(')ass 'Pa.Eii^l Hook > H 32. (iJlpi^liiX" ( Ol'YIJKillT DKI'OSIT. '.^^^^ SHUT-IN, SONGS s O -) '\- 5 Q > -< > 3 JLFFLRSON^ yg ^|g ^rig- ^ €^ y^ y?^ €s^ y^ ■J J- = ^ i^jr--' i^V^ S^^l Li 5HUT-IN SONGS BY PAUL HUDSON JEFFLR50NVILLE, INDIANA MCMVI £^ t\pi it^ ^ Eip ii} ^9^ y^ cjS?:^ ^«3^ [ ^^ ^i^ yg yg yg r7Hi ^^ ^^ 'j^ 'jm^^ I ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ i 5HUT-1N 50NG5 Goat That Talked, The 140 Golden Rule, The 38 Governor J. Frank Hanly . . . .86 Hallucinations 162 Hans' Soliloquy 154 Have a Mind of Your Own .... 165 Have a Purpose in Life 60 He Didn't Know the Difference. . . 31 He Had An Ache 39 He is Risen 121 Helping Hand, The 166 He Made a Pi 106 He Wanted to See the Guy . . . .137 He Wanted to Shoot a Man ... 13 Holiday on the Farm 63 Home Again Tonight 16 How Mean 142 If I Were Free Tonight .... 179 I Love Them Both So Well . . . .111 I'm Going to Be An Optimist ... 55 Insultin' Cuss, An 133 In the Shade of the Old Calaboose . . 97 Introduction 6 It's Never Too Late to Mend ... 91 Just Fifteen Years Ago 69 Just Tell Them I'll Be Here . . .122 Key to Joy is Toil, The 83 King Alcohol 17 Know Yourself 24 Liar, The 130 Life Is What You Make It (Two Spasms) 27 - 94 Life's Little Things ..... 122 Lion Cub and the Man, The . . . .72 Little Girl, I Think of You . . . 167 Little Things 38 Logical Verses 76 Longing 140 Lookin' Back 147 Look Up! Lift Up! 41 ^^ y^ i^#^ ^ ^<^ y^ ^g^ y^ 3^ 3^ :^ 3^ y^ ^^ y^ €^ SHUT-IN SONGS Making of Bill, The . Making of Criminals, The Mary's "Lamb" . Message of Peace, A My Creed My Old Arkansas Home New Year Acrostic No Place Like Chicago . No Place Like Home . Ode to Osgood Old Sweetheart of Mine, An Optimistic Philosophy Orphan Joe . O, What Will the Harvest Be? Parable of the Talents Parting of the Ways, The Pathetic Illustration, A Patrick's Dilemma . Power of Influence, The Printer's View, The Printshop Devil, The . Printshop Towel, The Prisoner's Dream, The Raining .... Realm of Peace, The . Resembled, After All Road to Hell, The Rolling Stones Roney's Boys Sage of East Aurora, The Sermon on Hell . Shall I Still Linger Behind? She Was From Missouri Soldier's Revery, A Some Freaks of Nature Some People of the World Song He Sang of Mother, The Song I Love, The . Street Corner Mashers 118 112 15 144 16 136 8 83 29 102 89 128 172 95 161 84 57 55 167 85 145 17 54 43 11 132 18 98 49 48 150 50 156 164 130 58 64 76 170 %^ ^0^ ^^ ^ig^ ^^ ^g ^8^ yg yg SHUT-IN SONGS Summertime Ruminations Thanksgiving There's Still a Chance for You They Made of It Spring Lamb Think of the Rights of Others Those Who Help Themselves Time Flies .... Time Waits for No Man To Do the Best We Can . To the Publisher . Trips to Boyland Twinkle, Twinkle Lucky Star Value of Character, The Venezuelan Hot Air . Wanted— A Boy Wanted, Reliable Men W'en de New Year Cum We See Through a Glass Darkly What's de Use? What You're Going to Be . When One Grows Old Where the Wabash River Flows While the Bread Was Rising . ^ :^ 124 51 25 104 91 41 82 155 44 28 42 9 105 152 32 37 81 21 22 69 110 88 97 w^, ^S^ 3^ ^S^ 3^ ^S^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ i m^^' f^tfe< -^ 5HUT-IN 50NG5 EFFERSONVILLE is a quaint old town that stolidly looks down from a rolling hill into the placid waters of the Ohio River. The town is beautiful because it is quaint, and quaint because it is old. In the days when the sites of many of the most important cities of the State were a part of a seemingly unlimited expanse of for- est, where the solitude was undisturbed save by the tattoo of the woodpecker, the barking of the wolf, the cry of the whippoorwill and the hoot of the owl, and the sound of the woodman's axe was unknown to the denizens of the forest, Jef- fersonville was an established place. In those days treacherous savages lurked in the forests and were constantly on the war-path because the pale-face was considered a common enemy, and because, in their ignorance, any other occupation than that of war was supposed to be beneath the dignity of a brave man. :^^ ^^ ^^ ^ ^ ■ ^^ ^^ Q^ c^ c^ •i — 1- 3^ ^5«^ 3^ 5^ ^^ ^^ ^ ^^ SHUT-IN SONGS Hence, the valley of the Ohio, on the Indiana side, was the scene of many a bloody conflict. The cheerful hardihood and heroic bravery with which the pioneer citizens encountered the hard- ships of those days not only won the admiration and reverence of the people of the universe, but have given Jeffersonville a position of local im- portance in the history of our country. It is the home of the workingman, distinctively, as is attested by the numerous simple but cozy cottages which nestle picturesquely in its broad streets, built at a time when lot space was not so expensive but that the thrifty workingman could afford a small garden plot in the rear of his home for vegetables and a front yard for flowers. There are no unemployed within its limits, ex- cept those who so elect, the home industries em- ploying many, and Louisville furnishing employ- ment for the rest, as is shown by the vast crowds who disembark from the ferryboat which plies at regular intervals between the Kentucky and Indiana shores or alight from the dinkey- trains and interurban cars which cross the great bridges which span the Ohio. While Jeffersonville has no opera house or oth- er amusement resort worth mentioning owing to the close proximity of Louisville, the simple and wholesome joys and pleasures of life are fully appreciated by its citizens. Beautiful and spacious Glenwood Park, just beyond the lim- its of the town, affords an ideal trysting ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ Qgg ^a^ ^1^ Ca^ Cage: —2- 3^ ^S?«^ 5?^ 3^ 3^ ^>^ ^^ ^ M^ SHUT-IN SONGS place for lovers on moonlit summer nights, and, free from the shackles of woikaday worries, numerous groups of picnickers congregate on Sundays and enjoy the coolness of its Arcadian bowers. The Columbia and Hiawatha, pic- turesque excursion boats, during the summer months, for a nominal figure, take passengers from the realm of Worry and, to the accom- paniment of rag-time melodies and old-time love times beautifully rendered by orchestras, will transport them to the joyful shores of Forgetfulness. Almost a century ago the great Common- wealth of Indiana, seeking an ideal spot for a prison, recognized the advantages of the loca- tion and reared the grim structure on the hill- top west of the village of Jeffersonville. At first, the simple villagers who passed along the country road which wound away past the gloomy walls, experienced a feeling of awe at the terrible fate of the "bad men" whom the State had been constrained to banish to the "living death." It was then known as the Prison South, and the pale-faced, hollow-eyed men who emerged from its gloom at the expiration of their sen- tences, with the look upon their countenances as easy to read as a sign board, were avoided as if they were plague-ridden. Every door and every heart were closed against them, and they almost invariably were released only to be returned at a future date. (^ ^^ ^1^ ^^ €j^ ^1^ ^gg ca^ Cj^ -3- ^S^ 3^ ^S^ ^S^ 5?«^ ^^ ^^ ^ ^^ SHUT-IN SONGS But the march of progress and the passage of time have wrought many changes. The village has become a city, and the unsightly prison that once stood alone, grim and gloomy, today is a picturesque institution and is surrounded by the cottages of a prosperous and happy people. The grounds have been beautified and the Adminis- tration building, built of stone and brick, pre- sents an imposing appearance and enhances the beauty of the town. The sentiments of the people have changed, too, with time. The version of the charity which was exemplified in the Garden of Golgotha by the Great Leader has become more fully rec- ognized by mankind, and the seeds of love, sown so long ago, have sprouted and grown, and men have become broad-minded and generous. And so, the prison that once contained the hopeless scum of humanity, dressed in the de- grading convict garb and discredited of the pos- sibility of having thoughts other than of crook- edness, where men were sent to expiate the penalty of crimes when vindictiveness was the popular theory, today is a reformatory where men are sent to be taught the value of honesty and good citizenship, and where men are credited with being human beings, gone astray, but still with the capabiHty of having their better na- tures aroused by humane treatment and indus- trial and educational instruction; a place where those who have been cut adrift from home en- vironment and other character-making influences ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ <^ ^g <^ <^ ^^ —4— 5?*^ 3^ ^s?«^ 3^ :s^ ^>^ ^^ ^1^ Mg SHUT-IN SONGS % in early childhood and have drifted with human- ity's ceaselessly flowing tide to the breakers along the shores of Distress, may be started aright on the Sea of Life. One groping soul, through many long months of ceaseless battle with self, cheered on by Hope, has paused many a time in his weary tread of "four steps and a turn" to catch in verse the songs Hope sang to him. There was a message in every sound and a journey back to boyland in nearly all, for these songs are songs of youth. The vision of brighter things and better days looms up through the mists of the fu- ture and Hope stands forth in radiant robes of power to sway the soul and lift up the head of her hearer. It is the first Sunday afternoon in May. The windows of the big cell house at the Reforma- tory are open and the music of a thousand feathered songsters floats in upon the air with the sweetness of the flowers' perfume. Many a wistful gaze is directed toward the beams of sunlight which play upon the bars of the win- dows, and many a vagrant thought passes out ^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ «^ <^ <^ " -5— :;m ^m :^m ^s^ :^m ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 5HUT.IN SONGS to homes that are happy and homes that are wretched. The steady tread of many feet on stone floors is heard as restless and thoughtful men walk up and down in their cells. Four steps and a turn. Four steps and a turn. Four steps and a turn. Four steps and a turn. Hark! The mail man approaches; his footsteps I hear. I've counted his pauses, and now he draws near. I know he won't stop, for he never be- fore Has stopped with a letter in front of my door. Yet how I'd treasure one; no pen could tell How it would cheer up the gloom of my cell. I'd keep it a treasure in memory's store — If he'd stop with a letter in front of my door. I'd like to have friends, like some of the boys. To share both alike in my sorrows and joys. What a pleasure 'twould be to read o'er and o'er The letters the mail man would leave at my door. yt «S^ ^ ^ ^ y^ yg ^^ Mg yg —6- 3^ 3^ 3«»^ 3^ 3^ y^ ^«^ y^ ^1^ SHUT-IN SONGS And then, what a pleasure 'twould be just to write. O, how I would watch the time in its flight, Awaiting the day to write come round once more — If the man with the mail would stop at my door. Often it brings to me pleasure at night To think of the good things about which I'd write. I would think all the month of good things galore— If he'd stop with a letter in front of my door. 0, comrades of boyhood, are you in like plight? Are you, too, longing for some one to write? Perhaps you're in prison on some distant shore And the man with the mail don't stop at your door. Do you still cry out the old News Alley rhymes: "Inter-Ocean, Herald, Post, Journal, News, Times? Have you always been just as wretched and poor? Then no letter from you will comq to my door. *; ^ ^ ^ —7— ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 5HUT-IN SONGS Perhaps you have risen to wealth and to fame, And have ceased to remember your com- rade's name, And have long since forgotten the days of yore — So the man with the mail won't stop at my door. Way down deep in my heart to-day there's a pain And I can't find words to exactly ex- plain Why it seems to ache more than ever be- fore When the man with the mail don't stop at my door. New Year Acrostic. Resolved, that during this new year Each day I'll coach a heart of cheer; Sincere in all things may I be. Omitting no task set for me; Looking up, with reverent mien Upon the holy things, unseen; Thanking God for life and health— In this world inestimable wealth. O may my heart this new year thro' Nurse no thought unjust, untrue. ^ ^ ^ ^_ ^>^ Mg yg ^^ yg 5^ 5^ ^s?^ ^s?^ 3?^ (^ (^ ^ ^^ -e^ SHUT-IN SONGS Twinkle, TwinRIc, Lucky Star. Twinkle, twinkle, lucky star, Send your silvery gleam afar O'er the space into my cell. Hopeful messages to tell, I have watched your merry light Gleaming brightly night by night. And I've fancied that you are My own twinkling, lucky star. Some think you're pale beside the moon. When it's shinning full, in June, You are not so large, 1 know, Still, you have a brilliant glow. And your merry twinkling smile Weary hours helps beguile, When the night winds softly moan And the heart is sad and lone. Through the storm clouds in the sky Oft your gleams I can't descry. Lucky star, when thus you're lost. Then my soul is tempest tossed. And the world that once seemed fair Seems the camping ground of care. The clouds drift by and, lo, you are Gleaming brightly, lucky star. ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ c^: c;^^ c^ ^^ yg -9- y^ €^ y^ ^*^ SHUT-IN 50NG5 Contrary Winds. A hopeful mortal outward fared Upon the Sea of Fate. His craft was frail, but naught he cared; His course seemed fair and straight. He sailed along with perfect ease; His heart was light and free; His brow fanned by the balmy breeze That swept the sunlit sea. As steadily he sailed along Upon his course one day, A wind sprang up and all went wrong And he was blown astray. Contrary winds, that ever blow Upon the Sea of Fate, Assailed his craft, and clouds hung low And added woeful weight. He drifted further on astray Toward the breakers' thrall. The point wherein his trouble lay: His rudder was too small. He was inclined to sail aright; Knew what was best to do. His craft was frail and lacked the might To face the gale that blew. y^ t#j^ y^ yic yg yg yg y^ yg —10- ^^ ^^ 5HUT-IN 50NG5 He saw the beacon lights that burned To warn him of his fate. To safer seas he would have turned, But drifted till too late. The sea, off there, so far away, Was enveloped in gloom. His frail craft drifted on astray. The breakers sealed his doom. The shore is lined with ghastly wrecks That tell a woeful tale Of those who once have trod the decks Of crafts that were too frail. The Realm of Peace. A stranger to God's circle, a lone straggler, in despair, Kneeled in the gloom of a prison cell, offering a prayer To the Almighty Ruler of the destinies of men. Praying for the peace unknown to those in the land of sin. And God, in His compassion for the lonely stranger there. Heard the words he uttered in his first though fervent prayer. And a calm, and ease of conscience, to him before unknown, Soothed the pain and brought the peace sought by the stranger, lone. . ^d^ ^H^ ^^ ^^_ e^ fc^ €^ Cil^ Ca^ -11- ^S^ ^Sjf^ ^S?^ 3^ ^ifg ^g^ yg c^ Kotne Again Tonight. The winter wind around the eaves A mournful cadence drones. In retrospection fancy weaves An old tune from its tones. Forgotten are the bars and walls That mark the prison's site, And back to childhood mem'ry calls Me home again tonight. 