooked game ; 
 When you feel sorely tempted 
 To try the same way — 
 Just pause for a moment 
 And ask — does it pay? 
 
 II 
 
 The world may look on 
 While you win wealth and fame, 
 Nor ask how you won it — 
 Through honor or shame. 
 But the time's bound to come 
 When you must stand alone 
 And you, and you only, 
 For each sin must atone. 
 
 9 
 
 And whether you're sleeping 
 Or when you're awake 
 Your conscience is with you, 
 And that's no mistake. 
 While your money and name 
 May be cheered by the crowd — 
 There ne'er was a pocket 
 Sewed into a shroud. 
 
 Whatsoever you sow 
 
 You also shall reap; 
 
 And the time is not far 
 
 From the long last sleep. 
 
 To the poor or the rich 
 
 It comes just the same, 
 
 And then the great question — 
 
 "How Played You the Game?" 
 
Lonesome 
 
 I am out in California 
 Where the gentle zephyrs blow, 
 Where the pretty golden poppies 
 And the bright poinsettias grow. 
 Every pathway's strewn with flowers 
 And with orange blossoms too. 
 Still I'm lonesome, yes, lonely — 
 Longing for my home and you. 
 
 II 
 Here the sun is always shining 
 And the climate mild and rare, 
 And the sound of pretty song birds 
 Floats upon the perfumed air. 
 People here, like happy children, 
 Fill the land with life and mirth, 
 Truly, beauteous California 
 Is the grandest spot on earth. 
 
 9 
 
 You would think I should be happy 
 Mid environment so rare, 
 But I'm longing for my home town 
 And I'm wishing to be there. 
 Friends have given royal welcome, 
 Shown me sights my heart to bind, 
 Still I'm lonesome, and I'm longing 
 For the dear one left behind. 
 
 # 
 
 Soon I'll leave for my old homestead 
 Although humble it may be, 
 Back to home and the old home town 
 And to one who waits for me. 
 For I'm lonesome, oh so lonesome, 
 In a land that's wondrous fair. 
 After all home's where the heart is, 
 And the one you love is there. 
 
What's the Use? 
 
 What's the use to worry, 
 
 You've not got long to stay 
 Why not take things easy 
 
 As you pass along life's way? 
 'Twill do no good to worry 
 
 If things are going wrong; 
 You may as well be pleasant — 
 
 Meet reverses with a song. 
 
 9 
 
 What's the use to criticise, 
 
 What's the use to knock; 
 What's the use to ridicule, 
 
 Or at some to throw a rock? 
 Don't appoint yourself a censor, 
 
 No matter what you do, 
 This great big world was never made 
 
 For just a chosen few. 
 
 || 
 There's none of us that's perfect, 
 
 There's few of us that stay 
 And never stray or wander, 
 
 From the straight and narrow way, 
 So when you start to hammer 
 
 Some poor fool who's gone astray, 
 'Twill do no harm to pause and think 
 
 You may lose your grip some day. 
 
 II 
 
 What's the use to kick one 
 
 Who's just about to fall? 
 If you do not care to help him, 
 
 Don't mention him at all. 
 You'll find if you take notice, 
 
 That what I say is true; 
 While there may be faults in others, 
 
 There's a flaw or two in you. 
 
Forget It! 
 
 Forget it, my dear boy, forget it, 
 
 That's the very best thing you can do ; 
 It will do you no good to remember 
 
 All the mean things that's said about you. 
 This life is too short to get even 
 
 For every mean act that you know, 
 So forget it, my dear boy, forget it, 
 
 Forget, and just let it go. 
 
 W 
 
 "SMS* 
 
 Forget it, my dear boy, forget it, 
 
 For you see every knock is a lie ; 
 Be decent and never repeat it, 
 
 Just forget it and let it pass by; 
 You may think that the story is funny. 
 
 But to tell it you've nothing to gain, 
 So if it's a knock, just forget it, 
 
 And never repeat it again. 
 
 § 
 
 Forget it, my dear boy, forget it, 
 
 For knocking's a mighty poor game, 
 It never made one fellow happy, 
 
 But causes much sorrow and pain. 
 When you chance to hear some fellow knocking, 
 
 If he's knocking a friend or a foe, 
 I want to impress this upon you, 
 
 Forget it, and just let it go. 
 
 Some say that a knock is a boost, boy, 
 
 Forget it, for that is not so ; 
 A boost is a boost, and a knock is a knock, 
 
 It's the same thing wherever you go. 
 So when you hear somebody knocking. 
 
 Let them know their knock is in vain, 
 For as soon as you hear it, forget it, 
 
 And never repeat it again. 
 
 ll 
 
 Many good men have been ruined, 
 
 And many good, pure women, too, 
 By some knocker starting a rumor 
 
 And not a word of it true. 
 So if you hear some fellow knocking 
 
 A man or a woman's good name, 
 You can bet it's a lie, so forget it, 
 
 And never repeat it again. 
 
Who's the Failure? 
 
 Can you call a man a failure, 
 Who just does the best he can, 
 Who meets his battles daily, 
 And fights them like a man ? 
 Tho hard the grind and weary, 
 He keeps busy all the while, 
 If his heart is bowed in sorrow, 
 Tries his level best to smile. 
 
 II 
 
 Can you call a man a failure, 
 Who is thankful for the health 
 That keeps his mind so busy, 
 He can never think of self? 
 No matter what the day may bring, 
 It is all the same to him, 
 He will tackle it with courage, 
 And a strong determined grin. 
 
 II 
 
 Can you call a man a failure, 
 Who will plod along each day, 
 And never keep complaining 
 About the rough and rocky way? 
 Just the thought of home and babies, 
 Will smooth his roughest road, 
 And the smiles that greet his coming, 
 Lightens up his heaviest load. 
 
 ll 
 
 Or the man who sees but money, 
 As his days may come and go, 
 Demands his every "Pound of flesh," 
 By methods mean and low, 
 He is sure to get the money 
 And will always pile up wealth 
 Now, is it success or failure, 
 This great pile of unclean pelf? 
 
 If 
 Now, I leave with you the question, 
 You may answer for yourself, 
 Is every man a failure, 
 If he doesn't have the pelf? 
 Or a lot of just the money, 
 All in life one has to show, 
 Which is success or failure? 
 That's the question I would know? 
 
"Daddy, Dear Daddy" 
 
 I have a true and faithful friend, 
 
 Daddy, dear daddy ; 
 No better gift could heaven send, 
 
 Daddy, dear daddy; 
 He plods along and plugs each day 
 To get the coin my bills to pay 
 And never has a word to say — 
 
 Daddy, dear daddy. 
 
 II 
 
 He digs along from year to year, 
 
 Daddy, dear daddy ; 
 He loves to work for those so dear, 
 
 Daddy, dear daddy. 
 And so he goes from day to day, 
 In an uncomplaining way, 
 And every month brings home his pay, 
 
 Dadd} r , dear daddy. 
 
 II 
 The poets never write or sing 
 
 Daddy, dear daddy ; 
 They never say a pleasant thing, 
 
 Daddy, dear daddy; 
 But still he bends beneath the load, 
 When deep and muddy is the road, 
 If tired and worn, his love's the goad, 
 
 Daddy, dear daddy. 
 
 II 
 He cares not for a hero's name, 
 
 Daddy, dear daddy; 
 Or craves not for the poet's fame, 
 
 Daddy, dear daddy; 
 He works for home and loved ones dear 
 What if the path be cold and drear 
 The smile of wife and babe brings cheer. 
 
 Daddv, dear daddy. 
 
 ii 
 
 And so he does the best he can, 
 
 Daddy, dear daddy; 
 He bears his burden like a man, 
 
 Daddy, dear daddy: 
 What if he's poor, or old, or slow — 
 No matter where you chance to go, 
 A better friend you'll never know — 
 
 Daddy, dear daddy. 
 