'T is summer time. The sloping hill With daisies is abloom. The rose and honeysuckle fill The air with sweet perfume. A mocking bird's sweet song inthralls My soul with pure delight, As back to childhood fancy calls Me home again at night. As I draw near the old home place My heart beats fast with joy. Again I see my mother's face Smile welcome to her boy; And when she speaks my name it makes The world again seem bright, As back to childhood fancy takes Me home again tonight. €|^ ^)C ^?^ 'Qjgg ^gg ^^ ^«jg —12— 3^ ^^ 5?»^ 3if^ :s^ ^^ Mg yg ^*>g 5HUT-IN SONGS =• And mother sings, with face so calm. That song of long ago; The song that always proved a balm For every childish woe; The song my mem'ry ne'er forsakes; Through all the years' quick flight I hear it oft when fancy takes Me home again tonight. Oh! Mem'ry brings to me the boon I treasure more than gold When it brings back that dear old tune That mother sang — so old. The joy— the pain — I treasure all That those loved thoughts invite As back to childhood's realm they call Me home again at night. tie Wanted to Shoot a Man. A printer named Sraoot Went off on a toot And wanted to shoot A man; But a husky galoot Hit him one on the snoot And told him to shoot The can. ^L -13- a^ a^ a^ :!^ a^ ^^ Cage; yg yg King Alcohol. I, Alcohol, a kingdom rule And claim the earth as my footstool; I am the sov'reign of the fool, And lord o'er abject slavery. Those who drift within my thrall When once they learn to know my call, From high pedestals often fall To lowest depths of knavery. I, Alcohol, can boast the fame Of luring more souls into shame Than any other poison name That tongue has yet created. My helpers know their duty well; With mystic thread they weave a spell That lures away to depths of hell The multitudes, ill-fated. 'Tis through me the measureless scope That men attain through life's great hope. Recedes as sin's perspective slope Leads through the vale of sorrow. And, aimless, down the tide they go. Blown which way the wind may blow. Derelicts, who do nut know Where they may be to-morrow. I, Alcohol, predominate. My sceptre is the hand of Fate. I make glad hearts grow desolate; It is my earthly mission. y?: y^ y^ y^ ^igg^ gjifg: €i^ ^ «^ y^ SHUT-IN =•: SONGS I believe the man who carries on his face a cheerful smile And scatters lots of sunshine on the way, Will find that in the living this Ufe will prove worth while, And will be among the chosen Judgment Day. I believe the man who takes the Golden Rule for his creed Will be numbered with the chosen in God's fold, And will have his share of all the joys the God of all decreed That Eternity's great Paradise shall hold. The Printshop Towel. We've got a towel in our shop — It has a dusky hue. We sometimes use it as a mop To make the floor look new. When, at times, it ain't in use We stand it with the broom, And, if it falls, a sound obtuse Is heard throughout the room. A relic, in the days gone by, Of many printing crews, And useful yet, when Sunday's nigh, To shine the devil's shoes. . ^ ^ ^ ^^ <^ c^ yg yg yg: —17— :m :^m ^m :^m :^m y^ y^ ^1^ y^ 5HUT-IN SONG5 The Road to Hell. When silently across the earth Night's sombre shadows crept; When Nature ceased her songs of mirth, And in contentment slept, I had a vision in a dream — A life tale acted through. So true to life did it all seem, I'll tell it here to you: 'Twas in the richest, grandest town Our country great can claim; A model city of renown — Aye, even world-wide fame. It was the kind of summer night That fills glad hearts with song, And on a street aglow with light I mingled with the throng. Hark ! Sweet music fills the air ! The strains are soft and low; The kind that sweeps away the care That earthly mortals know. It issued from a dancing hall. With "annex," or saloon. (How people hearken to its call. Its sweet, seductive tune ! ) I passed inside and lingered there, The revelry to view, And women — girls both young and fair, (Whose hearts were yet still true) ^^ ^8^ ^»^ y^ yg yg ^^ ^r ^^ —18— s Were following that road of wrong That leads but to destroy E'en the strongest of the strong Who search for fickle joy. And boys, young men, just starting in Upon life's journey, long, Via Destruction Route, through Sin, And on the train of Wrong. No engineer doth guide their train. Which dashes through the night With reckless speed. And all in vain Shows Danger's signal light. Said I: "I'll watch the life career Of yonder handsome youth; His mind is bright, his look hath cheer, His face bespeaks the truth. I'll watch the life of yonder lass — The fairest of a score — And see what Fortune brings to pass, What Future hath in store. ' ' And so, each passing year I came Till just ten years had passed. The youth along the road to shame Had gone with footsteps fast. A convict in a prison cell. He wears his life away. The cause? Why, Time can tell Of thousands such each day ! The world, once warm, is growing cold To that once winsome lass; She's looking haggard, worn and old. (Ten years are slow to pass.) ^ ^ ^ ^ ^jgg ^i^ yg ^^ yg -19- 5^ ^S^ 5^ ^S^ 3^ ^^ ^^ ^ yg SHUT. IN 50NG5 She's gone on down the inclined track Where thousands yearly go. No hand outstretched to hold her back ; No one has cared to know. * ♦ * Once more I passed the dancing hall With "annex," or saloon; Once more I heard the thrilling call — That sweet seductive tune. The sign that hung above the door Was changed, the truth to tell To those who passed and read it o'er: "This is the Gate to Hell." Know Yourself. Know, first of all, that you have a soul. Never believe that the grave is life's goal. Omnipotent God had a purpose in view When He, in His wisdom, created you. Your mind and heart are the meters that tell Of things yet to be — whether hopeless or well. Upon you, yourself, does the future depend. Right over wrong ever wins in the end. So, then, inspect yourself throughout today. Examine yourself in an impartial way. Look for the weak points. Then for the fight! Fortify them with a life that is right. M?: y^ ^»^ y^ €^. (^ ^^ (^. t^. —20- ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ SHUT-IN 50NG5 • We See Thro' a Glass Darkly. We look through goggles, and the light Assumes a duller hue, And clouds of gloom, like coming night. Obscure the heavens, too. To "Trouble's Shores" our thoughts take flight, And woefully we view The gloomy things (that should be bright) When seen through goggles, blue. We lay aside the goggles, and. In a little while The world, so great and good and grand, With us will gladly smile. There's joyousness on every hand The hours to beguile. And not a thing o'er all the land Our peacef ulness to rile. When clouds have passed the sunlight's rays Then seem to gleam the best, And I believe the gloomy days Just come our strength to test; For, as the ioyous sunlight plays Along the pathway's crest. Into our minds conviction strays That we are truly blest. ^S^ ^^ ^^ ^^ Cjgg (i^ yg yg ^a^ -21- g^ y^ ^a^ ^^ SHUT-IN SONGS 's dc Use? What's de use to worry 'cause de pa- pers cuss de meat Dat a pusson wid an appetite ter lib has got ter eat? Dey say tuberculosis afflicts some ob de cows, An' runnin' sores is on de necks ob packin' houses' sows. Dem papers can continue wid dere scan- dals an' abuse, But I ain't gwine ter worry 'bout de details. What's de use? De papers say de sausages am re-dicu- lously bad An' folks who hab ter eat it makes a picture mighty sad. Dey say it's made fum leavin's an' fum ol' discarded meat, An' dat it isn't fit for eben yaller dogs ter eat. But when it's in de fryin' pan wid lots ob greasy juice, I ain't a-gwine ter worry 'bout de de- tails. What's de use? Dey say de butchers' aprons am all covered up wid "goo," An' de floor am awful slimy an' de walls am dirty, too. ^ ^ ^ y^ ^^ yg yg yg yg —22— >^>Jii|L *9^sMifm. *^^Jttt^ ^V^Jiib. *^>JiiL. jSFj j3P^ -3ri -33Fi jap> C ^<^ ^^ ^ ^<*g £ ^1 SHIIT.IN SONr,S Im Dey say de mogul packers doan know how to run a place, An' t'ru de packers' negligence de country's in disgrace. Folks kin decline ter eat it. Dey hab a good excuse, But I ain't gwine ter worry 'bout de details. What's de use? As Good As Any. The "make-up" man the Poet sought To get a "filler" for a page. The Poet thought and thought and thought and thought. But not a thought could he engage. He sat in thoughtful attitude And held his forehead in his hand. He tried his best to call the mood To place the words at his command. He tried to think of singing birds And babbling brooks and tinkling rills. He tried to conjure raptured words From thoughts of daisy covered hills. Of silv'ry moons to write he yearned; He longed to write of twinkling stars. But thoughts to earthly things returned— To high stone walls and iron bars. Said he: "No thought can I engage. I know not what it is — amiss — But if you have to fill a page. Just go and fill it up with this." f^ (4^ (iO^ fuSI^ Mg yg ^1^ ^a»g ^a^ 5HUT-IN SONGS The Captive Mocking Bird. A captive mocking bird one day was singing Within a cage that hung against the wall; The lilting notes sweet memories were bringing To those who passed along the darkened hall. The little cage was dingy from long using, And on it did the sunbeams seldom rest. The songs he trilled, to passers so amusing, Told of hopes that filled the captive's breast. He sang of dells where sweet magnolias growing, Filled the air with nature's sweet perfume; He sang of balmy breezes, ever blowing; Of rolling hills and meadows all abloom. His song told of the wildwood's trysting places-— Sequestered bowers, shadowy and cool, With hanging moss and grape-vine interlaces, And willows growing near some crystal pool. To many, hearing, visions came of childhood. So long forgotten in life's steady fray; The tune brought back the songsters of the wild- wood. That sang around the old home, far away. Forgotten were the city's streets around them; Forgotten were the turmoil and the strife; Forgotten were the thongs of care that bound them; Again they felt the joyousness of life. . ^ ^ ^ *^_ €^. t^. %^ ^i^ ^^ 3^ 3«^ 3?^ :3if^..^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ SHUT-IN SONGS O, you whose lives are blessed with all the pleas- ures That life and health and freedom can unfold; 0, you who rail at fate for lack of treasures, Forgetting freedom's joys in search of gold, Learn a lesson from this captive and his sorrow, And lift your voice in hopefulness and sing. For the dawn that is sure to come tomorrow The dearest joy that life can hold will bring. There's Still a Chance for You. In the busy march of progress, moving on along life's way. Honest men are always wanted— openings are made each day. Then, be up and busy, brother, there are many things to do. To the work that's long been waiting! There's an opening for you. Men of every class are wanted. Can you afford to stay away? Liberal rewards are granted to the worthy ones today. Then, through strong endeavor, brother, show the world what you can do. Give yourself the chance to prove it. There is still a chance for you! ^1^ ^^ yg yg ^agg —25- :^^ :;m :^^ :^^ :^m ^^ y^ %^ ^^ 5HUT-1N SONGS Have you wandered from right's pathway? In the darkness do you grope? Do you imagine all is lost — that there's not a ray of hope? If you so will it, in yourself, you've a friend to see you through. Go to work in earnest, brother! There is still a chance for you. Does your lot in life seem harder than you think it ought to be? Then remember that you're living in the coun- try of the free, And that when a man is willing to do the thing he should do. There's a chance for him, brother. There is still a chance for you! Are you handicapped with troubles on the stream where you would glide? Cut the anchor chain that binds them and they'll drift on with the tide. You can conquer difficulties— be they many, be they few. Up! To the work in earnest! There is still a chance for you! He pied a line of type today While hurrying to reach the press; The devil fixed it up straightway; But what it is you'll have to guess: s"c:^;— MxbLmLEdpo, 'sepdaRX ^ ^ ^ ^ yg yg yg ^ €^ —26— 3^ ^3^ 3^ 3^ ^»^ €s^ €«^ ^^ 5HUT-1N SONGS Life is Wliat You Make it. If you keep within your breast a heart that's true, And courageous enough to see you through, Time in future may unfold All the treasures life may hold— All the pleasures and the joys deserved by you. Your future may be either great or small; It's up to you to either rise or fall. Your goal is woe or joy. Just as you make it, boy. This life is what you make it, after all. The greatest failures in the world today Have thrown their opportunities away. In the end, when hope was lost, Then they realized the cost; But the debt was none the easier to pay. When we wander from ambition's sacred hall And enter into crime's disastrous thrall, It does no good to prate At the unjustness of Fate, For life is what we make it, after all. The greatest men our country ever knew Had vim and energy to see them through, And within the Hall of Fame Each has placed an honored name- Won the laurels that reward men that are true. There's lots of room for pictures in Fame's hall. On the way temptation's voices loudly call. But remember, as you go, That your lot is joy or woe; That life is what you make it, after all. ^ y^ ^ y^ yg yg yg yg ^^ -27- SHUT-IN SONGS To the Publisher. Dear Sir:— Enclosed please find a poem for— "return. " Just send it back. I don't give a "durn. " I just send it up to you So that you may look it through. I'm rich. I've coin and postage stamps to burn. I wrote it in the middle of the night; Got out of bed and hunted up a light. As I lay awake I caught What I thought to be a thought That was good, and I thought I ought to write. When the birds began to sing and bees to hum I awoke — from loss of sleep was feeling grum — And arose and read it through, And I thought that it might do; But of course, maybe, perhaps, you'll think it's bum. But if, perchance, you fail to mark it "nit," And about that time the wind should blow a bit, It would floor me with a breath. I'd be tickled most to death. I'd have a spasm, or "I'd throw a fit." Yours truly, A. Guy Bugs. ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ yg <^»^ ^i^ ^i^ yg -28- j^ jg ^»^ y^ ^3^ ^»^ £^ SHUT-IN SONGS No Place Like Home. 0, gimme back those dear old days When I, a barefoot boy, Would roam the shady woodland ways With childish glee and joy. Arcady's fairest woodland scene Is as a monochrome Beside the landscape, ever green, Around my Southern home. I've sailed the Great Lakes' crystal deep On moonlit summer nights; I ' ve climbed the Rocky Mountains, steep. And viewed their wondrous sights; I've seen Alaska's sun sink low Beyond the hills of Nome. It matters not where I may go, There is no place like home. I've heard our noted singers sing — The finest in the land- Heard Trinity's great chime bells ring, I've heard great Sousa's band, But I love the music of the rills That wind away in gloom. Or sparkle 'neath the blooming hills, Sweet with their rare perfume. I've bathed at Coney Island's coast Dressed up in bathing suit; (^ (^ ^^ ^^^ ?: Cj^ ^jge: ^»^ yg -29- 3^ 3^ 3^ 3^ 3^ (^ (^ ^^ (^ SHUT-IN SONGS I've minp^lod with Manhattan's host, And while there "shot the chute," But f^imme back the swimming place Where first I learned to swim, And let me slide a mud-bank race With dear old playmate Jim. I've fished for wily speckled trout In crystal mountain brook, Where, fast as I could pull them out, Aj?ain they'd take my hook, But lemme Ash, with pants rolled high, For "cats" and "nollywogs" In Greenhood's pond (if it ain't dry) Among the croaking frogs. i I've heard the noted Talmage preach; I've listened to Sam Jones; Heard missionaries sent to teach The word in foreip:n zones. But lemme hear just once again A talk by preacher Hall, And hear the meetin' sing a strain Of "Jesus Paid it All.'