Women 
 
 Ever since the time of Adam, 
 
 When that duffer got his fame, 
 WeVe been always knocking women 
 
 For our wrongs she gets the blame. 
 She's the one that causes trouble, 
 
 What a great place this would be 
 If this world was for men only 
 
 And from women we'd be free ! 
 
 Every time that men get loaded, 
 'Twas some woman made them so, 
 
 With their nagging and their scolding 
 Off on a drunk they made us go. 
 
 If we steal, 'twas they that made us — 
 To get clothes for them to wear. 
 
 Really it is something awful, 
 All the ills men have to bear! 
 If 
 
 And the preacher in the pulpit, 
 He must knock the women too ! 
 
 How they smoke and drink and gamble 
 At their clubs what things they do; 
 
 They neglect their homes and children- 
 Run around both day and night ; 
 
 Just think how the poor men suffer, 
 On my word it is a fright ! 
 
 Let me tell you, my dear brother. 
 
 Even if these things were true, 
 Yet a woman is a bad one 
 
 If she's not as good as you; 
 Show me where there is a woman 
 
 Who perchance has gone astray 
 And I'll show you close beside her 
 
 Some fool man who led the way ! 
 
 If she smokes 'twas you who taught her 
 
 If she drinks you showed her how — 
 If she is as you have made her, 
 
 Is it right to knock her now? 
 God made man and God made woman 
 
 Both upon a different plan — 
 There never was a real bad woman 
 
 That was not made so by a man. 
 
Don't Be a Quitter 
 
 "God Almighty hates a quitter," 
 That's a saying, old but true ; 
 So do not be a quitter, 
 No matter what you do. 
 It's the coward who's a quitter, 
 When times are hard and slow; 
 The one who don't know how to quit 
 Is the one who makes things go. 
 
 9 
 
 Had Columbus been a quitter, 
 When he sailed across the sea, 
 We might have had no country 
 Like our glorious land so free ! 
 If Washington had quit us 
 When things looked mighty blue, 
 What really would have happened 
 To folks like me and you? 
 
 II 
 
 Napoleon crossed the rugged Alps 
 And he conquered Italy; 
 He never could have done so 
 If he had quit, you see; 
 And Grant won many battles, 
 When they said he had no show; 
 These men were never known to quit 
 They made history you know. 
 
 So do not be a quitter 
 When misfortunes on you frown, 
 For the man who's not a quitter 
 Hard luck can not keep down. 
 It's when you see that others 
 Are discouraged, tired and sore, 
 That you should be the last to quit — 
 Stand up and fight the more. 
 
 #1 
 
 <&? 
 
 The man who wins the battle 
 Is the one who's there to stay ; 
 He doesn't mind the hard knocks 
 On the rough and rocky way — 
 He knows that everv victory 
 Is won by good, hard work ; 
 The one who wins his spurs, my boy, 
 Doesn't know how to quit or shirk! 
 
Discontent 
 
 As I walked through the garden one summer day, 
 
 I saw a sweet rosebush and to it did say: 
 
 "Good morning, sweet rosebush, and how do you do? 
 
 You look very charming with your jewels of dew." 
 
 But the rosebush blushed and hung down its head 
 
 And said as it sighed: "I wish I were dead, 
 
 For only a very small rosebush am I — 
 
 I would be an oak tree so stately and high." 
 
 "Tut, tut, little rosebush, you're young and fair; 
 You bear lovely roses so fragrant and rare ; 
 The scent of your flowers fills the air with perfume, 
 And the birds and the bees love you as you bloom 
 'Tis true you are small and have thorns beside, 
 But remember your blossoms deck many a bride, 
 So stick to your station, be loyal and true, 
 Try to be the best rosebush the world ever knew." 
 
 "Good morning, great oak tree, and how do you do?" 
 
 "Thank you, kind sir, to be candid and true, 
 
 I have the blues badly — I'm sick through and through, 
 
 Here I am growing, big, thick and tall, 
 
 But strong as I am, I'm no good at all; 
 
 Just look at that rosebush, so graceful and fair, 
 
 Oh, how I envy her blossoms so rare, 
 
 And her fragrance which fills the still, balmy air." 
 
 II 
 
 "Oh, oak tree! oak tree! so grand and tall 
 
 How can you say you're no use at all? 
 
 Don't the dear little birds light on you and sing, 
 
 And their sweet silvery notes make the whole valley ring? 
 
 In the shade that you make the slick cattle browse — 
 
 The wind makes sweet music as it sighs through your boughs ; 
 
 So just keep on growing tall, big and round — 
 
 Try to be the best oak tree that grows in the ground. 
 
 II 
 
 "Good morning, little violet, so modest and blue — 
 
 Won't you please tell me kindly how goes it with you?" 
 
 And the violet replied with a smile on its face: 
 
 "I get along nicely in my humble place. 
 
 I try to grow tall, as tall as the grass, 
 
 To watch the dear children and nod as they pass; 
 
 And I'll do my best the short time I am here 
 
 To fill some sad heart full of comfort and cheer." 
 
The Boys Who 
 Wore the Gray 
 
 Dedicated to the Confederate Veterans 
 
 Round the dear old flag of battle 
 
 Let us gather once again, 
 And retell those old, old stories; 
 
 Half in pleasure, half in pain. 
 Tho* we miss the many faces 
 
 That have long since passed away, 
 In our hearts is love undying 
 
 For the boys who wore the gray. 
 
 it 
 
 The dear old flag is tattered, 
 
 But we love it just as well 
 As when, blood stained and faded, 
 
 And scarred with shot and shell 
 It floated o'er the comrades 
 
 Whom we miss so much today, 
 And our hearts with time grow fonder 
 
 For the boys who wore the gray. 
 
 » 
 
 Now our marching days are over 
 
 And our span of life near run ; 
 And the North and South together 
 
 Have been woven into one ; 
 But our hearts still warmly cherish 
 
 And our lips in prayer must say: 
 "God bless the dear old boys who wore 
 
 Those uniforms of gray." 
 
 # 
 
 As we gather round our campfire 
 And talk of things of yore — 
 
 And we tell anew the stories 
 
 Of those brave days gone before, 
 
 With their many tender memories, 
 
The sad ones and the gay — 
 Our smiles and tears both tribute yield 
 To those brave boys in gray. 
 
 w 
 
 We see that loved old banner 
 
 In the van of battle fly, 
 And can hear the wounded dying 
 
 Raising still our battle cry. 
 Tho' those cruel days are over, 
 
 Have forever passed away, 
 No time can dim the luster 
 
 Of the valiant boys in gray. 
 
 8 
 
 The old roll call is dwindling 
 
 And our ranks are growing thin, 
 Our fondest hopes long vanished 
 
 Like the cause we sought to win ; 
 Tho* our hearts go out to Dixie 
 
 We've but one land today, 
 And the Union boasts no truer sons 
 
 Than we who wore the gray. 
 
What's Worth While? 
 
 We know not where we came from 
 
 And most of us don't care ; 
 We don't know where we're going, 
 
 But we know we'll soon be there ; 
 We rarely think about it, 
 
 But struggle on our way ; 
 Marooned on earth a little while 
 
 And tomorrow we're away. 
 
 9 
 
 We drift along the sea of life, 
 Each day is just the same; 
 To bed, to breakfast, then to work, 
 
 Then home, then bed again; 
 But if we pause to think awhile, 
 We wonder why we're here 
 And what we all are striving for, 
 Why all this doubt and fear. 
 
 II 
 
 What shall we strive for? Money? 
 
 What is money anyway? 
 Your day is surely bound to come, 
 
 Coin can't keep death away; 
 Then the graveyard rat will gnaw you 
 
 Just as calmly and serene, 
 If you were worth your millions 
 
 Or you didn't have a bean. 
 
 w 
 
 Then shall we strive for power? 
 