^ On sunny days in Lincoln Park I've sat 'mid (lowers rare, Where winding paths with beauty mark A scene most wondrous fair, But gimme back the whittled bench Down at thegen'ral store. Initials carved in every inch, And shavings there galore. I've dined at many swell cafes As time went sweeping by; y^ y^^ y^ ^ ^^^^ yg yg €a^ -30- 5?^ ^S?^ 5?^ ^^ ^5?^ ^^ Mg ^ ^8^ SHUT-IN SONGS • Have eaten meals served all the ways Where prices soared up high, But ask which way my fancy leans. Should I consult my wishes, I'd say: Gimme some turnip greens Instead of fancy dishes. At Central Park I saw some birds. With plumes of colors gay. That could pronounce the foreign words In quite a perfect way, But gimme back the mocking bird. That trills 'neath heaven's dome The sweetest notes I ever heard. Around my Southern home. Time has wrought since then a change Around the dear old town; The faces there would all be strange, And the old home tumbled down. But I a treasure take with me Wherever I may roam. It is the sacred memory Of my old Southern home. He Didn't Know the Difrerence. Cholly went out hunting for a bear; Pretty soon he spied one— over there; Then he dropped his handsome gun, And he showed that he could run- Poor Cholly didn't know it was a hare. ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^gg ^jgg ^^ €^ yg —31— 3^ 3^ 3?^ S?^ 3?ei ^j^ €a^ ^»^ €s^ 5HUT-IN SONGS =* =^ Wantcd-a Boy. A wealthy banker died today, aged three score and ten, His name enscrolled on honor's roll; with the re- spect of men; He was esteemed in the business world— a cred- it to his race. A responsible vacancy must be filled. Wanted— a boy for the place. A respectable minister died today— after a well spent life. He leaves behind a host of friends; is mourned by children and wife. He was loved by all who knew him for sincerity and grace. A responsible vacancy must be filled. Wanted— a boy for the place. A lonely convict died today, at the age of thirty- eight. Thus ends a life of woe and crime, with none to mourn his fate. He never knew the joys of life. He only knew disgrace. Another vacancy must be filled. Wanted— a boy for the place. There are vacancies to be filled where wealth and honor, too. Await the striving ones today — there's a vacan- cy for you. Will you choose when you apply that of honor or disgrace? It's up to you to choose today. Wanted— a boy for the place. ^^ ^^ ^^ ^m^ ^jgg ^1^ ^a^ ^gjs: yg -32- I g^ y^ g^ M^ SHUT-IN SONGS Come Away! Come away! Come away! Come away! a voice is whispering today, To the shady pool where the air is cool and the turtles are at play; Come away from the gloom of your sweltering tomb and pass a day as a boy, And breathe the perfume of the meadows, abloom, and know that life is a joy. Come away from the high stone walls when the voice of the summer calls; Come away from the toil and the loud turmoil to the dell where the cascade falls; Come away where the sun's bright sheen haloes the leaves of green, And perfumes, rare, permeate the air, and the wild rose buds are seen. But another voice whispers to me: Alas, it cannot be! For the stone wall high has a sentry nigh and a Winchester has he; Your passport you must draw from the guar- dians of the law. For they hold the key to sweet liberty, ascribed without a flaw. Yet another voice whispers low: Alas, you cannot go Till you're estranged from the 'old way, ' changed and the way of right shall know; And right strides must be made and foundations must be laid For a better life, where rewards are rife, with purpose firm and staid. . ^ ^ ^ «^_ c^ c^ y^ ^ggg Mg -33- *»^Jiifc> *^ *^S^ '^ '^^iiifc. 3<4jr^ -iJr^ .>g ^1^ -34— i^ i&{^ Sf^ >^ s?^ '" y?; ^^ ^*?^ SHUT-IN SONGS =• == They used to plan things they'd do when she and Bill were wed. They talked of the house they'd build to be their own homestead. They'd dwell in Arcady, where birds their songs would trill, But Bill was drinking whiskey and rolling down the hill. And at last she found it out. (Bill told me of that night.) Red and swollen were the eyes that always were so bright; Sad and pale the pretty face that caused his heart to thrill; Trembling was the voice that said: "You're rolling down the hill." When Sunday came 'round again to church his sweetheart came, But no smile had she for Bill— he'd lost out in love's game, Another beau, though, she had. With pain Bill's heart stood still — And he kept drinking whiskey and rolling down the hill. If you're rolling down the hill, Oh, stop your- self today; If you have just common sense don't throw your life away. When once they've started rolling they're few who have the will To stop themselves from rolling down, and roll back up the hill. ^ ^ ^ ^_ yg ^i^ yg: yg yg —35— ^5^ 3^ 3?«^ 3?*^ 3?^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ i SHUT-IN SONGS =-K =^ Little Things. Let us heed as we go along the little things on the way, And treasure them, for they may be available some day. The majestical mountains that tower so high Their snow-clad peaks seem to reach the And our beautiful land so verdant and grand Are made up of atoms and grains of sand By the will of our God on High. Let us take care, as we go along, of the small things each day, For they may bring us joy to lighten the load on the way. The most successful financial concerns Pay strict attention to small returns; Each little detail will something avail. And the man in life who is sure not to fail Life's little things never spurns. Let us heed, as we go along, the ceaseless pas- sage of time; Let's strive for life's better things while we are in our prime. Deeds have been done in one short hour To change the course of the world's great- est power; Nations are changed, human destinies arranged. And men from the path of right are estranged And hopelessly lost in an hour. ^f^ ^K ^^ ^^ c^ Qge: ^^ yg ^^ -36- a^ :^m :^^ ^^ ^^ y^ ^8^ ^^ y^ ■f^ .f^ Wanted, Reliable Man. Wanted, Reliable Men! Not in Time Has the call been as loud as to-day. Not so easy in Time was the ladder to climb, And never so large was the pay. Wanted, Reliable Men! Not the kind That the unemployed armies supply; But men who keep busy. On men who "grind," As a rule, it is safe to rely. Wanted, Reliable Men! Not the shirk. Nor the man who is shabby and mean, But the man who is cheerful and willing to work And the man who is tidy and clean. Wanted, Reliable Men! Not the kind Who cover mistakes with excuse. Men who acknowledge mistakes, you will find. Succeed in the end— are of use. Wanted, Reliable Men! Not the "mope," Nor the man with the pessimist's cry. But the man whose being is infused with hope. He's the man upon whom to rely. Wanted, Reliable Men! Not the kind Who are waiting the coming of luck; But the kind who refuse to be left far behind; The kind with ambition and pluck. Wanted, Reliable Men! Oh, it seemed I heard the voice calling to day: "Awake! O, Awake! Too long hast thou dreamed! Too many years wasted away!" \ ^ ^ ^^ ^^ ^g yg ^g yg; yg —37— ^S^ 3^ 3^ ^s^ ^s?^ I Mg ^g^ ^?g ^g SHUT-IN SONGS There's a simple little maxim, just a dozen words in all, Which 'twere well if ev'ry mortal in his make- up would install. No motto could be followed that is better, or more true; It's: Do unto others as you would that they should do to you. There would be much less sorrow and in joy a great increase, And the heartaches that are common to the multitudes would cease. And this world would be a paradise and miseries be few If we'd always do by others as by us we'd have them do. There would be no pangs of conscience, no re- morse our peace to mar. There would be no fear of judgment when we stand before the bar. There would be no fret and worry of the future to ensue If we'd always do by others as by us we'd have them do. Fewer worshipers of mammon and of prisons be small need; Fewer souls doomed to perdition through a base, unmanly greed ; Men, in fact, would be as brothers, noble heart- ed and true. If we'd always do by others as by us we'd have them do. ^1^ (^ ^^ ^^ ^gr ^aer «^ yg ^g —38— ^ 1^ "^^^^^ yg y^ y^ M^ SHUT-IN 50NG5 Such a simple rule to follow, scarce a dozen words; but boys, If we'd follow it, it would bring to us happi- ness and joys. And our sun would shine out brighter and our sky would be more blue If we'd always do by others as by us we'd have them do. He Had an Ache. He went into the Doctor's shop — He said he had an ache And wanted stuff to make it stop — Some pleasant stuff to take. Some cooling draught like frozen cream. Quite pleasant to the taste, And privilege to sit and dre?m While hours went to waste. He wanted sympathetic looks And special tender care. He wanted them to make the cooks Produce some extra fare. Of course he didn't wish to shirk His duties altogether. Because he dearly loves to work In summer's warmest weather. . ^ ^ ^ *^_ <^ c^ ^ ^^ yg —47- ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ i SHUT-IN SONGS ~ -K =^ The Sage of East Aurora. When man the power doth possess To banish cares that oft depress With words so easy to express— The cares that disconcert us, 'Tls natural that we believe That 'tis God's will he should achieve The purpose sought- God's message leave With us, O, Fra Elbertus. You preside o'er no parsonage; You claim no clergy's patronage; You sought no text from Scripture's page; You sought not to convert us. The sunlight of your great soul spread And clouds of gloom before it fled. And back to better things you led Us all, O, Fra Elbertus. And yet it was a sermon, grand, That lingers on with its command For usefulness, time to withstand, As passing years divert us. And broader seems the future's scope, With which it once was hard to cope. And brighter gleams the star of hope For us, O, Fra Elbertus. "I care not what a man has been, But what his future is!" Ah! then You spoke the words to hopeful men That never will desert us; ^8«^ ^S^ ^J^ ^^ (^ t^. t^. ^^ ^^ -48— r 'yg yg M^ ^*^ fii^l SHUT-IN SONGS =•: And when you said "a man's success Is measured by his usefulness. And honesty, and cheerfulness," We saw, O, Fra Elbertus. Roney's Boys. When at, last the many troubles of this life shall be o'er. And my soul across the River Styx shall fare, I hope (if Brother Peter lets me through the pearly door) I'll see Professor Roney's boys up there. If the Choir Invisible above more joy to hosts could bring Than the Roney boys have brought us here below, If their songs inspire the angels as t.hey do us when they sing. There are happy times in Heaven, then, I know. I believe their superb singing would admit into the fold Roney's bovs and, yes— the Professor, too— For the good that they accomplish in words can- not be told. (We are judged, you know, by good that we may do.) So if Brother Peter lets me through the gate to Heaven's joys When I have climbed at last the golden stair, I'll begin to scan the faces, seeking Roney and his boys. They'll be among the chosen! They 11 be there. -49- 5HUT-1N SONGS Shall I Still Linger Behind ? When I know in this world there is much I can do In the cause of earth's great common good, And the world has need for men who are true— A universal brotherhood, Shall I, with the laggards, still linger behind, My share of life's duties to shirk? Or shall I the laws of the Creator mind In doing my share of the work? When I know that the world is calling today For men with stamina and will; When 1 know in the ranks where is thickest the fray There's a vacancy each day to fill, Shall I, with the laggards, still linger behind. The duties I owe the world shun. Contributing naught for the good of mankind, When there is so much to be done? When I know just two roadways lead on thro' this life, Which travelers follow along; That one way has pleasures won only thro' strife. And the other leads lazy men wrong. Shall T, with the laggards, still linger behind With those whose ambitions are few? Or shall I be manly — the unshirking kind. Who gladly do all they can do? ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ €3^ ^^ ^^ ^^ yg —50— i SHUT-IN SONGS =*: When I know I shall stand at the great judg- ment seat When my soul shall be summoned from earth, And know it shall be, then, too late to retreat From a life of so little worth, Shall I, with the laggards, still Hnger behind, My share of life's duties to shirk? Or shall I the laws of the Creator mind In doing my share of the work? Thanksgiving. When our great storeroom of troubles is about to overflow, And it seems each day is adding to our lot some other woe. And the constant fume and worry seems to bring out lines of care. And we're ready to acknowledge that our load is hard to bear, O, it's then that we should notice that our grieved and sorrowed plight When compared to that of others seems to dwindle to a mite. We should then forget the sorrows that we meet along the way And remember just the blessings, when it comes Thanksgiving Day. Have we still our health and vigor? Have we still the joy of youth? Have we eyes to view the sunlight? Have we still the love of truth? . ^ ^^ «S^ ^»^ fajg- caag: ^agg ^agg ^agg -51— ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ SHUT-IN SONGS — • Have we home and friends to love us? Cher- ished memories long past? Is the sunlight of the future breaking through the clouds at last? O, then, let us all acknowledge that our lot is not so bad; That our lives are filled with blessings that should ever make us glad, And our present little worries like the mist will fade away. Let us thank the Blessing Giver when it comes Thanksgiving Day. It's just like old Human Nature, when we're feeling kind o' blue, To believe our troubles hurt us more than other people's do — And to think that all the blessings go the other people's way. And we've nothing to be thankful for when it comes Thanksgiving Day. O, but if we look around us, then we cannot fail to see Some other struggling brother more unfortunate than we. If in life's scales the sorrows and the blessings we will weigh. We'll find much to be thankful for when it comes Thanksgiving Day. 0, night winds, tell me with your song: "It won't be long !" With your smile, O, silv'ry moon, Just tell me: "Soon!" ^ €8^ y^ ^ ^T c^ ^^ ^^ ^^ -52— 3^ 5?^ 3jK^ :s?^ ae«^ ^1^ ^(^ 4^ ^9^ I'm Going to Be an Optimist. I'm going to be an optimist And always wear a smile. Of course the world with fog and mist Is cloaked once in a while; But what's the use to worry then, And fret, and fume, and pine? It's best to smile and think of when The sun is sure to shine. I'm going to have a hopeful view Of ev'rything I see. I've noticed that the folks who do Can very happy be ! What's the use to wear a face That's sorrowful and long? In fear disasters might take place And ev'rything go wrong. This world needs folks to bring it cheer And happiness and light. Too many people bring it fear And gloominess and night. I'm going to let my light shine out Along my brothers' way; Their burdens lighten, and their doubt Endeavor to allay. I'm going to be an optimist For good that it will do. A little smile will oft assist A brother when he's blue. I'm going to wear a pleasant smile And coach a heart of song. The folks I know who are worth while Smile as they go along. ■.<^> C^g Mg ^8^ ^: ^^ —53- €^ y^ y^ y^ The Prisoner's Dream. I had a dream The other night. I saw a gleam Of candle light Across the fields, With festive dress, Where Nature yields To Spring's caress. "Welcome, my child! I'm glad 'tis you! How hast thou whiled The time? Been true To teachings learned In childhood's school? Or hast thou spurned Them, as a fool. Within the door Of a home place, Just as of yore, I saw a face That took me back Across the years Along the track Of joys and tears. "Hast always trod The path of right Marked out by God, Illumed with light? Or is thy name Inured with sin And woe and shame — Scoffed at by men?' 'Twas mother there. Plain could I trace A look of care Upon her face. Gray was the hair Once bright as gold; Face marked with care. Once young— now old. And I awoke At song of bird. The voice that spoke At night, I heard Throughout the day Till night-time gloam. It seemed to say: Come home ! Come home ! ^^ ^ ^ ^ ^^ ^8^ yg yg ^g -54— >> Ss«i ^ '^_^ Ms: ^i^ ^^ '^ ' Patrick's Dilemma. One summer day along Broadway Strolled Patrick J. O'Dell. He says, says he, "Away wid me To some big foine hotel. A 'swell' I'll play on this pay-day; Oi'll do the thing up right. Oi'll take me pride wid me inside An' feed me appetite." A waitress there with frizzled hair And ruffles on her clothes. Tall, fair and fat, smiled down on Pat, And he forgot his woes. And then says she, "What shall it be?" And gave to Pat a stare. And Pat got sore as he glanced o'er That hotel bill of fare. Some "Rooshun" word Pat never heard, I think it was Menu. "Ah-rah, ' ' says Pat, ' 'jist bring me that; Oi think that it will do." The waitress laughed. Says Pat, "Ye're daft." And then she says to Pat: "Some other thing I'll have to bnng. There is no more of that." Pat colored red up to the head. It made him awful sore Because he thought the waitress ought To go and fry some more. € ^ C^ Xgg ^i^ Mg —55- ^5^ 3?«i 3?«i 3?<^ 3?^ y^ y^ y^ M^ SHUT-IN SONGS "Well thin, Oi say, bring Consomme," (As slow he spelled it through), " 'Twill be too late; I cannot wait Till you fry that Menu." Then Patrick learned when she returned And on the table cloth She placed a bowl (upon my soul) 'T was common mutton broth. With angry frown he drank it down With one disgusted swoop. At his request, without a rest Four times she brought him soup. Says Pat O'Dell, "Has this hotel Got ennything but soup? Oi want to know before I go- Don 't take me for a dupe." With lifted brow and solemn bow The waitress answered "Sure." Away she strode and Paris mode She served him dejeuner. That waitress, fat, brought back to Pat A feast with out a flaw. Most ev'ry dish that heart could wish Before him Patrick saw. The whole entree, and fricasse, And dressing, mayonnaise, Pate de foi gras, and cabbage slaw. Potatoes, lyonnaise. Two kinds of pie then met his eye- One a lemon custard. And one a peach, just in his reach. Which made Pat feel quite flustered. ^)^ ^^ ^^ ^^ yg ^>ge: Q^ ^>^ yg —56— 1^ a^ ::^ :^m ::^ ^^ ^^ ^ ^^ SHUT-IN 50NG5 The latest bakes of fancy cakes That could the palate tickle, A chafing dish of baked white fish; A jar of fancy pickle. Poor Patrick looked at those things cooked And fumbled with his knife. Said he, with pain, "No chance again Like this in all me loife. Can't eat a bit. Oi'll have to quit. Me stomach's got the "croup." Such fancy chuck Oi never sthruck And Oi am full uv soup. ' ' A Pathetic Illustration. A fly flew over from Flint And found a fine feast in a plate. He leaped in and fared without stint And the sticky stuff sealed up his fate. A man eating syrup and rye, Into which the little fly flew, Was hopelessly blind in one eye— Of the poor fly's plight never knew. Ere the poor little fly could take flight He went the way many flies go. The man had a good appetite; Of that fly to this day doesn't know. Moral: Look before you leap. —57— :^m :^m :^m :^m :^m I €3^ y^ y^ M^ 5HUT-IN SONGS -K Some People of the World. There are many useless people in this world, without a doubt, With whom the world, in general, could far bet- ter do without. Though this statement sounds uncharitable, still, it will be found That it's just as true as gospel, if you take a look around. There's the man who's always tired, and the man who's done his share; There's the man who's always lazy and the man who doesn't cai-e; There's the man who's always growling, and the man who is a shirk; There's the fellow who endeavors to keep other men from work. scoffer who's a howling try to straight- There' s the atheistic hypocrite— When he sees some other fellow en up a bit; Ever at his thoughtless braying like a jackass or a mule. Too ignorant to know that people know he is a fool. There's the man who's always grumbling and the man who will not smile; There's the man who's always frowning and the man who's tongue is vile; ^^ ^j^ ^8^ ^«^ ^^ yg yg Mg yg —58— ^1^ y^ 4g^ ^<^ £' SHUT-IN SONGS P There's the man who is conceited and the man with vulgar wit; . ^, There's the "wolf dressed in sheep's clothmg and the fraud who thinks he's "it." There are many other people in this world, there is no doubt, Whom humanity, in general, can't do at all without; . There's the faithful, earnest Christian with a purpose hiah, in view. With the hopeful spirit and with sweet content- ment, too. There's the man who's ever ready to give out encouragement. And the man who's ever busy in dispersing dis- content; There's the man who's brave and manly when life's troubles come to rile; There's the man who, in emergency, can do the thing worth while. There's the man who's always honest and the man who's always true; There's the man who's energetic and does all that he can do; There's the man who's optimistic and the man who does his best; There's the man who lends a helping hand to brothers when distressed. There's the man who holds in reverence the teachings of the Book; There's the man who holds no brother down by deed or word or look ; ? ^ ^ ^ ^^ c^ <^ ^igg: ^^ yg -59- j5?^ jSS*^ j5f*^ j^^ j5S^ ca^ Q^ y^ ^^ i *% r. SHUT-IN SONGS There's the m:in who never heeds at all the prat- tle of the fool; There's the man who tries to live according to the Golden Rule. But of all the world's great blessings I am sure that you will say. That the greatest is the man whose light of cheer shines on life's way. We all know it is contagious and we know be- yond a doubt That the man who scatters cheerfulness the world can't do without. Have a Purpose in Life. Like a ship without a rudder, like a derelict of doom. Drifting in the darkness, in the shadows and the gloom. Is the man without a purpose who, himself, will not believe That he possesses talents attainments useful to achieve. Some inherit intelligence, which is Heaven's greatest gift, Yet they never have a purpose and are hopeless- ly adrift :#1 (^ (s^ ^^ ^^ m I <^gg: ^agg «j^ yg ^^ € —60— i On the fatal sea of darkness wl)t>i(> llic dcrolicts of life , . , , AimU'ssly are drift injjc to'ard siii s linldeMi rooKn and strife. Let ainliition's cloak surround us, tluil an object hinli '" view And a purpose (irm to attain it shall keep us ever true. F]nvironinent doesn't matter, for e'en men ui prison may, If they have the ri^lit intentions, do some ^J^ood deed ev'ry day. In the cell-house and the workshop each could do some kind of KOod; Each could set a K'ood exam|)le (have a purj)ose) if he would, And by some thoughtful action or some simple word or deed, Help some burden-luden brothc'r m his trouble and his need. 'Cro.ss the j^loomy stretch of darkness where' de- serted ones still K>'opt^. Throuich (lie fo.>j:s and mists and shadows beams the beacon li^ht of hope. It f^uides the struf^^iflinp: derelicts from darkness into li^hl. It K'uides them to a purpose and tiiat purpose- to do ri^^ht. One can lay the iirm foundation of a hopeful cherished y^oal; Of worthy aspirations ere he fifoes out on parole. The re(iuirem(!nts will surely be much easier to fuHill If in life he has a purpose, an ambidon, and a will. c^^ ^ ^ *^" J -61- :;m :^^ :^^ ^^^ :^^ M^ yg y^ y^ SHUT-IN SONGS — • Just Fifteen Years Ago. Things have changed in the neighbarhood since you left the district, Bill. Just the ruins at the old mill pond is left of the old grist mill. The cow bells long have ceased to ring and the grass has ceased to grow On the meadows where the cows would graze just fifteen years ago. A factory of stone and brick, where the meadow was, now stands, Which keeps a-going night and day and hires five hundred hands. Electric lights long since replaced the coal oil lamp's dull glow That lit the homes in the neighborhood just fif- teen years ago. An electric line and a great steam road have palaces on wheels That whirl past the ruins at the old mill pond, and the automobiles Pass each day along the road where we drove the oxen, slow. Before you left the neighborhood just fifteen years ago. The district school at the road forks where the elder bushes grew, Where we went to school and learned to spell the blue-back speller through. ^«^ yg ^ ye: yg —62— :3^ 3^ ^3^ :3^ :s^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ SHUT-IN SONGS Has been torn dowai and a big brick school now makes a mighty show In the clearing where the old school stood just fifteen years ago. The girl you loved in your boyhood days— the girl with the locks of gold, The little girl with the azure eyes and the form of sylph-like mold, Is married now and her children to the big brick schoolhouse go— They now have sweethearts as we had just fif- teen years ago. The boy who used to wear the pants with the patches in the seat; Who walked five miles to the district school through rain and snow and sleet; Who split the wood and did the chores— whose folks were poor and low Is a Congressman— the boy we knew just fifteen years ago. The boy who lived in the big brick house, with clothes from the city store, With hands made soft by an idle life and the fine kid gloves he wore. One day went away to the city, where life was not so slow. And he broke the hearts that loved him best just fifteen years ago. $' The old homestead you knew so well has gone to ruin, Bill, The doors are gone and the hoot owls come and go from the house at will. « ^ €^ €^ c^ ^^ ^gg yg ^^ -63— ^s^ :s^ :s?«^ ^Sf*^ :s^ ^^ ^ yg yg yg —67— 3^ 3^ 3^ 3I<^ 3^ €«>g y^ €«^ M^ SHUT-IN SONGS Down the River of Life. There's an isle in the River of Life called Distress, And another isle bearing the name of Success. Souls bound for Eternity pass just within reach Of Distress and Success— quite near unto each. There's a craft called Weakness. 'Tis wholly unmanned, Rudderless, just drifting, without a guiding hand, And it drifts to the eddies, the rocks and the reefs Surrounding the shores of Distress, with its griefs. There is also another craft, called Self- Control; It keeps steadily on till it reaches its goal. It sails safely by all the rocks of Distress, And is anchored at last in the harbor Success. 1? €S^ ^J^ ^8fl^ ^IS^ ^8^ Cajg. ^^ (0^ €8^ —68- ^^ :S^ 3^ 3?»^ 3?e^ Mg ^^ ^8^ ^i^ SHUT-IN SONGS What You're Going to Be. I heard a song some years ago; the chorus reads this way: "It makes no difference what you were, but what you are today." No truer song was ever sung by songster, young or old; With tender words and music sweet a sermon, grand, is told. Some lesson every day we learn, as on our way we go, Each seeking for life' pleasures, but oft'times findino; woe. It makes no difference who we are, nor what our lot may be, As we sow, so shall we reap. To this you must agree. Do you linger at the bottom of life's hill? Then take this rule: "Don't hand some other fellow at the bottom ridicule" Because from the path of right you know he's gone astray. How near the summit of the hill are you, your- self, today? You may have a host of friends — be blessed with riches, too, An advantage o'er the lowly ones whose friends on earth are few. . ^ ^ ^ ^_ ^^ ^^ yg ^^^ yg -69— ^5?^ ^5^ ^5^ ^^ 3^ ^^ ^^ y^ M^ SHUT-IN SONGS Those who've had advantages, but have thrown them all away, Are no better than the friendless. It's what you are today! If you win out in life's battle you must get into the fray. And if way down at the bottom is where you are today. It's up to you to climb the hill. Here's a max- im, you'll agree: "Not what you were, nor what you are, but what you're going to be." Logical Verses. If you do some worthy action Through your energy and wit. It will not increase a fraction If you go and boast of it. The mule's hee-haw is long and loud, But bear this fact in mind. The danger to the gaping crowd If from his heels behind. The empty wagon on its way Will make a lot of noise; A deficient army in the fray The biggest bluff employs. The locomotive's sizzing steam Much power did contain, But, lost upon the air, doth seem Poor force to pull a train. ^J^ ^J^ ^Jg^ €^ yg yg ^j^ ^^ yg —70— If you have an accomplishment Of which you feel quite proud, Toot your horn to some extent, But not too long nor loud. The bass drum makes a deaf'ning sound; Its echoes last a minute. The noise is due, it will be found, To the fact there's nothing in it. The barking dog is fierce to hear. And is a vicious member; But a silent skunk, on drawing near. Can make him "hunt the timber." A roaring bull may roar away And make an awful racket. But he'd rather run, most any day. Than fight a yellow jacket. Some say a hen that lays an egg Does well to advertise it. To differ I will have to beg, I never would advise it. She toots her horn so loud it brings Upon the scene Aunt Dinah, And when she sets it is on things That look like stones or china. Dame Modesty is Virtue's most Admirably good ally; And usually men who boast Fail, equivocally. If you have an accomplishment Speak about it proudly; Toot your horn to some extent. But not too long, nor loudly. ^^^_ t^g ^^ —71- M^ ^jC ^8^ y^ SHUT-IN SONGS Xmas Eve in the Porcupine. I was in a western mining camp, not many years ago; 'Twas Christmas Eve — the atmosphere was dense with flying snow. The twinkling lights flashed gaily from each dance hall and saloon, And "tanglefoot" like water flowed — and hearts were filled with tune. I strolled into the Porcupine, the largest saloon there. A "grizzly" crowd stood at the bar to drown with drink its care. The miners and cow-punchers through drink had ceased to grieve; With faces flushed and glassy eyes they toasted Christmas Eve. Hark ! What is that? Above the hum of voices plain is heard The rythmic hoof-beats on the plain— a cow- man's pony spurred, And soon a jaded broncho and its rider fierce, drew near, And fearful oaths disturbed the peaceful flow of Christmas cheer. "Look out for Cayenne Pepper Bill," a grizzled cowman said. And on the faces in the room there passed a look of dread. ^ ^ ^ y^ yg yg ^^ ^»^ -72- 1^ >^^^J^. (^^ ^i^ ^^ ^^ SHUT-IN SONGS And thon a monster kick caved in the Porcu- pine's front door, And in strode Cayenne Pepper Bill with "bark- ing" forty-four. Upon the wall in letters large with lead he carved his name, That all might see in future days and fear his aim and fame. "Now," he snorted, "you kyotes, come to the bar and choose! For mine— I'll take a tumbler full of cayenne pepper booze!" Every man, save one, came up to drink a friend- ly glass. . (Refusing drinks m western camps are msults hard to pass.) With puckered