 What good will power do? 
 Of all the greatest men who lived, 
 
 History tells of but a few; 
 The names of mighty kings and queens 
 
 Have long since passed away, 
 And their bodies long have moulded 
 
 And turned to common clay. 
 
Let us ask ourselves this question, 
 
 What shall we do today? 
 To make our lives worth living 
 
 As we pass along life's way? 
 What can we do that others 
 
 Will hear and love our name? 
 How can we know when we are gone 
 
 We have not lived in vain ? 
 
 m 
 
 The men who live in history, 
 
 Whose names we all revere, 
 Strove to do their fellows good 
 
 The time they lingered here. 
 Yes, every man among them, 
 
 Whose deeds we love to tell, 
 Did something good for other men 
 
 And did that duty well. 
 
 II 
 
 The greatest soul who ever lived 
 
 Called every man his brother 
 And taught us if we would be great 
 
 We must "love one another.*' 
 Just help some weak one with his load, 
 
 Encourage some poor devil, 
 Lead an honest, manly life, 
 
 Treat all men on the level. 
 
 9 
 
 You may not get the money, 
 
 Perhaps you won't get fame, 
 But you'll get something better far, 
 
 An honest, cleanly name; 
 And I'd rather take my chances 
 
 Before the White Throne there 
 With a clean and honest record 
 
 Than be a millionaire. 
 
The Man with the Rake 
 
 He raked and raked and raked all day 
 
 To find something mean of his neighbor to say, 
 
 And his back grew round and his shoulders bent, 
 
 As he raked away to his heart's content. 
 
 And he saw not the skies or the beauties around, 
 
 For his eyes were always fast on the ground, 
 
 And he worked and raked with downcast eye, 
 
 Fearing some scandal would pass him by. 
 
 9 
 
 And he talked and talked to whoever would stay 
 About what he's raked in his measley way, 
 And he grew to be known both far and near 
 As a muckraker bold and a man to fear; 
 He raked in the muck and the mud on the floor 
 And the filth and dirt was all that he saw, 
 And the Sun that shines or the birds that sing, 
 No pleasure or joy to him could bring. 
 
 II 
 
 If he heard of a man who was honest and true, 
 He would rake and rake his whole life through, 
 And if he could find the least little speck, 
 He'd scatter it broadcast his life to wreck; 
 And if 'twas a woman whose heart he could break, 
 He would dance with joy and rake, rake, rake, 
 A.nd never stop till his work was done 
 Until with muck he had smeared each one. 
 
 # 
 
 He never could see the clean and the pure, 
 'Twas the same to him, whether rich or poor; 
 No man or woman but what had a past 
 Of that he was sure, to that he held fast. 
 All had a motive for the good they did, 
 'Twas all for a show, their own sins they hid; 
 So all through his life wherever he'd go 
 He'd rake up the muck for the high and the low. 
 
The greater the scandal, the louder 'twas sung, 
 Like a dainty sweet morsel rolled under the tongue ; 
 No matter what agony, torture or pain, 
 'Twas joy to his heart, he would rake it again ; 
 The tears of the mother, the father's loud wail, 
 To the man of the rake would have no avail, 
 For the sunshine reflected from God's own face 
 Ne'er shown on the muck in that loathesome place. 
 
 My friend of the muck-rake, I pray you beware, 
 As we pass through this life let's play the game fair, 
 Forget all the past with its sorrows and pain ? 
 Only think of the joys and the pleasure again; 
 For whenever we start to hammer a foe, 
 We never can tell where a mean word will go, 
 And of all vile creatures beneath God's blue skies, 
 The muck-raking devil is the one to despise. 
 
All Heroes Now! 
 
 (Memorial Day.) 
 Gather the buds and the flowers today 
 To place on the graves of the blue and the gray — 
 They fought and they died, for victory they vied 
 These brave men and brothers who lay side by side ; 
 Each thought he was right, so to battle they fled, 
 Now they're resting together in this home of the dead. 
 
 m 
 
 So gather the flowers and bring them today 
 And cover the graves of the blue and the gray; 
 Let bright, happy children their love tokens bring 
 While the air resounds with the anthers they sing, 
 Our Country still lives and our flag it still flies 
 O'er the happiest land that lies under the skies. 
 
 m 
 
 Let us cover them over with flowers so fair, 
 For under each mound a hero lies there — 
 'Tis no matter beneath what flag they fell, 
 No matter what story their epitaphs tell : 
 We know they were heroes who fought and died. 
 But now they are brothers that rest side by side. 
 
 II 
 
 Cover them over, the blue and the gray. 
 
 With buds and flowers that blossom in May. 
 
 Each fought for country and not for fame, 
 
 Both had a cause, both had an aim; 
 
 Up, up, with our banner, let its bright colors wave 
 
 As we garland with flowers each hero's loved grave. 
 
 Yes, cover each grave in this hallowed spot 
 
 So the boys who rest here shall not be forgot ! 
 
 Let our tread be light 'round this sacred dust 
 
 Of the heroes who rest in the home of the just! 
 
 There is no North, there is no South today 
 
 As we lay wreaths of flowers on this sacred clay. 
 
 £1 
 w 
 
 As we place the laurels and shed the tear, 
 
 Let's remember the brave boys who are still with us here; 
 
 Their footsteps are feeble, they're aged and gray, 
 
 They are dropping out fast, they are passing away; 
 
 Let us meet them with flowers and smile and song 
 
 To make their lives sweeter as they pass along. 
 
 O, God bless the boys ! The blue and the gray — 
 Bless and keep those we have with us today! 
 Their ranks are thin, their numbers are few; 
 When they answer the call may they go straight to you 
 And over their graves when we lay them away 
 We'll still raise the flag of the blue and the gray. 
 
High Finance 
 
 If you should steal a loaf of bread, 
 Off to jail you're bound to go, 
 But if you should steal a million, 
 That's high finance you know ; 
 The law could never reach you, 
 For the people would say "no! 
 Prosecution hurts the business — 
 Let the High-up rascals go." 
 
 
 If a poor deluded devil 
 Is cajoled to take a bribe, 
 He is called a thief, a robber, 
 And condemned on every side; 
 While the man who gives the money 
 Is a good, shrewd financier — - 
 It would never do to jail him 
 He's respected far and near. 
 
 II 
 
 You must not hurt the business — 
 We must let the high-ups go; 
 No matter how the} r skin us, 
 Keep on giving them a show. 
 Let them make enormous fortunes, 
 By corruption's methods queer — 
 Prosecution hurts the business, 
 So the high-ups need not fear. 
 &&. 
 
 But if some poor devil's hungry, 
 And he chanced to steal a dime, 
 Why there's simply nothing io it — 
 But to jail and serve his time. 
 That doesn't hurt the business, 
 So the poor brute's got no show — 
 But the one who steals the thousand 
 Is the high-up, don't you knew. 
 
 W 
 High finance is a scandal 
 
 A delusion and a snare — 
 
 A high-toned sort of skin game, 
 
 And the people, — they don't care ; 
 
 But a business that would suffer 
 
 Thro a cause that's right and just, 
 
 Is the very kind of business, 
 
 On my word, that ought to bust. 
 
Keep Plugging 
 
 Keep plugging away, dear brother, 
 It's no use to lay down and cry ; 
 Today may be cloudy and rainy, 
 Tomorrow all sunshine and dry. 
 Don't have any time for repining, 
 Just roll up your sleeves, plug away, 
 Today things look dark — I'll admit it— 
 They'll be bright, if we all plug away. 
 
 m 
 
 You say the banks are not loaning, 
 That everything's gone to the wall ; 
 I notice the one who talks loudest 
 Is the fellow who has least of all. 
 But the big, brave man is the one, sir, 
 That doesn't have much to say, 
 He does a whole lot of thinking — 
 And he's always plugging away. 
 
 9 
 
 This country is right, don't forget it — 
 It's the best the world's ever seen, 
 But the sun can't always be shining, 
 And life is not always a dream. 
 We've lived long on sugar and honey, 
 Now don't let us holler and say 
 The country has gone to the devil, 
 But smile and keep plugging away. 
 
 W 
 I notice the autos are busy — 
 They're turning out new ones each day 
 Cabarets are running wide open; 
 The theatres turn people away. 
 Then what is this kick about money — 
 Why not be happy and gay? 
 I pray you keep up your courage, 
 just smile and keep plugging away. 
 
 If everyone says times are rotten. 
 And we all stand around and roar, 
 You can't expect things to get better 
 But 'twill tighten them up all the mor< 
 Just say a kind word, my brother, 
 Look bright as a clear day in May ; 
 We all will have plenty of money, 
 If we smile and keep plugging away. 
 
I want to ask a question — 
 Will someone tell me why 
 Men may sin and sin again, 
 Keep sinning till they die? 
 And no one seems to question, 
 No one seems to care; 
 But still we call them gentlemen, 
 Deny this none will dare. 
 
 II 
 
 But woman, gentle woman, 
 Should she but chance to stray, 
 No matter, O how little, 
 From the straight and narrow way — 
 For her there's no returning, 
 Still downward she must go ; 
 There's none to save or pity, 
 There's naught for her but woe. 
 
 9 
 
 Men may drink, and sport, and gamble, 
 
 Raise the devil, night and day, 
 
 Till they're known all o'er the country 
 
 By the wrecks that strew their way; 
 
 Still they're welcomed and they're courted — 
 
 If they've money, all the more — 
 
 And the mothers over all the land 
 
 Open wide to them their door. 
 
 Now will someone kindly tell me 
 Why should these conditions be? 
 Must the women always suffer? 
 Why not man as well as she? 
 He's your son, and she's your daughter, 
 Surely he's as much to blame ; 
 What's sin for man is sin for woman — 
 They should suffer just the same. 
 
 e 
 
 Why, O why v will someone tell me, 
 Should the women stand it all? 
 If you analyze the subject, 
 You can bet man caused the fall. 
 That's the thing that mystifies me ; 
 Won't some preacher kindly tell 
 Why the men are all forgiven 
 And the women go to hell? 
 
A Good Name 
 
 It's a very simple matter, 
 
 To say we do not care 
 
 What other people think of us, 
 
 If we've the coin to spare. 
 
 What difference does it make to us 
 
 What people think or say, 
 
 If we but get the money, 
 
 And get it any way? 
 
 if 
 
 'Tis better never to succeed 
 While searching after pelf, 
 Than to take a mean advantage 
 Of those weaker than yourself, 
 A good name is to be chosen, 
 So we've been often told, 
 Than it is to get great riches, 
 Of silver and of gold. 
 
 8 
 
 There's one thing I will tell you, 
 As thru this world you go, 
 "All is not gold that glitters," 
 There is more in life than show. 
 Tho' fools may count their riches, 
 And think poverty a shame, 
 The best of wealth you'll surely fine 
 Is your conscience and good name. 
 
 There's a mighty good old maxim, 
 And you'll find that it is true, 
 You must always do to others 
 As you'd have them do to you. 
 It may not get the money, 
 It may not bring you fame 
 But you'll have something better far 
 A clean and honest name. 
 
 & 
 If you want to make life's journey 
 Really worth the while, 
 There is something more than money, 
 And something more than style. 
 This thought I now leave with you, 
 Be honest, true and brave, 
 And hold fast to your good name 
 From your cradle to your grave. 
 
Our Country-Right or Wrong 
 
 The President has said the word, 
 And our country's gone to war; 
 What if we didn't want to fight, 
 And we prayed for peace before? 
 When Mr. Wilson said the word 
 We're with him good and strong, 
 This is our own United States, 
 We're with it right or wrong. 
 
 II. 
 
 General Grant went into battle, 
 And he did his duty well. 
 General Sherman didn't like to fight, 
 And said that war was hell. 
 Their names now live in story 
 And their praises ring in song, 
 For they were for their country, 
 Their country, right or wrong. 
 
 There never was a time on earth, 
 When this country went to war, 
 But a lot of would-be statesmen 
 Would stand around and roar; 
 They could tell you all about it, 
 And if 'twas wrong or right, 
 But their time for disappearing 
 Was when 'twas time to fight. 
 
 W 
 This is no time to stand around 
 And argue pro or con, 
 Our President has spoken 
 And now the fight is on. 
 Don't ask the why or wherefore, 
 Join with the mighty throng. 
 We're behind you, Woodrow Wilson, 
 And our country, right or wrong. 
 
 If 
 God always sends us big men, 
 When there's great big things to do; 
 Here's to you, Woodrow Wilson, 
 For he surely sent us you. 
 And every true American 
 Is for you good and strong. 
 We are with you, Mr. President, 
 And our country, right or wrong. 
 
A Kind Word 
 
 Just try this, my friend, 
 As you journey through life: 
 Sould you meet a weak brother, 
 Worn out with the strife, 
 Put your hand on his shoulder 
 And a kindly word say; 
 You will find, I am sure, 
 It is not thrown away. 
 
 II 
 
 A kind friendly word, 
 In some trying hour. 
 Will oft soothe and heal 
 With its soft, subtle power; 
 Kind words are like sunshine 
 On a dark, cloudy day, 
 So scatter them freely 
 As you pass on your way. 
 
 II 
 
 As you climb up life's hill, 
 Though the clouds may hang low. 
 Many others are tramping 
 The same road, you know. 
 If you speak kindly words 
 As you plod on each day, 
 The sun will shine through 
 And the clouds roll away. 
 
 II 
 
 So try it, my friend, 
 You will find it is true — 
 The words that help others 
 Will surely help you; 
 For a kind word once spoken 
 Is not uttered in vain, 
 Like the bread on the waters, 
 It will come back again. 
 
Are You Game? 
 
 Are you standing i:n, dear brother? 
 
 Are you game to fight it out, 
 When the odds are all against you, 
 
 And you* re all in, down and out; 
 When your liver's out of order, 
 
 And the clouds around you lower, 
 Are you standing by your colors, 
 
 Or are you crawling on the floor? 
 
 9 
 
 It's easy to go singing 
 
 And be smiling all the day, 
 When the sky is bright and lovely, 
 
 And things all come your way. 
 But when everything is gloomy, 
 
 When times are dull and bad, 
 The fellow that's the winner 
 
 Is the one who then looks glad. 
 
 The fellow that's the winner 
 
 Hasn't always got the dough; 
 But you'll find him always plugging — 
 
 He's sure to make things go. 
 And if the sun be shining, 
 
 If it's cold or boiling hot — 
 You'll always find the winner 
 
 Will be Johnny on the spot. 
 
 ft 
 
 Getting washboards on your forehead 
 
 Ain't a going to buy you bread, 
 Only makes you old and wrinkled, 
 
 Puts the white hairs on your head: 
 It's the fellow who keeps digging — 
 
 He's the one that's worth the while, 
 Got the one that's always wishing 
 
 Dead — and skinned about a mile! 
 
Somebody's Worse 
 Off Than You! 
 
 When you look around with envy 
 On men who've more than you, 
 Do you ever stop and ponder 
 There's lots their wealth won't do? 
 Will it buy a place in heaven? 
 Can it buy love pure and true? 
 Could it buy that little baby, 
 Who is waiting home for you? 
 
 w 
 
 When your heart is sad and heavy. 
 And you're feeling bad and blue, 
 Do you ever stop and think awhile, 
 There's lots worse off than you? 
 Don't you know there's more behind you? 
 You're not the last one in the race? 
 There's many a fellow that you know 
 Would gladly take your place? 
 