brow the Terror gazed at the offending one And like a flash drew into line his oft' before used gun. "Come up, you tenderfoot galoot!" the fuming Terror said. "I'll fill your carcass full of holes and pump you full of lead." Every man in that saloon stood still with bated breath — For well 'twas known the tenderfoot was court- ing instant death. "Now, don't you get excited, said the tender- foot to Bill. "Just put away your skootin' iron and let your- self be still ^^ (^. ^ (^ ^^ ^ —IB- And I will spin a little yarn; 'twill be a true one, too. You shall then decide yourself if I must drink with you: "In a far-off eastern city, this night of peace and joy, In a cozy, little cottage, is a woman and a boy- Just an ordinary baby boy, a little more than three— And an ordinary woman — and they're waiting therefor me. "Last Christmas Eve the hearth was cold — the woman's face was pale, And loud above the wind's moan was heard the baby's wail; And I, a dissipated beast, had not the sense to see And know how dear the wife and child that waited there for me. "In the distant city tower clock the midnight chime had rung. And baby's empty stocking, near the cheerless hearthstone hung. Presented a pathetic sight that was pitiful to see — And sad, indeed, the woman's face who waited there for me. "Daylight dawned upon as fair and bright a Christmas morn As ever blessed the countless lives of worthless sinners born, And, soaked in booze, without a thought of Christmas cheer and joy, yi^ ^ ^ y^ ^g €^ ^^ y^ yg —74— 5HUT-1N SONGS I staggered to the cheerless home where waited wife and boy. "1 crossed the squalid threshold and the scene my vision met , ^^ v Is one, as long as I may live, I never shall tor- The baby sobbed beside the bed, kneeling as m And^mSr'the cheerless hearthstone hung the empty stocking there. "Oh, God! Each smothered sob was like a pain sent to destroy! , , x i j I never know before that day how much I loved that boy. , , , , „^ I clasped him in my arms and sobbed. He raised his eyes, so blue, *. u ,<- And said: 'Papa, did Santa Glaus forget about you, too?' "I swore that day I'd cut out booze, and with God's help I will, „, And if you'd lull a man.for that I guess you U have to kill. . , ,, i From that once cheerless hearth there glows a cozy, cheerful light, And Santa Glaus will not forget my little boy tonight." Without a word the Terror turned and paid the barman's score. ■, ^ t- a f^^ He holsLered up his forty-four and started for the door. ,, ^ . ,<- "Jes' reminds me uv th' squaw that hangs out in my shack. ,,„ A pair uv socks hang on the chair. Guess 1 11 be gettin' back." ^ ^^ ^^ ^^ t^ U^ t^. - —75- I ^^ y^ ^8^ caj^ SHUT-IN SONGS The Song I Love. O, sing again that dear old song that tells of brave heroes; The song that everybody loves, that everybody knows; The song about America, its sloping, fertile hills, Its villages and cities, and its forests, rocks and rills. The land of the brave and free, home of the kind and true— The song about our country and the red, white and blue. 0, sing again that dear old song that tells of other days. When heroes were victorious and won a nation's praise. It makes my heart beat faster, and a thrill of pride and joy Greets me when I hear that song I sang when I was a boy. 'Tis a song that will ne'er grow old— as earthly mortals do— The song about America and the red, white and blue. One verse, when I hear it, makes my eyes o'er- flow with tears; The next makes me feel as though I want to shout: "Three Cheers!" And before the song is ended I feel certain I am one €S^ ^^ ^S3^ ^^ eager Qjg ^ag yg ^agg —76- ^5^ 3^ :s^ 3?^ 3?^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ SHUT-IN SONGS That to that tune would march to war as other men have done, Who shed their blood for liberty, and won the victory, too. Because they loved their country and the red, white and blue. The Lion Cub and the Man. A lion cub desired to leave the old parental lair And roam afar to unknown lands and seek ad- venture there. The mother lion raised her voice in vigorous pro- test. Fears for his safety oft disturbed the mother lion's breast. "Alas!" quoth she, "tis better far for you to stay at home— For dangers lurk within the land where you de- sire to roam. Toward the rising sun, off there, there dwells a hostile clan Who are the lion's enemies — our dreaded foe — the man." "0, mother," quoth the lion cub, "more I'd like to know About this wicked, savage man, the lion's great- est foe." But not a word the mother told; instead, she held her peace. Thinking that his longiug for adventure there would cease. ^K ^^ ^^ ^^ €a^ ^»l£: ^i^ ^^ ^agg —77- 5^ 3^ s?«^ ^^ 3f«^ yg^ ^^ ^ yg SHUT-IN 50NG5 The cub inquired of every beast upon the spread- ing plain; But none had gone beyond the hills and ques- tiois wivi in vail. And so, one day he sallied forth the unknown world to scan- To see the things beyond the hills where dwelled the dreaded man. With dauntless courage on he went toward the rising sun. With hopeful thoughts within his mind of con- quests to be won. One day he passed a fertile vale through which a river ran. Upon its banks a huge ox grazed. Said he "This must be man!" Approaching nearer to the ox, with quaking heart and dread. And gazing on the massive form, "Are you a man?" he said. "No." said the ox, "I'm not a man— I slave to do man's will. He makes me labor on the soil it pleases him to tin." "Mart must indeed be great," thought he, "and fierce and strong and brave To make that great beast do his will— to toil and be his slave." And next he saw an elephant whose great ears were a fan. With swaying head and swinging trunk. Thought he: "This must be man!" With wond'ring glance at this huge frame he timidly approached. His question to the elephant, with bravest mien, he broached. C^ Q^ ^ajg ^^ ^a^ —78- ^S?^ ^S?^ ^3g^ ^g^ y^ y^ y^ SHUT-IN SONGS "No, I'm no man," trumpted the elephant loud and shrill, "I'm but the humble slave of man to do his wish and will." Then on he traveled till he came upon a great oak tree — (To one reared upon the plain a wondrous sight to see.) "Are you a man?" he asked the oak, as glancing from below. The great oak shook its monster boughs and groaned the ansver, "No." "Another oak as great as I once stood here by my side, Green and grand with strength and life, with spreading branches wide. But, alas, there came a man with woodman's axe one day, Who cut my brother oak tree down and carried him away. ' ' ^ And as the lion passed along a woodman's axe he heard. He saw a little runt at work and stopped to pass a word. "Can you tell me," the patronizing lion cub be- gan, "What kind of looking monster is the animal called man?" "I am a man," the woodman said, "why did you wish to know?" The lion cub looked his contempt that man should be his foe, And said, "You runt, with one small blow I'd knock away your breath, And ere your strength rould do me harm your fate would be sure death. ' ' yi^ ^1^ yii: y^ y^ ^ yg ^ yg -79- I ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ SHUT-IN SONGS With mirthless smile and easy grace, from awk- wardness quite free. The woodman sunk his shining axe into a fallen tree. "Now," to the cub, "just place your foot with- in this little split And hold it there a moment. Don't be afraid of it." Without suspicion on his mind the foolish cub complied, And placed his foot within the crack the axe held open wide. Then, like a flash, the woodman pulled from out the log the axe And watched the slowly dawning sense upon the cub of facts. Ye foolish, giddy lion cubs who've started forth to roam Away to unknown regions far away from ma and home To seek the dreaded boogie-man that few cubs ever saw, Whose cognomen in English talk is designated law, Learn ye this lesson right away; 'twill be well worth the pains: This world of ours is ruled by men with moral sense and brains. The actions of young lion cubs are watched by men of thought. Don't place your foot within a crack, perchance it may get caught. ^. ^4^ ^i^ ^^ ^^ -80— i 5HUT-1N SONGS Wen de New Year Cum. Wha's de mattah wid yo' man? Jes' smile! Yo' know yo' can! Wen de new year cum Don' look so glum— Lak yo' was under ban. Dere's t'ings dat yo' can do Dat'll be er he'p to you. or nineteen-six Will he'p yo' fix Yo' future up bran new. Ob co'se you's troubled, chile; Had ernuff yo' peace to rile, But let dat go An' let folks know Dat you's gwine to smile. Fergit dat stubborn mood An' let dem smiles obtrude, An' den dis year Won't seem so drear Ef yo' fergits to brood. Jes' say: "I wants dem joys Dat oneryness destroys!" An' de ol' Hoodoo Won't pester you Wid his drag-net decoys. De hope dat's in yo' breas' Is waitin' fer de tes'. W'en de new year cum Don't look so glum. Jes' start an' do yo' bes'. . ^ ^ ^ ^_ c ^ c^ ^^ yg ^d^ —81— 3^ 3?^ 3?«^ ^S?«^ ^Sf«^ ^^ ^)S^ ^i^ ^^ SHUT-IN SONGS Time Flics. It's hard for me to realize, As, sitting in my cell today, That passing time so quickly flies; That twenty years have passed away Since I, with dinner pail and books. Past pastures green and woodlands cool, And dancing rills and crystal brooks. Went on my way to District School. I wonder who would recognize In me — the convict, silent, grim— With solemn face and solemn eyes, The country schoolboy. Little Jim, Whose heart was pure, whose face was bright, And who on Fridays ('twas the rule) Recited: "Always Stand for Right" In that old-fashioned District School. In looking back to me it seems As though 'twas only yesterday When I, in childhood, cherished dreams Of glories for me in life's fray. But twenty years of golden time. On sacrificial altars burned, Were not all lost in pantomime, For life's best lessons I have learned. O, if we could but realize The value of a conscience trained To know that time so quickly flies. And when once lost is ne'er regained; To know stability's great worth, No matter what our lot may be, 'Twould smooth the road that leads through earth To all men's goal — Eternity. ^J^ ^^ ^^ €^ ^a^g yg calg cjgg ^a^ —82— ^nK ^^ Mg ^>^ No Place Like Chicago. Some talk of old Manhattan Isle As just the place to best beguile The fleeting days with joy the while And some think most of Fargo, But in all the noble lands of worth Upon this good old mother earth, From mountainside to wave-washed firth There's no place like Chicago. Old Coney Island's up-to-date; The social damsel finds it great Whose health is rather delicate To that resort with "ma" go; But where on earth can mankind see More wealth of fiower, shrub and tree? And where fresh breezes rouse one's glee Than in dear old Chicago. To see Chicago after dark Or stroll along through Lincoln Park, Or on a pleasure trip embark Upon the lake, at leisure. Is like a trip to fairy land And makes a fellow's soul expand With all its grace and beauty, grand. And all its joy and pleasure. The rich embark across the sea To fine resorts in Italy, And some fare forth to gay Paree— Bring with them home a cargo. But those who live in grandeur's thrall. With all their wealth, can't buy it all; And men whose incomes are but small Can find much in Chicago. . ^ ^ ^ ^_ €^^ cj^ yg ^^ yg —83— ^^ ^1^ ^^ ^^ SHUT-IN SONGS The Parting of the Ways. There must be no indecision at the parting of the ways. There are just two roads to travel— one brings loss, the other pays. In starting- on life's journey we must turn to left or right; We must either travel downward or ascend the sloping height. On the road that leads one downward sin's temp- tatii>ns never cease; On the road that leads one upward pilgrims know both joy and peace. If we but start I'ight for each one are blessed fu- ture days. There must be no indecision at the parting of the ways. Does the road on which you travel lead away to honor's height? Or does it lead you downward to Eternity's black night? If so, let today mark the time when you will right-about And leave the road that leads one down and take the upward route. At first it's easy traveling along the downward road; But as you turn each winding bend more heavy grows the load; And often on the way one meets the sorrow that dismays. There must be no indecision at the parting of the ways. \ ^i^ ^^ ^^ ^n^ ^^ — S4— ^^ ^^ ^ ^^ SHUT-IN SONGS The Printer's View. I've got a word or two to say About baseball. It's just this way: You guys who read the scores each day Laud pitchers, catchers, sprinters; You read about a clever "bunt ' And slap your knee and smile and grunt, But little credit for their stunt Do you give to the printers. Perhaps you've heard some printer tell How hard it is to set nonpareil; But if you haven't -Say! It's—, well There's no use to discuss it. Suffice to say the baseball score Uses figures, caps, sorts galore, And makes the printer feel so sore He's always sure to "cuss" it. You cop the slang from far and wide; You hoot the team that's "ossified;" You shout and howl: Slide, Kelley, Slide, And read all baseball fables; But gosh, you never give a thought To that with which such skill is fraught. The real hero is placed at naught— 'The man who sets the tables. I write this little lay, just so That you may think, and thinking, know Just who should be the real hero,— Not they who wear the labels; But he who writes the copy well, Who knows enough to rightly spell, And he who sets the nonpareil And "wrastles" with the tables. cjjg: oae: yg yg ^aUg —85- shut-in songs Governor J. Frank Hanly. I love to read of noble deeds Of men who toil for mankind's needs; Who on life's way are sowing seeds Of grand and noble action; Whose influence is all for good, For high ideals and true manhood; Whose worthy deeds are understood Best by the moral faction. I love to read that in our State We have a man, both grand and great, Whose efforts ever advocate The things that are most manly; Whose name is known throughout the land Because of his bold, moral stand. No name can more respect command Than that of J. Frank Hanly. I love to read of men who place The proper name to all things base; Who tell the devil to his face That he is but a devil; Of men who cater not to caste, Nor fear that some will stand aghast Who break the laws and should be classed On the law breakers' level. I love to read of battles won, Where Right prevails, with Wrong undone; Where frays unequally begun Are terminating grandly. ^^ ^^ ^^ ^0^ ^4^ ^a^ ^i^ ^8^ ^^ —86— _ 3^ S^ 5l«^ 5^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 5HUT-IN 50NG5 And on the scrolls of honored fame To read the letters that proclaim The right to honor of the name Of Governor J. Frank Hanly. On earth there's no man greater than The hopeful, earnest, fearless man Who, in the crossing of life's span, Puts forth his best endeavor; And when at last the church bells toll A knell to his departed soul. And he passes on to life's great goal. His deeds Hve on forever. The Key to Joy is Toil. A king who sat upon a gilded throne, Surrounded by such joys as wealth can buy And things of beauty such as please the eye. Lacked that which unto kings is most unknown And which a kingdom's wealth cannot supply: Contentment, peace and joy to be his own; All growing in life's fields— by labor sown— Which never fails men's souls to satisfy. Said he: "I'll search my kingdom o'er and o'er That I may find and use the key to joy." And passing homes where dwelt the toiling poor He heard the joyous song notes of a boy Who labored in a field and tilled the soil. "Ah!" said the king, "the key to joy is toil." ^8^ ^i^ yg ^8^ ^^ —87- 3^ ^5^ 3^ 3^ 3^ y^ M^ y^ €«^ e 5HUT-IN 50NG5 Where the Wabash River Flows. Late in the night when all are calmly sleeping, And the earth is veiled with darkness and with gloam, With memory lonely vigil I am keeping; In fancy I am once again at home. With sweetheart Rose along the lane I'm strolling Toward the village church that memory knows; Again I hear the quaint old church bell tolling In the valley where the Wabash River flows. Chorus:— The scene is the same as of old, When long ago Rose and I strolled On a bright summer day Where the lane winds away To the daisy clad meadows and wold. An oriole smgs to his mate In the tree by the old garden gate, Where often at night, 'Neath the stars and moonlight, With heart filled with love I would wait. The sunbeams tint the landscape fair with glory And brings an earthly paradise to view. I whisper in her ear the old, old story And promise her that I'll be ever true. ^J^ ««^ ^^ ^^ ^ ^a^ ^8^ ^8^ y^ yg -^8- jS?