 II 
 
 We spend so much time wishing 
 For the things we haven't got, 
 That we can't enjoy the blessings 
 We have, and know them not. 
 So don't look on with envy, 
 'Twill make you sour and old; 
 You've very many blessings 
 That can't be bought with gold. 
 
 II 
 
 Do not think that all are happy — 
 Just because they have the wealth ! 
 Why! All the money in the world 
 Can't buy one hour of health ! 
 So if you're well, be happy; 
 Thank God both day and night 
 For giving you what wealth can't buy — 
 A GOOD BIG APPETITE. 
 
Stop It! 
 
 What's the use of criticism, 
 Why not praise instead of blame? 
 If it does no good to censure, 
 Why not try the other game ? 
 Now instead of always kicking 
 Some unhappy failing man, 
 Don't you think it would be better 
 Just to try the other plan? 
 
 W 
 When you see some fellow striving, 
 Although he may be poor or slow, 
 What's the use to criticise him, 
 Why not give the man a show? 
 Just suspend your criticism, 
 Give him praise and friendly word; 
 We give plenty blame and censure, 
 But kind words are seldom heard. 
 
 Let us try and change the system. 
 See how much more we will win 
 With a pleasant, cheery greeting, 
 Fill some faltering heart with vim ; 
 Give applause instead of censure — 
 Always praise and spare your blame; 
 Help some struggling man or woman 
 Win their spurs and gain a name. 
 
 II 
 
 Why not help some earnest worker 
 Who is trying to succeed? 
 You can do it, oh, so easy — 
 Just a chance is all they need. 
 Scatter friendly praise freely, 
 You can't tell where they may fall ; 
 Let us stop our criticising, 
 Speak kind words, or none at all. 
 
As We Think 
 
 Turn away from dark forebodings, 
 
 Turn away from doubt and fear — 
 
 Quit the thoughts that tug you downward, 
 
 Face the light of hope and cheer ; 
 
 You are poor if you lose courage, 
 
 You will prosper if you try, 
 
 Clear your mind of gloomy visions — 
 
 You're not a dead one till you die. 
 
 II 
 
 Poverty itself is not so awful — 
 *Tis your mind that makes it so ; 
 Say today you're done forever 
 With your doubting and your woe, 
 Change your dress, your talk, your manner 
 Show the world that you can be 
 Just as happy as your neighbor, 
 Though you're not so rich as he. 
 
 II 
 
 Cut out the thoughts of poverty 
 Turn from the ghost of doubt, 
 Cast down the walls of all your gloom 
 And smile and face about! 
 Leave the shadows all behind you, 
 In your mind hold pictures bright, 
 You will find you're not a failure — 
 Everything will come out right. 
 
 W 
 When you feel yourself a-slipping, 
 All things looking bad and blue — 
 That's the time to test your courage, 
 Looking for some good to do — 
 Help some brother with his troubles 
 Always talk and think GOOD, too, 
 While you hold fast to the GOOD thought 
 GOOD will always come to you. 
 
Mothers' Day 
 
 (Second Sunday in May.) 
 And now we have a Mothers* Day, 
 On which a white carnation 
 All wear in tender reverence 
 For the mothers of our Nation. 
 For God ne'er gave a better friend, 
 Just like her there's no other; 
 This truly is the day of days — 
 The day of home and mother. 
 
 II 
 
 God bless my dear old mother, 
 
 And spare her long to me; 
 
 There ne'er could be a squarer pal 
 
 Than she has been, you see. 
 
 No matter though the world might say 
 
 That I was weak or bad, 
 
 Her love and smile were always there 
 
 To soothe and cheer her lad. 
 
 if 
 
 As time goes on I see her locks 
 
 Turn slow to evening's gray; 
 
 The wrinkles on her dear old face 
 
 Sink deeper every day. 
 
 And as her steps grow feeble, 
 
 I feel with sinking heart, 
 
 How drear the world will seem to me 
 
 When I and mother part. 
 
 II 
 So let us all make Mothers' Day 
 The one day of the year; 
 White Blossoms for those passed away- 
 White blossoms for those here. 
 And though a white carnation 
 We'll wear — for all to see, 
 I know each day is Mothers* Day 
 For you, dear friends, and me. 
 
Say Nice Things 
 
 Did it ever strike you, brother, 
 To say nice things now and then 
 Would make you always welcome 
 Among your fellow men ? 
 No matter where you chance to be, 
 You'll find this rule holds true, 
 If you say nice things of others 
 They will say nice things of you. 
 
 
 You will find it just as easy 
 
 To say nice things every day, 
 
 As to repeat the mean ones 
 
 You hear upon your way. 
 
 There's a heap more satisfaction 
 
 To make a smile appear 
 
 Than to see a frown grow on a face, 
 
 Or, worse than that, a tear. 
 
 w 
 
 It's an unexpensive habit, 
 
 And a good investment, too, 
 
 To speak well of your neighbor, 
 
 It will mean a lot to you. 
 
 Don't say the word behind his back, 
 
 But praise him to his face ; 
 
 'Twill make you both far happier, 
 
 This world a nicer place. 
 
 II 
 So if you have a pleasant thought, 
 Don't fear to hear your voice ; 
 Say the nice things all the time, 
 'Twill make the heart rejoice. 
 If you want to drive old grouch away, 
 I pray you try this plan ; 
 You'll make the rough spots smoother 
 And yourself a better man. 
 
A Letter to Mother 
 
 Sometimes I grow weary, dear Mother, 
 And also feel lonesome and blue, 
 But now I know there'll be solace ; 
 I'm sending these few lines to you. 
 For in this wide world there's none other 
 Who loves me for just what I am — 
 Rejoices or mourns with me always, 
 Without any pretense or sham. 
 
 I'm longing tonight to be with you 
 Again in the dear old home place, 
 To sit once more by the fireside 
 And watch the bright smile on your face. 
 I know you'd be happy to greet me, 
 Though I've won no fortune or fame, 
 A mother's hug and a mother's kiss 
 Would welcome me always the same. 
 
 I've so much to tell you, dear Mother, 
 'Twould take me most all night to write 
 The reason I'm wishing, yes, longing, 
 That I could be with you tonight 
 To tell you my hopes and desires, 
 No matter their value or worth, 
 The fight would seem well worth the winning 
 If shared with the best friend on earth. 
 
 There are so-called "friends," dear Mother, 
 That would share my pleasures, I know, 
 But there's one real friend I'm certain, 
 Who is willing to share in my woe. 
 So that's why I'm writing to Mother, 
 In sorrow or joy my best friend, 
 "May God bless the very best Mother!" 
 Is my fervent prayer, to the end. 
 
Who's Who? 
 
 Don't tell your hard luck stories, 
 For no one cares to know 
 Why you have made a failure, 
 Why you haven't made things go. 
 The man they honey up to 
 Is the man who knows no fail, 
 The fellow who was never known 
 To tell a hard luck tale. 
 
 9 
 
 Don't try to find excuses 
 When things don't come your way; 
 Keep on doing the best you can, 
 And don't have much to say. 
 Nothing counts for or against us 
 Except what we ourselves do. 
 The fellow who never writes failure, 
 Is the only one who's who. 
 
 w 
 
 The fellow who wins the battle 
 
 Must feel he is going to win ; 
 
 The man who always expects defeat 
 
 Is beaten before he starts in. 
 
 No matter how often you've fallen, 
 
 How often your efforts fell through, 
 
 If you win at the end of the battle, 
 
 You'll find you're the one who's who. 
 
 9 
 
 Don't be ashamed to keep trying, 
 Don't get discouraged and stop; 
 The fellow who keeps on plugging 
 Is the one who comes nearest the top. 
 Just clinch your teeth tight, brother, 
 Be loyal, and honest, and true, 
 The world will soon take notice 
 That you are the one who's who. 
 
Scandal 
 
 You may build a reputation, 
 As sedulously as you please, 
 Just one little word of Scandal, 
 Will tear it down with ease. 
 Tho wrong you have avoided 
 Always striven for the right, 
 Just one lying word of Scandal 
 Wrecks a life work over night. 
 
 II 
 
 There's a curious fact I mention 
 You will find it very true 
 If you are quite successful 
 The crowd will all hate you. 
 To be sure, they never met you, 
 Know you only by your fame, 
 Yet the Scandalmonger's waiting, 
 They will get you just the same. 
 
 
 There's the enemy in waiting 
 
 In his hand the unclean knife 
 
 To stab a reputation 
 
 Smite some character for life. 
 
 Around an honest reputation 
 
 No armor can be built 
 
 That the unclean knife of Scandal 
 
 Can't be plunged up to the hilt. 
 
 There's a streak in human nature 
 We don't know why it's there. 
 We crave to drag some fellow down 
 The game we can't play fair. 
 Just start a word of Scandal, 
 We'll all crowd round to hear, 
 But say a kindly cheerful word, 
 There'd be no one standing near. 
 
Forget Yourself 
 
 Do you wonder what's the matter 
 
 Why you do not get along? 
 While things look good to others 
 
 Everything to you looks wrong — 
 Do you feel you're badly treated 
 
 That you do not get your due? 
 Did you ever seek the reason? 
 
 Well, the reason may be you. 
 
 9 
 
 Do you ever think, dear brother, 
 
 You may worry too much of yourself 
 That you envy too much the fellow 
 
 Who picks up the easiest pelf? 
 You're a prey of your own suspicions, 
 
 Misgivings and doubts and fear 
 About things that never will happen 
 
 And troubles that never appear. 
 
 Remember you've one little lifetime 
 
 Don't spoil it with worry and strife, 
 Just think of the other fellows, 
 
 Help them smooth the pathway of life, 
 Rejoice with them in their rejoicings 
 
 Weep with them in their woe 
 Forget yourself and your troubles, 
 
 You will find your worries will go. 
 
 9 
 
 Thousands have gone before you 
 
 Who have carried their burdens, too, 
 No burdens too great for any man's soul 
 
 If he refuses to admit it is true. 
 Just purge your soul of all envy 
 
 Enjoy your short lifetime while here. 
 Forget self and think more of others; 
 
 Fear and worry will then disappear. 
 
Howdy Pap! 
 
 (Dedicated to the Loyal Order of Moose.) 
 When the clouds are dark and heavy 
 And you're feeling sad and blue, 
 When you feel yourself a-slipping 
 And things look bad to you — 
 When you seem to be forgotten 
 And no one cares a rap — 
 It's a mighty pleasant thing to hear 
 "Howdy, Pap!" 
 
 9 
 
 As you journey on life's rocky path, 
 You will find that it is true 
 When you are well and happy 
 Everything just comes to you; 
 But when the dark clouds gather, 
 And you have no heart or snap, 
 These words make life seem brighter: 
 "Howdy, Pap!" 
 
 This world is full of changes 
 No matter where we go — 
 It is not always sunshine, 
 There is plenty grief and woe ; 
 When the sun is shining brightly, 
 And we hear good fortune tap, 
 Don't forget the other fellow with — 
 "Howdy, Pap!" 
 
 II 
 
 •Ad- 
 just a kind and cheerful greeting, 
 
 As we pass along the way, 
 
 May chase away the heavy clouds — 
 
 Make a bright and happy day; 
 
 Just your hand upon the shoulder, 
 
 With a kind and friendly tap, 
 
 Greet brothers with those kindly words : 
 
 "Howdy, Pap!" 
 
Hello Bill! 
 
 (Dedicated to the B. P. O. E.) 
 No matter where we travel, 
 
 Or where we chance to go, 
 If we're rich as Croesus, 
 
 Or down and out, you know, 
 It always gives one courage 
 
 And your heart a pleasant thrill 
 When you hear some jolly fellow say: 
 
 "Hello Biiir 
 
 II 
 There's a mystic charm about it 
 That you cannot understand, 
 When you get a hearty greeting 
 
 And a warm grasp of the hand; 
 But if you are a stranger 
 
 And you're homesick, tired, and ill, 
 The sweetest words you ever heard are — 
 "Hello Bill!" 
 
 m 
 
 There's a maxim I will tell you, 
 
 And you know that it is true — 
 You must always do to others 
 
 As you'd have them do to you. 
 There's not many of us do it, 
 
 But there's some of us that will, 
 One of them's the fellow that says — 
 "Hello Bill!" 
 || 
 I was a stranger in the city, 
 
 I was poor, and sick, and thin, 
 Then I heard the Bible story 
 
 "He was ill, ye took him in." 
 And ye nursed me, and ye fed me, 
 
 And ye did it with a will: 
 God bless the dear old boy that says — 
 "Hello Bill!" 
 
Friendship, Love and Truth 
 
 (Dedicated to the I. O. O. F.) 
 There are three links that bind us, 
 They bind like hoops of steel; 
 To those who know their meaning, 
 We know these links are real 
 They teach us to remember 
 Old age as well as youth. 
 The golden links that bind us are — 
 Friendship, Love and Truth. 
 
 ft. 
 
 If on this life's rough journey, 
 Where'er we chance to stray, 
 
 If we meet some shipwrecked brother 
 Stranded on his weary way — 
 
 We must never pass around him, 
 Give him succor not reproof; 
 
 Always loyal to your motto of — 
 Friendship, Love and Truth. 
 
 Do not ask the why and wherefore, 
 Do not care how he came there ; 
 
 All you know is he is needy 
 
 And he wants a brother's care. 
 
 Be ye faithful to your promise, 
 Let your actions be the proof 
 
 That the golden links that bind us are — 
 Friendship, Love and Truth. 
 
 When you cross the silent river 
 And your work on earth is o'er, 
 
 When you pass away forever 
 
 And you reach the Golden Shore, 
 
 Your record here will go before you, 
 You'll meet no censure or reproof; 
 
 Only loving hearts to greet you in — 
 Friendship, Love and Truth. 
 
u 
 
 Hold on to the Rope" 
 
 (Dedicated to the Mystic Shrine.) 
 "Hold on to the rope" my Boy, 
 No matter what they say — 
 If you only hold on long enough 
 Everything will come your way; 
 Just smile whate'er befalls you 
 And never give up hope, 
 Kind a keep your wits together 
 And "Hold on to the rope." 
 
 "Hold on to the rope," my boy 
 And let fate do its worst — 
 What if the dark clouds lower 
 And the cannon thunder burst ; 
 You know the sun is bound to shine — 
 And the only proper dope — 
 Is to grit your teeth together 
 And "Hold on to the rope." 
 
 "Hold on to the rope," my boy, 
 And never once despair, 
 Don't let the burden sink you, 
 Just smile away dull care; 
 Keep up with the procession 
 Never loiter, do not mope; 
 Be game unto the very last 
 And "Hold on to the rope." 
 
 it 
 
 When you feel yourself a-slipping 
 And your troubles madly press, 
 Don't stand where all can see you 
 And wave signals of distress; 
 Remember there are others 
 Whose hands were full of soap 
 So when the road gets slippery 
 Why "Hold on to the rope." 
 
Flag Day 
 
 Flag of America! Flag of the free! 
 On this thine own day we pay homage to thee. 
 With your colors of red and of white and of blue 
 Our hearts bound with joy when our flag floats in 
 view. 
 
 Thou emblem of liberty, inspiring, sublime. 
 Round each of our heartstrings thy glories entwine. 
 O long may the flag of this great Nation wave 
 O'er this country so grand and its people so brave. 
 