^ jS^ jS?*^ j5?*^ j5?^ g^ M^ yg g^ SHUT-IN 50NG5 "There's none on earth, sweetheart, I hold above you," She answered me, with voice so low and sweet. "I'll be your wife, will honor, trust and love you; Our lives with happiness will be complete. ' ' The long eternal sleep my Rose is sleeping In that village churchyard, far away. O'er her grave an ivy vine is creeping, And clings around the marble tombstone gray. In passing years my heart is ever yearning For the sweetheart of my youth— my little Rose; And oft' at night my memory is turning To the valley where the Wabash River flows. An Old Sweetheart of Mine. When the June-time roses blossom and exude their sweet perfume They recall to view the mem'ries of old sweet- hearts with their bloom; Seems as though the boyhood ideals that a fel- ler used to know Once again are smiling at him, as they did long, long ago. ^^ ^ ^^ ^^ ^^ %^ ^^ ^^ ^^ -89- 5?^ 3^ ^5*^ 3(f^ 3S^ ^^ ^^ ^ ^^ SHUT-IN SONGS I used to have a sweetheart when I was a little boy And the revei'ence of memory fleeting time can- not destroy. When I smell the breath of roses, in the June- time, superfine. It recalls again the mem'ry of that old sweet- heart of mine. I know she used to love me for she often told me so As we sat beneath the arbor where the honey- suckles grow. I loved her with devotion and a tenderness di- vine, And each day my love grew greater for that old sweetheart of mine. To my memory the image of her gentle features brings Even through the years' quick passage a tender- ness that clings. And the songs she sang, old-fashioned, waken feelings most divine. Bringing to my heart a longing for that old sweetheai't of mine. But I'll see no more the image of the one who loved me best. In a far-off Southern churchyard many years she's been at rest. I know there's not another one in all the world, so fine, That I'll love as I did mother— that old sweet- heart of mine. iTi ^s^ ^8^ ^^ ^^ ^a>e: ^«?e: ^i^ ^g yg —90— 3^ 3^ 3^ :S^ 3^ yg ^^ yg ^»^ % 5HUT-IN SONGS =•: Think of the Rights of Others. Stand up for your rights! That will be right! But think of the rights of others. In asserting your own don't do things that might Infringe on the rights of your brothers. You've a right to do with your own as you will, As long as it brings to your neighbors no ill; But you have no rights (by God's laws) until You've thought of the rights of others. Stand up for your rights! 'Tis manly and brave! But think of the rights of others. You're of age and can do as you please, but behave In a way that won't hurt your brothers. Your life is your own. God gave it to you To treasure or ruin— be false or be true. 'Tis yours to do with as you wish to do. But think of the rights of others, Adrift down the River of Life we may go. Heedless of rights of others; But sad is our lot if we bring only woe To sadden the hearts of our brothers. Remember, man's goal in this life is not "gain. Happiness marks the success we attain. The Golden Rule makes our duty quite plain: Think of the rights of others. Qi^ Cd^ ^i^ ^i^ ^a^ —91— :;m :^m :^m :^m :^m g^ ^a^ ca^ g^ ^^ SHUT-IN SONGS Life is What You Make it. The bright sunbeams were gleaming o'er the hills of Tennessee On the morning that 1 left my dear old home; A mocking bird was singing in a blooming apple tree A song to take in memory where I'd roam. My dear old mother gazed into my eyes and said good-bye And gently placed her hand upon my head. Her voice shook with emotion and a tear gleam- ed in her eye As these truthful words to me she softly said: Chorus:— This life is what you make it, after all. It's up to you to either rise or fall. Your goal is care or joy, Just as you make it, boy; Your future may be either great or small. There's lots of room for pictures in Fame's hall, And on the way temptations loudly call, But remember, as you go, That your lot is joy or woe, And life is what you make it, after all. My mem'ry ever treasures e'en the mocking bird's sweet song In the flower-scented valley far away. ^»j^ ^rf^ €aS^ €8^ ^^ ^»^ ^^ ^^ c^ —92- :!^ :^^ :^^ :^m^^^ yg Mg ^^ ^8^ SHUT-IN 50NG5 .^ For a glimpse of the old homestead, when my heart is sad, I long. As it was before my childhood passed away. But the homestead is in ruins now and weeds are growing wild. And the dearest friend I had on earth is dead. No lands and houses did she leave on earth here for her child. But she left a treasure when these words she said:— Cho. The Blue Back Spelling Book. New-fangled modes are followed now in all the village schools; It seems as though the pedagogues have shied at old-time rules That used to mark the old school days before the world forsook The old-time dictionary and the blue back spell- ing book. In fancy's vale I see today a school house as it stood At the road forks on the hill in the old home neighborhood. A row of boys and girls stood there and, with expectant look. Spelled the words the teacher gave from the blue back spelling book. i^ Cj^ €^ Ci^ ^^. c^g ^g ^^ '^?^ *n4 -93- 3^ 3^ 3^ :s^ 3^ y^ y^ y^ y^ SHUT-IN SONG5 Interest plainly showed itself through the en- tire school — From the bright-eyed, sweet girl scholar to the cross-eyed village fool— And those who knew their lessons best no de- feat would brook, And spelled the hardest words from out the blue back spelling book. Proud indeed was the boy or girl who couldn't be spelled down — The place at the head of the class was one of fair renown. Cause had he or she to wear the proud, triumph- ant look Who'd learned to spell the hard words in the blue back spelling book. Perhaps the teachers in those days were old and out of date Compared with recent pedagogues who teach the schools of late, But oh, I love the old school house — each corner and each nook. I love each memory clinging 'round the blue back spelling book. The days of the blue backed speller, alas, are past and gone. Only recalled with pleasant thoughts as time is passing on. The ceaseless round of steady change a reform undertook, But for life I'll be loyal to the blue back spel- ling book. ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ yg ^1^ ^i^ ^i^ ^^ —94— 5 HUT-IN SONGS 0, What Will the Harvest Be? This world is a field to abundantly yield The harvest that we are to reap, And in it will grow whatever we sow, Whether strewn broadcast or sown deep. Lifetime is the Spring. Do we toil for the King, Who rules over all that we see? When Springtime is past, in the reaping at last, O, what will the harvest be? If we scatter the seeds of thistles and weeds. Then surely we'll not gather grain. If we plant only woe then surely we know Our harvest will be one of pain. The planter of hope has unlimited scope— For the field is as broad as the sea— And the tools are at hand, and fertile the land. 0, what will the harvest be? 0, brother, make haste, lest your plot lie in waste. Where weeds grow there's so much to do. Your field is as fair as fields anywhere. And it is still Springtime for you. The Spring passes on— make haste ere it's gone. While the sun shines bright on the lea: But if you will wait until it's too late, O, what will the harvest be? . ^»^ M^ ^»^ ^J^ faay <^ Qjg: ^g - -95— 3^ 3^ 3^ 3^ 3^ (^ ^^ g^ y^ SHUT-IN SONGS * In the Shade of the Old Cala- (Parody on "In the Shade of the Old Apple Tree.") The Fourth dawned clear, the sun rose in its glory And shed its beams of splendor o'er the way, When Billy said to Anna, low and tender, "Come with me and we'll celebrate the day. " The brass bands played the lovers' hearts to soften In Fontaine Ferry Park in Louisville, Where "high-balls" can be had, you know, quite often, And that, alas, just suited Escort Bill. Chorus:— She waited till late in the night. Till the stars were all glimmering bright. And she wondered where Bill Could be lingering still. In her heart was an unspoken fright. Soon the moon, with its sombre face, told That the night of the Fourth had grown old, And her worry increased. But her vigilance ceased When the gray in the East turned to gold. y^ ^ ^ y^ %^ ^ ^agg ^ ^^ -96- 5HUT-1N SONGS As the day advanced 'twas warmer growing, And Escort Bill went often for his cheer. His appearance soon made quite a showing- He left his sweetheart often for his beer. At last he failed to come, but still she waited Until the afternoon had changed to gloam; The homeward trip she often contemplated, But she lacked the fare to pay her way back home. Unescorted home she came at morning Upon a car that came from Louisville, No joyful look her handsome face adorning. And people, seeing, wondered where was BilL In the meantime Bill was telephonmg— For fifteen minutes, full, he held the line. The message o'er the wire that he was groaning Was: "Come to Louisville and pay my fine!" While the Bread Was Rising. "Oh, mamma," cried Willie, in great affright, "Come quick, there's a mouse in the dough! I dared not to touch it for fear 'twould bite, But 1 threw the old cat in, though!" * . ^ ^ ^ ^ c^^ ^8g£r ^^ Mg Mg —97- r :5^ 3^ 3^ :3^ 3^ I 'ca^ ^8^ y^ y^ 5HUT-IN 50NG5 * Rolling Stones. It's a mighty fine thing just to travel And see the great sights by the way, To see Nature's great mysteries um-avel As you view them from day to day; But an epigram, well worth recalling, A thinking man's vision will cross: Tho' the shades of life's night be fast falling, ' 'A rolling stone gathers no moss. ' ' It's a mighty fine thing to have pleasures As you travel life's roadway along. Travelers often find wisdom's treasures And life seems to pass like a song. But the song the voice sings oft' so sweetly Will grow stale and the voice grow hoarse- For the rolling stone rolls indiscreetly. And has always a sure downward course. Did you ever make this observation: That those who have stayed right at home Are loved best by friends and relations Than those who have ventured to roam? When we balance up life's gain and loss. The knowledge will come with full force, That rolling stones gather no moss, And have always a sure downward course. What epoch in life so dear as childhood, 'Mid the scenes all around the old home? Where else just as green is the wildwood. Where in happy days we used to roam? ^ ^a^ y^ ^ -98- SHUT-IN 50NG5 Tho' our travels in life may be endless, We will find less gold than dross, If old age at last finds us friendless. "A rolling stone gathers no moss." It's Never Too Late to Mend. Settin' in a railroad carriage as the train speeds thro' the night, With the sheriff settin' near you an' the hand- cuffs put on tight, Makes a feller feel down-hearted, jes' as tho' he'd reached the end Of the road he's follered down'ard, and it's most too late to mend. As he gazes thro' the winder at the landscape fiickin' past. In his mind kaleidoscopic views of events hurry past. He recalls his every action of a mean, ignoble trend— An' it makes a feller feel as tho' it's most too late to mend. ^^. ^^ ^^ - .^. -99— 3^ ^S^ ^5?«^ 3?e^ ^5?«^ yg y^ ^8^ ^^ SHUT-IN 50NG5 When at last the ride is ended and the prison looms in sight, With its high stone wall an' txirrets, gloomy lookin' in the night, A feller feels like wrong-doin' pays a dam poor dividend. An' it makes a feller feel as tho' it's most too late to mend. But say! jes' let me tell you, when a feller feels that way It's because his flaggin' energies need boostin' up, I say. When he has a task to complete in the work- shop I'll contend That he'll soon begin a-thinkin' that its not too late to mend. When a feller's keepin' busy he is always in a mood To become so optimistic that he soon forgets to brood. When a feller quits his broodin' he'll begin to comprehend That it's best to "cut out" meanness; that it's not too late to mend. With an access to the best books that a library can hold A feller gets a habit that will bring more joy than gold. It will help him up the incline that he's trying to ascend. It causes him to realize he's got a chance to mend. ^iS^ (^ ^^ ^^ ^s: gj^ ^^g ^^ yg —100— 3^ 3«»^ 3^ ^S^ 3^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ SHUT-IN 50NG5 =• When a feller travels back'ards o'er the road he'd come along, He can point out every cross-road where his foot-steps led him wrong. If he's got the kind of manhood that is worthy to defend, He'll brace up and, with dignity, will say, "Fm going to mend." If he's had but poor advantages his life has just begun And he'll buckle down in earnest that the future may be won. An' he'll learn that golden lesson : That the law is his good friend, An' is willin', too, to help him help himself be- gin to mend. When a feller hears our Chaplain as he tells him in his pew Of things that make life good to live — life's lessons, grand and true, Good resolutions fill his heart, and with hopes they blend. O, God! we humbly thank Thee that it's not too late to mend. When the sun comes peeping through And we are peeping out 'Tis then our "time" is hard to "do." Of this there is no doubt. ^ y^ ^^ ^^ ^^ (^ ^^. i^. (^. ^^ -101— ^s^ 7^ :^^ im 7m ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ SHUT-IN SONGS Ode to Osgood. Have you ever heard of Osgood? Just a little town, you know, Nestling where the verdant wildwood Skirts the old-time B. & O., Near the banks of the Laughery, That the bards have sung about In language sweet and flowery That describe its crystal route. It is Indiana's flower, Nestling in a vale as fair As a green Arcadian bower, With no landscape to compare. There the breezes, soft, are bringing From the fields of clover, near. Sweet perfumes, and birds are singing Songs of joy — so good to hear. 'Tis remembered well for ever By the travelers that way; Noted for its maidens clever, And as fair as flow'rs in May. Honest men— good, true and whole-souled. And matrons, blessed sisterhood. Make paradise of each household In the village of Osgood. Back, tonight, memory is bringing The scene in the church, one day, Where I listened to the singing. Rendered ' 'in the good old way. ' ' ^ ^ ^!^ ^^ yg^ ^Ig ^igg yg ^g —102— j5?*3 j5^ jS^ j5?^ j5?*^ g^ y^ M^ y^ ^ SHUT-IN 50NG5 And no tunes 'neath grandest steeple, With a pipe organ and choir, Could more touch the hearts of people. Nor could better thoughts inspire. The preacher rose and told a story — Just a story from real life — With its vein of joy and glory And its vein of woe and strife, Of a man who'd crossed the river To Eternity's far shore To dwell with the Blessing Giver Peacefully forevermore. "0, my friends, there's peace in living In the way that we should live; There is joy brought by the giving To the Lord all we can give! Won't you join yourself to Jesus In the army of the right? Just remember that he sees us And will help us win the fight." Thus he pleaded for the Master In a voice which, deep and low. Made each heart, I know, beat faster, Caused each eye to overflow. On the faces rapt expressions- Lofty thoughts of good and might- Told life's stamp leaves its impressions Of the wrong and of the right. When at last the service ended And the meeting closed with prayer. As the people homeward wended, Happy laughter filled the air. y^ €S^ y^ €sg?^ ^jgg ^^ ^^ yg Cj^ —103— ^s^ 3^ :s?e3 ^^ :s?«^ yg y^ €iS^ i SHUT-IN SONGS The story that time has withstood: Our country's love of common good, And Christian deeds of brotherhood, Aloof from selfish glory. John Rockefeller, bless his soul, Sympathized enough to dole A hundred thousand as his toll For their alleviation; And though he heads a hated trust, Is often branded as unjust, His action, should it be discussed. Can bring but commendation. The old and young, the rich and poor, In sympathy for souls heartsore. Gave liberally from their store To meet this great disaster; And 0, my brothers, these deeds show That seeds of love cease not to grow In hearts of men, sown long ago By this life's Great Forecaster. He Made a Pi. The make-up man he made a pi. 'Twas neither apple, squash nor peach. The pi he made caused him to try And quickly get it out of reach. It did not help his appetite. Nor in his stomach find a place. The pi he made he did not bite. But put it back into the case. y^ ^ y^ <^ . €J^ ^g ^ ^g (^ -107— ^s^ ^s^ 5^ :s?«^ 3j»^ ^^ (0^ ^^ ^)i^ i 5HUT-IN 50NG5 Der English Langvitch. English conversation mages fun mit de Dutch, explaining dey say ve can't righdt dalk so much; Aber Dutch beats English each day of der veek Ven it gomes recht gonversationings to speak. Und in dis langvitch many lies vas been told, Vitch makes me mit smiling shake like mit cold. Vhile strolling von efening a crowd of boys by, Von of dem said dat he saw a house fly. Von heard a tree hollow and saw a tree bark, Und he saw der moonlight a cigar in der dark; Von saw a cat bird und likevise a horse fly; Von saw der sun sink und he saw some soap lye. Von saw a bell boy und a girl ring der towel, Und he saw a base hit vat he said vas a fowl; ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ c^ Q^ «^ gig ^»^ -108- ^ yg yg yg .if*> SHUT-IN SONGS — • And forth into the world he went, imbued with good intent, To make amends for past mistakes in hopeless living spent. The clear eyed stalwart stranger that ap- proached the old home-place. With resolution in his eye and hope writ on his face Was the self-same straggler that rode away one night When the moon was hid behind a cloud and the stars were hid from sight. Joyously they greeted him round the fireside circle there And grateful hearts gave thanks to God as they kneeled in family prayer. And the darkness cloaked the earth and the moon rose o'er the hill, Hearts once sad once more were glad for the safe return of Bill. A Freak in Physiognomy. Did you ever see a "gazabo" Whose head was like a tomato- Covered with hide And "sloppy" inside — With bumps on it like a potato. ^0S^ ^^ ^^ ^^ t^ i^. t^. (^ (^ -120- 3?«^ 3?«^ 3P^ 3*e^ 3^ ^>^ ^«?^ M^ y^ SHUT-IN 50NG5 He is Risen! On this lovely Easter morning, With the buddin,^ life adorning Every hill and every valley with the most beau- tiful array, Is there one on earth to doubt it Who has ever heard about it? "Christ is risen," and before us He has gone to point the way. Never will grow old the story Of the suffering and glory Of the consecrated Savior, born in Bethlehem, of old. To the world the news is broken In every language spoken, "Christ is risen!" 0, rejoice ye! Let the story oft be told. O, is it, then, surprising That the sun, when it is rising, Never fails to warm and gladden hearts of men, within its scope? Hills and meadows, with their blooming. All the earth in Spring perfuming. Brings the message: "He is risen!" and awakens new born hope. ^^ ^^ ^^ ^1^ yg ^^ CaJg ^8^ ^g —121— ^J^ y^ y?^ ^8^ Life's Little Tilings. A wild bird's song is a little thing- Lost in the deeps of a frowning sky— Yet, as it falls on the ear, 'twill bring Melody's joys — and we pass it by. But earth's green seems of a brighter hue As we hear the notes of the wild bird's song, And the frowning sky has a tint of blue, And Ufe seems sweet as we pass along. A mother's love is a little thing- Alas, too soon forgot; but true, Whatever befall, her love will chng To the wayward child this whole life through. And it typifies to humankind The mother's patience, calm and sweet, To bear with hope and trust divine The willful wrongs her love may meet. A passing smile is a little thing — Lost in a world of toil and care — But to suuls with gloom oppressed 'twill bring A balm that will often soothe despair. And lives wearied with sorrow the while Will happier be in the afterglow Of each warm and kindly passing smile That lightens a brother's burden of woe. A kindly word is a little thing— A breath that goes and a sound that dies— But it cheers as the songs the wild birds sing, And to azure blue changes frowning skies. ^^ €«^ €SJ!^ ^g^ ^gg: ^^ ^^ yg Mg —122— ' ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ SHUT-IN SONGS And hearts that speak it the joy may know That is felt by the heart that has heard, And hearts that are sad forget their woe Through the power of a kindly word. Just Tell Them I'll Be Here. (Parody on "Tell Mother I'll Be There.") An old friend took the convict's hand, a tear shone in his eye As he bade his old playmate a last and sad good- bye. "Perhaps some message you would like to send to loved ones dear." The convict said: "Just tell them I'll be here." Chorus: "If you should chance to roam back to my dear old home, Just take this message to my mother dear. Just tell her I'll be here at least another year. 0, tell my darling mother I'll be here." When he first came to prison the day I well re- call. He little dreamed 'twould be his luck to have to do it all. A child of fate he's traveling along a roadway drear. And indefinitely he'll be here. — Cho. s? *i**i. ^ ^ y^ I yg yg yg yg ^^ —123— ::^ a^ :^^ :!^ im ^jgg y^ y^ y^ SHUT-IN SONGS Summertime Ruminations. The meadow lark sings a tune On the mossy banks of the clear lagoon, And the cardmal and loud blue jay Have raised their broods and gone away To the shady nooks in the forest's gloom, Where the air is full of sweet perfume. They'll build their new nests near some pool That's crystal-like and fresh and cool, Where round the banks the daisies grow And whisp'ring breezes come and go. The squirrel gambols o'er the hills Where beech trees shade trickling rills And the june-bugs and the bumblebees Drone sweet tunes to the chickadees. The woodchuck and the chipmunk play In the wooded depths where the raccoons stay, And the 'possum, with expectant glee. Keeps an eye on the 'simmon tree. The whole landscape is clothed in green, And though by us it is not seen. We know the flowers, fair and bright. Are blooming by the scents at night That comes with the breeze into our cells, Bringing us those longing spells. ^jg^ ^«^ €a^ ^^ Q^ yg cagg €aag: yg -124- ^S^ 5?^ ^S^ ^S^ 3P^ ^»^ ^>^ ^^ yg SHUT-IN SONGS Beyond this gloomy prison wall- Beyond these turrets, grim and tall — The fertile, sloping harvest fields With bountiful and paying yields Of ripening grain are all aglow In the bright sunlight that makes them grow And sweet tunes from the reapers throats In joyous, happy cadence floats Across the fields to the distant hills Whore plaintive songs of whippoorwills Sound in joyful, happy strains The sweetest of all sweet refrains. The cell-house rings with the sparrows' song, The song we've heard all summer long. These long dog days, so dull and hot, Are days of toil and disturb him not. From early morn to dusky eve He lets us know that he does not grieve By his joyful song that fills the air And sweeps away his thoughts of care. A lesson from this little bird, Whose joyful tunes we all have heard. That gathers joy from the dull turmoil And the routine of its daily toil, 'Tis well if some of us could learn. Who for pleasure fain would spurn The tasks that border duty's ways During these warm summer days. Slow, but sure, the days pass on; Soon the summer will be gone. And the autumn days, bleak and drear. With frosty, cold nights will be here. Through the prisoner's telescope, Plain is seen the Star of Hope. It gleams far off across Time's space. And, drawing near, we count each pace. !? M^ ^j^ ^8^ M§: ^agg Q^ ^i^ ^^ —125— 5^ 5^ 3^ -S^ 3^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ The days we're counting, one by one, Will turn to years, and when they're "done" 'Twill seem as though the time that's past On swiftest wings has fleeted fast, With naught to break the monotone Save the heartaches that we know alone. Just let us try and realize The blessings that we fain should prize, That come direct from the God of love. Who reigns supreme o'er the hosts above. And prize the blessings we receive And with stout hearts forget to grieve. Long ago, in a distant land, Where carnage reigned on every hand. And the world was full of selfish men, Who scoffed at law and lived in sin. Uncertain in beliefs and creed, Uncertain what decrees to heed, In a far-off corner of the earth A child was born, of lowly birth. To teach the world the way to live- In charity to take and give. He walked the Sea of Galilee; He touched the blind and made them see; He cured the sick and healed the lame And blessed believers in His name. He took away the lepers dread And from the grave he raised the dead. ^^ ^ ^^ ^ ^^ —126— :^ :!^ :^^ :^^ :^^ ^)^ Mg ^ ^^ SHUT-IN SONGS In Jerusalem and Bethlehem He saved the souls that heeded Him, And brought a joy to men on earth Of true and everlasting worth. He preached to throngs on Jordan's banks, Teaching them to give God thanks. And to live the life that brings true peace. And brings rewards when life shall cease. By a kiss he was betrayed To the ones for whom He'd prayed. He bore the cross on which died Up the rock-strewn, steep hillside Where Calvary's broad landscape rolls, And died in pain to save men's souls. Hundreds of years have passed away. But Jesus of Nazareth lives today In the hearts of men o'er the universe (Outside the ban of idolatry's curse) Wherever the dazzling sunlight fills The dimples in the vales and hills, And wherever civilization's worth Is unknown upon this mundane earth. The mode of life that Jesus planned Adown the length of time has spanned. The world has been revolutionized. And hearts of men are humanized. ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^8lg ^^ %^ yg -127— ^5?^ 3?e^ 3^ 3^ 3^ y^ €j^ y^ ^^ We who've fell from grace and dwell Within a gloomy prison cell, Should stop to think and realize That convicts are the ones to prize The good to mankind Jesus brought When in the hearts of men he wrought The change from hate and sin to love — With hopes of eternal life above. When our lot seems hard to bear, And we'd bewail our share of care, If we're to ever be worth while, Lets not frown, but try and smile. Let us think, and let us prize The blessings we should realize. Tis well for us if we should note The little verse some poet wrote: ' 'No longer forward nor behind I look in dread or fear. But grateful take the good I find, "The best of now and here." Optimistic Philosophy. It's a mighty good thing if you'll be optimistic When everything seems to go wrong. It makes poor complexion to be pessimistic As life's disappointments come along. An inmate, who's waiting his time's termination. Said, displaying philosopher's knack, "When you don't go no place there's one con- solation, You don't never have to come back." (^ ^3^ ^^ ^^ yg ^a^ ^i^ yg yg —128- ^^ ^^ ^s^ s^ 3^ ^?^ ^^ ^ ^^ SHUT-IN 50NG5 Be a Man! Be a man! Meet your troubles fair and square. Drop that look of sore despair, And be a man! If the sun don't chance to shine, It won't bring it out to whine. So, brace up and show the sign That you're a man. Be a man! There will come a brighter day When the clouds will drift away— If you're a man. With a heart both pure and true, Plan the nobler things to do. And rewards will come to you — If you're a man. Be a man! One who can withstand the wave Of temptation, and be brave — A manly man. When life's troubles come to rile, Meet them as a man and smile. Prove yourself to be worth while. Be a man! cagg <^ ca^ -^a^ (^ -129- 3^ 3^ 3^ :3^ ^3?^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 5HUT-IN SONGS Some Freaks of Nature. I have seen some freaks of nature in my travel- ings around That the famous P. T. Barnum would have cap- tured, had he found, From the Government official to the bug-house lunatic, From the follower of Dowie to the Roman Cath- olic, From the African gorilla to the circus chimpan- zee. From the real Missouri donkey to the beast of Tennessee, But we have some freaks of nature in this Ref. that I can name That could make the whole caboodle go and soak their heads in shame. I have seen a drove of cattle on the plains in full stampede That were raising clouds of bitter dust to choke them in their speed. And I caught the glint of thoughtlessness as they were passing by That was showing from each critter's excited thoughtless eye. Well, we've got some timber animals of anti- quated style Who, for looking simply thoughtless have the cattle skinned a mile. ^ ^ ^ M^ yg yg ^agg yg yg -130— ^S^ ^5«»^ 31*^ 3^ 3f^ Mg Mg ^^ ^g^ SHUT-IN SONGS =• == When the reason is dissected you can see the good excuse: "What's the use of thinkin'? 'cause there ain't a bit o' use." "What's the use of thinkin' when there's noth- in' to be thought? What's the use o' worryin' because a feller's caught? What's the use o' grievin' for the freedom o' the street? What's the use o' growlin'? Don't you get enough to eat? What's the use o' cussin' 'cause the Board don't let you out? There's something that is worse than that for folks to grieve about, And that is bein' bothered ev'ry day by doin' work. They oughter leave a feller 'lone an' let 'im be er shirk!" Enormous Tasks. As large a job of surgery as any man could wish, No matter how ambitious, would be in Lansing Mich. As large a job of moving of v hich I've heard or know Is Wheeling West Virginia. They say that it is so. ^^ ^^ ^a^ ^^ ^)^ ^)gg: yg yg ^jgg -131- 3?«^ 3«!