 Over our native land joyous and free, 
 
 Where all breathe the air of sweet liberty, 
 
 Wave the old flag on mountain and hill 
 
 With song and sweet music our loved country nil 
 
 This is the day when all freemen shall stand 
 For one flag, one country, and one happy land. 
 And over our heads old Glory shall fly 
 Bright and unsullied as the stars in the sky. 
 
 ii 
 
 So unfurl the old banner, the flag we love well, 
 Sing tidings of gladness, let loyal hearts swell; 
 Let songs and thanksgivings to Heaven arise; 
 God bless the best flag that floats under the skies. 
 
Don't Butt In! 
 
 If you have a sporty neighbor. 
 
 Who is always raising Ned, 
 Comes home early mornings, 
 
 Making noise to wake the dead, 
 Whose skin is always loaded 
 
 With lager beer and wine, 
 You needn't talk about it. 
 
 It ain't costing you a dime. 
 
 U 
 
 If you know a little fairy, 
 
 That's as nice as she can be, 
 Who likes to have a jolly time, 
 
 And a quiet drink of tea, 
 Who delights to ride in autos. 
 
 Always ready for a spin. 
 You needn't talk about it. 
 
 You've no license to butt in. 
 
 I am trying to convince you, 
 
 This is what I would convey — 
 No matter what you see or hear. 
 
 As you pass along life's way, 
 'Twill do no good to gossip. 
 
 You may as well keep still. 
 So you needn't talk about it. 
 
 For there's plenty others will. 
 
 Remember when you're talking 
 
 About naughty things you've seen, 
 That the ones who do the talking 
 
 Should themselves be very clean ; 
 So before you start the story. 
 
 Look with care it's not a knock, 
 Folks who live in homes of glass 
 
 Should never throw a rock. 
 
There's not many saints among us, 
 
 There's few who never sin ; 
 If we dig a hole for others. 
 
 We ourselves might tumble in. 
 You know there may be someone 
 
 With a most inquiring mind. 
 Who might start investigating. 
 
 There's no telling what he'd find. 
 
 II 
 
 So once more I'd like to mention. 
 
 In my most engaging style, 
 Whate'er you see that's naughty. 
 
 Just pass it with a smile; 
 If you forget you saw it, 
 
 'Twill save much pain and woe. 
 You needn't talk about it. 
 
 Just let the darn thing go. 
 
When I Go Away 
 
 I am going away to leave yoti 
 When I'm gone I'd like to know 
 There is some one left to love me 
 Just some one to miss me so; 
 Some one to remember only 
 A kind word or friendly deed 
 Just to say in tones of sadness — 
 He really was a friend indeed. 
 
 II 
 
 I would crave some recollection 
 
 That sometime may be retold 
 
 How he smoothed out some rough pathway 
 
 Helped some foot step slow and old 
 
 Did some little act of kindness 
 
 In a thoughtful, loving way, 
 
 And some eyes may softly moisten 
 
 When they hear I've gone away. 
 
 f$ 
 
 4^ 
 
 If some little child will miss me 
 
 On the day I go away 
 
 And wonder if I'm coming back 
 
 Or if I've gone to stay; 
 
 And when they tell I'll not return 
 
 'Twould please me much to know 
 
 The little one would gently say 
 
 I just hate to have him go. 
 
 II 
 
 I can't leave fame or fortune 
 When the time will come to part 
 But I hope to leave a memory 
 In a true and grateful heart. 
 I trust a few will shed a tear 
 Some heart will warmer glow 
 Thank God they knew and loved me 
 When my time shall come to go. 
 
A Few Words of Appreciation 
 
 Fred A. Campbell, "Poet of the Common People," of Oak- 
 land, California, will contribute a poem each month for 
 ABILITY, the first one, "Why ?" appearing in this number. 
 Mr. Campbell's poems are all of the uplift character and are 
 full of pathos and tenderness. Many of his poems have beer 
 extensively published throughout the country and have been 
 most generously praised by the press and public. 
 
 ABILITY, 
 Chicago, 111 
 
 "POET OF THE COMMON PEOPLE." 
 
 Fred A. Campbell of Oakland, California, is the author of 
 many beautiful poems. In the April number of ABILITY 
 his poem, "Why?" was published which brought forth the 
 highest sort of praise from many readers. On the opposite 
 page the second poem to this magazine appears. Four more 
 of his poems are to appear in these pages this year. Mr. 
 Campbell is called the "Poet of the Common People" and 
 each of his productions are of the uplift character which 
 never fail to touch a tender spot in the heart of every lover 
 of humanity. — ABILITY, Greenville, Ohio. 
 
 "Gran Hotel," 
 
 Amerique Rittscher & Cla., 
 
 Guatemala. 
 Mr. Fred A. Campbell. 
 
 Dear Sir: While traveling through Central America I was 
 very much surprised to run across some of your poems in 
 Guatemala City and found they were very much sought after 
 by the English speaking people. It seemed like a handshake 
 from home. Wishing you every success and hoping others 
 will appreciate the advantage Oakland is obta ; n"ng through 
 your work, I remain Ve- y respectfully, 
 
 A. S. KERBY. 
 
 271 Evering Road, 
 
 Upper Ciapton, 
 
 London W. 
 Mr. Fred A. Campbell : 
 
 It is with gieat pleasure I write you these few lines to tell 
 you with what great " pleasure and interest I have read your 
 beautiful poems. They are well known in many English 
 homes now. I have given keen enjoyment to numbers of 
 people, and for myself I beg to thank you. I beg to offer my 
 hearty congratulations. Your sincere admirer. 
 
 AMEY E. MAY. 
 
 HAYWARD JOURNAL: 
 
 Oakland cannot honor Fred A. Campbell too much. Let 
 them do it while he is living and can enjoy it. GO IT NOW. 
 
 Matagalpa, Nicaragua. 
 Mr. Fred A. Campbell, 
 
 Oakland, Cal. 
 My Dear Mr. Campbell: On my arrival at this place I was 
 surprised and pleased to find many of your poems in circu- 
 lation here. I have heard many very complimentary remarks 
 about them. You are doing good work in advertising Oak- 
 land, California, and I really think Oakland has never heard 
 of this place before. Wishing you lots of success and pros- 
 perity, I am Yours very trulv, 
 
 THOS. W. THOMPSON. 
 
 "Pap's Reminder " 
 
 Official Paper, 
 Visalia Lodge 54G, L. O. O. M. 
 There are published ; n this issue some verses bv the kind- 
 ness of Fred A. Campbell. Read them move than once and 
 then clip them out and put them where you can reach them 
 often. They will make you a better Moose. 
 
 Enclosed find stamps for poems. 
 
 VICTORIA MARGIN AK. 
 
 Salt Lake City, Utah. 
 
Petersburg, Virginia. 
 "THE BOYS WHO WORE THE GRAY." 
 
 The regular monthly meeting of A. P. Hill Camp of Con- 
 federate Veterans held at Camp Hall and routine business 
 transacted. The principal feature of the meeting was the 
 reading by Captain L. L. Marks of a poem entitled, "The 
 Boys Who Wore the Gray," composed by Fred A. Campbell 
 of Oakland, California, and dedicated to A. P. Hill Camp of 
 Confederate Veterans of Petarsburg, Virginia. Adjutant 
 
 Carter R. Bishop was instructed to return to Mr. Campbell 
 the thanks of the camp for the poem and their high appreci- 
 ation of it. 
 
 The only man in this neighborhood who, so far as I know, 
 has made a commercial success of writ ng verses is Fred A. 
 Campbell, of Oakland. He makes no claim to ba a poet, but 
 there is a pleasant vein of optimism that meets a popular 
 demand. It is the "cheer up, cherries a~e ripe," sort of 
 thing. THE KNAVE, 
 
 fn the Evening Tribune. 
 
 Now comes Fred A. Campbell, who writes wholly for the 
 common people. The Courier has several of his poems on 
 printed slips, he hav.ng never published a book. One of them 
 appears below and from time to time will publish them all. 
 
 GREENVILLE COURIER, 
 
 Greenville, Ohio. 
 
 Fred A. Campbell: 
 
 We want to thank you for the use of your poem, "Women," 
 which we are using in our skit on the Pantages circuit. i\ext 
 to the American Flag it gets the best hand. 
 Yours. 
 
 WM. AND MARY ROGERS. 
 
 Strauss-Owen Co., 314-324 W. Superior St., Chicago. 
 Fred A. Campbell. 
 
 Dear Sir: We received your shipment. They are very sat- 
 isfactory. No doubt we will use them right along. 
 
 STRAUSS-OWEN CO. 
 
 By J. Strauss. 
 
 Young and Collins, LTD. 
 Importers, Manufacturer, and Gene.al \Vholesalo Merchants, 
 
 Wanganui, New Zealand. 
 Fred A. Campbell, 
 
 Oakland, California. 
 Please send us by immediate parcels post a further fifty 
 ($50.00) dollar sample lot, includ.ng postage, and we hereto 
 attach draft in payment. We will place these poems with the 
 most prominent houses in each of our towns. We trust you 
 will effect to our lequest for immediate delivery. Oil- Mr. 
 C. G. Young is now in England and in all probability will ba 
 returning home via America. If his intentions in this re- 
 spect are carried out he will no doubt pay you a visit. 
 Yours faithfully, 
 
 For Young & Collins, Ltd. 
 W. L. YOUNG, Director. 
 Agents for Fred A. Campbell's Poems in Austialasia. 
 
 Send us fifty copies of your "Mothers' Day" poems. 
 THE J. M. VICTORY CO.. 
 911 Main St., Tarre Haute, Ind. 
 
 Please send me one of each of your poems. 
 
 O. H. FARR, 
 Pocatello, Id. 
 
 Enclosed please find check for $40.00, also order for 100 
 assorted poems as per order. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 B. M. UHRLAUB, 
 103 y 2 E. Pico St., 
 Los Angeles, Cal. 
 
 Your poems received all O. K. They are fine, etc. 
 WING TOY, 
 
 No. 11 Nam Hing St., 
 
 Tai Kong Shan, 
 Canton, China. 
 
Berlin Wilmersdorf. 
 Mr. Fred A. Campbell, 
 
 Oakland, California. 
 Dear Sir: 
 
 One of my friends brought some of your beautiful poems 
 with him from a visit to your wonderful country, and we 
 hope to hear from you soon. I am anxious to learn them all. 
 It is a custom to say, "Truly a prophet is not without honor 
 save in his own country." I hope in your case it will not 
 be so. You are doing a good work for your city and state 
 also. Excuse, please, if my English is not quite correct. 
 
 Yours truly, 
 
 A. GUSDORF. 
 
 Petersburg, Virginia. 
 Fred A. Campbell, 
 
 Oakland, Cal. 
 Dear Sir: 
 
 Our association wishes to thank you for the beautiful poem 
 you dedicated to us. The poem was read at our Memorial 
 Day exercises and was heartily cheered by the old soldiers. 
 Thanking you again for your kind thought of us. 
 Your friends, 
 THE LADIES' MEMORIAL ASSOCIATION, 
 
 Petersburg, Virginia. 
 Mrs. M. E. Alexander, Cor. Sect'y. 
 Petersburg, Virginia. 
 
 Mr. Fred A. Campbell, 
 
 Oakland, Cal. 
 Dear Sir: 
 
 Your package of five hundred copies of your poem,- "Let It 
 Wave," came safely, for which I give you hearty thanks in 
 the name of our association. We want to thank you for your 
 assistance in our work. We will send you a photo of the 
 speakers' stand from which your poem was first read and 
 heartily cheered. Again thanking you for your kindly act 
 and wishing you abundant success in life and a blissful im- 
 mortality, 
 
 Most truly yours, 
 
 MRS. LOUIS L. MARKS, 
 Pres. Ladies' Memorial Association, 
 
 Petersburg, Virginia. 
 
 I trust "Somebody's Sister" will have a vogue equal to that 
 of some of your other well-known expressions of the heart 
 of the common people. Very cordially yours, 
 
 C. RUESS. 
 
 Strand Palace Hotel, 
 
 Strand, London, W. C. 
 Received the poems. Have read them to many in all parts 
 of London. Carry them with me all the time. 
 
 Good luck, 
 
 W. B. BANCROFT. 
 
 Fred A. Campbell, 
 
 Oakland, Cal. 
 May the Lord biess the poem, "Somebody's Sister," to the 
 unlfting of many. We are with best wishes for the success 
 of the poem. J. H. WOODROOF, 
 
 Pres. dent International Anti-White Slave Association, 
 
 Denver, Colo. 
 
 Fred A. Campbell, 
 
 Oakland, Cal. 
 Dear Sir: 
 
 I have read your poems. They are very good. I quite 
 agree with your sentiments and if people would live up to 
 them the world would be a happier place to live in. Having 
 a "Mothers' Day" is a nice idea. There is no doubt one's 
 best friend is mother. "If the world desert you, to mother 
 you can turn," is very true. There would be fewer sad hearts 
 if every one said a "kind word." I think myself that "wo- 
 men" are not always as black as they are painted and the 
 blame might be more equally distributed, 
 
 Yours sincerely, 
 
 E. L. CRESSWELL, 
 
 28 Buccleuch Place, 
 Edinburgh, Scotland. 
 
Poems received. They are all fine. 
 
 JULES EMDEN, 
 
 386 Le Boulevard, 
 Montemarte, Paris, France. 
 
 Have a package of your poems and have distributed many 
 among my friends here who can read English. They all speak 
 very highly of them. 
 
 LOUIS GUGHELMOIN, 
 
 Paris, France. 
 
 Brought along a lot of your poems. They please every one 
 ho receives them. 
 
 F. M. WILSON, 
 Correos, Guatemala. 
 
 Send me fifty copies of your beautiful poems. 
 
 J. A. MORRISON, 
 Medford, Ontario. 
 
 Please send us 200 Campbell poems. 
 
 ACKER'S BOOK STORE. 
 
 By J. S. Acker, 
 Prescott, Arizona. 
 
 I bought some of your poems here. Think thev. are lovely. 
 
 MRS. W. McINTYRE, 
 
 5 061 Lake Ave., 
 
 Chicago, 111. 
 
 Your poem was read in our lodge room. The brothers are 
 delighted with it. 
 
 R. E. BRIGGS, 
 Sect'y Logan Lodge, 
 Logan, Utah. 
 
 Your alleged poem, "Don't Butt In," is posted up in hotel 
 here in Guavmas, Mexico. No wonder there is a revolution. 
 
 With kindest. 
 
 D. KENSELL, 
 Guaymas, Mexico. 
 
 Please send me 76 copies of vour poems assorted as per 
 o.der enclosed. MISS ETHEL MEYERS. 
 
 120 Hallack St., 
 Brooklyn, N. Y. 
 
 Just received vour beautiful poems. Enclosed find P. O. 
 order for more. MRS. L. C. KLINK. 
 
 1908 E. Main St., 
 
 Lafayette, Ind. 
 
 Please advise me as to the cost of vour poems. 
 
 F. E. SHAFFER. 
 3457-63 Blake St.. 
 
 Denver, Colo. 
 
 I like your poems very much and would like to have them 
 ill. W. A. CHAMBERLAIN. 
 
 Boulder, Colo. 
 
 Please quote us price on gross lots. 
 
 F. ST. MARTIN CO.. 
 
 Wahoo, Nebraska. 
 
 Fred A. Campbell writes good poetry. There is a human 
 ring to every verse he pens. 
 
 OAKLAND REVIEW. 
 
 Copvright, b'v Fred A. Campbell. Published by thr 
 Campbell Publishing Co.. 546 30th St.. Oakland, Cal. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 018 602 503 9 9