^ 3^ 3^ 3^ y^ y^ ^>^ ^^ i SHUT-IN 50NG5 * Resembled, After All. He went into an artist's studio Where the elite for fancy pictures go, And he ordered in a rush A swell picture. He was flush. A rich relative had left this world of woe. When he came into possession of the cash He ascended way above the common trash And assumed the fancy airs Of the country's millionaires. He created a sensation— cut a dash. When the picture had been finished, to a touch. He decided that he didn't want it much, And he made an awful roar— That was heard a mile or more. He said his coin would never pay for such. He said that not a soul could tell 'twas he; That it was poorly painted, he could see; He said he'd soon leave home And would have it done in Rome — Have it done in just the way that it should be. When he left he was in an awful huff. And the names he called the artist were enough; But the artist wore a smile As he listened all the while. Said he: "My friend, I think I'll call your bluff." ^OfZ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ yg ^>^ yg yg -132— ^J^ ^»^ M^ y^ SHUT-IN 50NG5 So he retouched the picture, with quick stroke, And made the portrait seem a funny joke That would bring forth laughter's tears, For he gave him jackass ears And he placed it where it could be seen by folk. Then he, whose likeness it meant to impart Felt a flutter in the regions of the heart, And he sought the studio Just as fast as he could go; But the picture's price had risen with a start. One could tell just who it was without the name, And soon it brought to him much local fame. And although the price was high He was willing quite to buy, And he bought it from the artist just the same. He Wanted to See the Guy. High up on the beach a huge anchor lay. Unused for many a year. Pat Rooney stood round and watched it each day. For a week he was always quite near. "Why are you here?" asked a cop, passing by, "Now, what do you want, you Mick?" Says Pat: "Shure, Oi'm waitin' to look at th' guy Thot's able to handle thish pick." ^8^ €s^ ^ ^ yg yg yg —135— ^8^ y?^ €8^ ^J^ 5HUT-IN SONGS My Old Arkansas Home. In a flower-scented valley where the old Red River flows And the cotton fields in bloom are won- drous fair Is the humble little homestead that my child- hood mem'ry knows, High ideals of life were fostered there. The sunbeams drank the dewdrops as they glistened on the ferns On the morning that I left, the world to roam. And though I've wandered far away my heart in sadness yearns For the scenes around my old Arkansas home. Chorus: The morning glories there are all in bloom, The atmosphere is filled with sweet perfume, And a gurgling, dancing rill Sings a song beneath the hill. As it winds through the shady forest gloom. I see the lane where oft' I used to roam With sweetheart Mary in the evening's gloam And the golden sunlight glows On the sweet shrub and rose. 0, I'm longing for my old Arkansas home. y^ y^ ^ y^ yg yg yg yg yg —136— S^ 3^ 5^ 5^ ^^ yg yg ^ ^»^ £ ' SHUT-IN SONGS ^^ As I strolled along at evening through the busy city's ways When the toil for the day at last is o'er I let my memory dwell on the longed-for happy days When I can see the dear old home once more. I long to see the vales once more where sweet magnolias grow And through the blooming cotton fields to roam. There's no place like the old home, after all, I truly know. 0, I'm longing for my old Arkansas home.— Cho. An Insultin' Cuss. Gals are skearse out on the plains In Arizona's wild domains. Around cow camps, at least, I mean, It's seldom that a gal is seen. Wal, when Coyote Jim give a ball An' issued notes invitin' all To come down to the shack and dance. With eagerness we cinched the chance. . ^" ^ «^ *^ c^ ^|g ^a^ yg yg —137— :^ am :^^ :^^ :^^ ^>^ Mg ^ yg j $^ SHUT-IN SONGS Our eagerness increased ten-fold When Jim rode around the camp and told The boys a gal — no squaw — but white Would be present on that night. "She's a cow-gal," Jim had said, "With flowing locks of fiery red, And with a captivatin' smile That would a fellow's heart beguile. "Any critter she can ride That walks on fours and wears a hide. She's "killed her man," — a wild cat's wrath Is tame — if any cross her path." With grease our hair was plastered sleek An' new boots creaked a merry creak When the night arrived, and a fiddle Shrieked away, "Hi-diddle-diddle. " And when the belle would smile by chance. At some of us, or give a dance. We builded castles in the air And swelled in proud distinction's glare. A tenderfoot from Boston came, He had a longish actor's name; He wore a coat with just a tail, (The hull front cut away, by Cail.) He wore them shiny shoes; his hat Wuz shined, and a black cravat ^i^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^agg ^i^ Qgg ^^ yg —138— y^ M^ ^j^ ^j^ i 5HUT-1N 50NG5 Wuz tied to a collar so tall He couldn't see his feet at all. We thought he'd weave a mystic spell Round the heart of the prairie belle, And castles built high in the air Collapsed and left the debris there. Bowing low o'er her calloused hand With chivalry at his command He brought the member to his lips And kissed the lady's finger tips. "Chawming! Doncherknow, you're quite The fairest maid I've met tonight. You look, Ah hawv to say, Just like a Boston debutante." The belle's gray eyes with anger gleamed And she loudly her resentment screamed. "Take that back, you jacked-legged banter! Don't call me a da-bu-tan-ta. " "Hang him! Lynch him!" yelled the crowd. The tenderfoot, completely cowed, Dashed headlong through the open door And ran as man ne'er ran before. A posse went in quick pursuit The villain-wretch to catch and shoot. But speed wuz geared up to his fright. An' he traveled far in the passing night. ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^ l^ ^g ^8^ —139— 3^ 3^ 3?«^ 3?^ 3^ r M^ ^^ y^ y^ 5HUT-1N SONGS The Goat That Talked. In an old apple orchard a billy-goat, grazin g, Came near to a hive where were humming the bees. He stopped for an instant, and upwardly gazing. Saw them getting honey from buds on the trees. For some unknown reason it made him indignant To think that the bees could so easily fly. He uttered a protest and, looking malignant, He saw them fly back to the hive closely by. He raised up his tail and began to shake it; The hair on his back became bristled and stiff. His look, which was fierce as his visage could make it, Told he contemplated a rush and a "biff." He slowly backed off to a good running distance And forward he rushed like a cannon ball flash. With naught to impede him or offer resistance. He butted the hive off its feet with a crash. From the hive came a rush of honey bees flying; They lit in a swarm on the back of the goat. Each bee with a buzz of indignity, crying, A load made as heavy as Billy could "tote." —140— ^S^ ^S?«^ 3^ 3^.,^ y^ ^>^ ^aC Mg SHUT-IN SONGS As he ran round the pasture Hke flags his ears fluttered; He rolled in the grass and he kicked up the sod; He pinioned one down 'neath his tail— then he uttered This sentence quite plainly "M-y G-o-d! O! M-y G-o-d!" Looking Back. I've been looking back, of late — Got lots of "time," I'll state — To look back o'er the days that's past, And on the milestones, fleeting fast, In retrospection to recall Happenings, and view them all. To reach success, the things we lack. How plain they seem — looking back. In my fancy I can see The swimmin' hole where Jack and me Used to swim and fish all day When from school we'd hie away, Playin' "hookey." Seems to me I can see the old beech tree Where our names, Jim and Jack Were carved — tonight— looking back. ^8^ ^«^ ^8^ ^^ yg —141— 3^ :^ 3^ 3^ 3^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ SHUT-IN SONGS I can see a brick saloon As it was that day in June When Jack and I paused before That grog-shop's open door. We stepped inside for a drink, Knowing not upon the brink We stood, o'er a chasm black, But now I know — looking back. Every time that way we'd pass We'd stop for a friendly glass Of cool, foaming lager beer (For friendship's sake and good cheer.) Had a phonograph inside Which would check the human tide Which flowed past. But alack ! What sorrow comes — looking back. I recall one summer night Jack drank too much — got "tight.' He and the barman fell out. Don't know what it was about. A shot rang out in the room And the barman met his doom. Murdered! Ah, poor old Jack! Makes me sad— just looking back! Took a week to try the case. And sympathy marked each face In the court room round about, When they brought the verdict out. Murder in the first degree! Ah! how poor Jack looked at me! Hollow-eyed, sad and pale— As they took him back to jail. ^^^ ^8g^ ^ y^ yg €8^ ^ag ^g yg —142— ^S«»^ ^S?e^ 3^ 3^ 3^ ^>gg ^8gg Mg yg jn SHUT-IN SONGS =• ^= Looking back! My! Time goes fast! Don't seem long since vre strolled past That saloon one day in June — Stepped inside to hear a tune. Now, to think, were both grown men- Jack and I— both in the "pen." Come mighty near hanging Jack. I see it all— looking back. Jack got life. He said good-bye With no tear signs in his eye; But I could see his heart was broke, Though no regretful word he spoke, But looked with solemn gloom. Across the hills all abloom Toward the river, clear and cool, Where we often hid from school. The sun was brightly shining when They took Jack to the "pen" — Birds singing in the trees. Their songs floating on the breeze ; Never saw a nicer day Than when they took him away. With hope gone and future black— With handscuffs on— sat poor old Jack. Looking back ! I hear the tune Floating from the brick saloon Just as plain tonight as then. Although we're both grown-up men. Years, on Time's unceasing tide. Have passed since we stepped inside The brick saloon— me and Jack— For the first drink. Looking back! ^^ ^^ ^^ ^IK fJ^. t^^. ^^^ ^^ —143— 3^ 3?^ s^ ^s^ :3^ ca^ M^ y^ y^ 5HUT-IN 50NG5 A Message of Peace. [To Mrs. Maud Ballington Booth.] The sunlight that gleams o'er a world wondrous fair In billows of joyousness rolls, A message to weary hearts burdened with care — A balm to all sorrowing souls. It is the message you bring us today, Transcendent with infinite joys, And, O, "Little Mother," when you're far away, In memory 'twill cheer up "your boys." Chorus: Peace, peace, wonderful peace— A message direct from above. It tells of the time when sorrows shall cease And life shall be glorified love. The cloud that o'ershadows so many with gloom— A cloud that's as dark as the night. Is passing away and the world all abloom. Smilingly greets the sunlight. And the peace, O, the peace that comes after the storm When the shadowing clouds have rolled by, Makes the hearts once forlorn grow joyously warm With hope that descends from on High. — Cho. ^^ ^^ ^8^ ^^ €a^ yg yg yg yg —144— I ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ SHUT-IN SONGS =• = And, 0, "Little Mother," in saying good-bye, It causes each one of us pain. But in that country far off in the sky, We're hoping to see you again. The message you brought us will help us along; Will help us make lighter the load; Will help us to meet this life's troubles with song And bring us peace on the road. — Cho. The Printshop Devil. I've been told that old Kentucky Is the solitary state Where people born unlucky Are unknown to habitate, But I know there's one exception Where that rule does not apply. By the "Devil's" own conception He's a "dam unlucky guy." We would fain produce his photo, Just the page to decorate, But the trouble we'd need go to Kind o' makes us hesitate. So we'll try and draw a picture That describes him, with our pen. With imaginative mixture For good measure, now and then. ^ ^ ^ *^ yg ^g ^^ ^^ yg: -145— 3^ 3^ 3ji6 :5^ 5^ ^»^ ^^ ^^ y^ SHUT-IN SONGS He is pigeon-toed and limber; He's as great a sight to see As the wild man from the timber Or the Barnum chimpanzee; He is freckled and red-headed; He has cross-eyed eyes of blue, And his teeth are "pica leaded" — (Now you know he has but few). He is long and lean and lanky; He's as stubborn as a mule When he's feeling kind o' cranky, Which is seldom, as a rule; He has athlete combinations; Wears a number 'leven shoe. He displays, at times, gyrations Of a circus kangaroo. Gastronomy and eating? Well, he's got the whole world beat. And a man his record beating — Well — I'll tell you he must eat. He's a veritable slavy To the dish that won his coup, And that is common gravy. He just drinks it down like soup. But I'll tell you, on the level, (I don't think you'll think I'm wrong) That without the printshop "Devil" Printers couldn't get along. If you hand to him a "jolly" He is "Johnny on the spot," Get him in the mood and, golly! He can help you out a lot. y^ y^ t^ ^*i yg yg yg ^^ yg —146- ^^ :^ ^^ ^s^ 5f<^ ^1^ yg ^ yg c 5HUT-IN SONGS =• — Longing. Wen I see de sun a-shinin' It jes starts my heart a-pinin' An' many happy days I can recall Ob dat happy sunny weather Wen we ust to roam together Thro' de silent woods in de spring an' fall. How I wish I wuz a-goin' Whar de flowers is a growin' In de medder whar de shiny dew is fallin', An' de medder larks is singin' An' the gentle wind is bringin' De soun' ob de whippoorwill a-callin'. 0, how I am a-wishin' For de chance to go a-fishin' Whar de sunlight on the crystal waters gleam, Way up on de bank a settin' Widout worryin' an' frettin'; Jes pullin' perch and cat-fish out de stream. Boats up the river going' Wid de whistles a-blowin' — De soun, floats thro' de bars into de hall. O, Lordy, how I long For to mingle wid de throng An' peep at lifebeyon' dat high brick wall. ^ ^«^ y^ y^ ^^ (^ (^ (^ (^ Jf^. —147— ^ S^ S^ 3j^ Sp^ SHUT-IN SONGS According to the Golden Rule. With Good Measure. Ignatius Goldstein in his clothing store sat When the toil of a long day was o'er, Letting his mind drift to first this and that And scheming of gold to get more, When out of the gloom rose a figure in white. Which looked like a corpse in its shroud. Yet with eyes that gleamed bright through the darkness of night It chanted these words, slow and loud: "0. Mr. Goldstein, I'm Gabriel, of old, Who is noted for blowing his horn, I was sent back to earth on a mission that told Me to gladden some heart grown forlorn. If there's aught that you wish— regardless of worth— Which the universe may have in stock, You have but to name it ere I leave the earth. Which time will be twelve of the clock." Ignatius Goldstein- sat erect like a flash As he hurriedly gasped: "Vat you say? You gif to me clodings, or timon's, or cash Or buildings of brick vidout pay?" ^ ^ ^ ^^ ^^ ^8^ ^gg yg ^^ -148— 5?«^ 3^ ^5?^ 3«»^ 3^ ^^ ^^ ^ ^^ "Yes," answered Gabriel, with pleasant look, "Great riches shall soon know your touch. But of what you may choose, so 'tis writ in the Book, Cohen shall have twice as much." "Cohen vill haf twice as much dit you say Of vatefer dat I vish to choose? Mister Gabriel! Don't gif your presents avay To fellers like Cohen. You'll lose!!" But Gabriel answered by pointing on high To the clock which sat up on the shelf. And the seconds and minutes went hurriedly by, But Goldstien thought not of himself. "Just one minute more, " Gabriel said, "And it is fast passing away." Ignatius Goldstein then raised up his head And to Gabriel slowly did say: "Are you sure dat Cohen gets twice much as me. As a present sent down from de sky? Yes? Vait a minit— let me s-e-e — let me s-e-e. Schust gif to me blint in von eye." How Mean. "Will you have an old five-dollar bill Or a new one?" said newly-wed Will. Said his wifey with force, "Why, the new one, of course." Then he gave her a new dollar bill. ^^ (i^ ^^. —149— ^^ y?^ €^ y^ SHUT-IN SONGS Sermon on Hell. 'Twas at an old camp-meeting-ground way down in Tennessee, Where the colored folks were holding an old- fashioned jubilee, That I found myself one morning when the sum- mer sun shone clear, In a seat among the worshipers, the preacher's words to hear. He was growing old and feeble and had scant and whitened hair. And face seamed by the passing of the years, with all their care. I knew when he was preaching he'd no college man's degree. His school had been the eighty years of life in Tennessee. "Ah ain't a-gwine ter talk today upon er Scrip- ture tex', Ah'm gwine ter talk erbout dis worl' an' not erbout de nex'; Erbout de things you got ter do 'fo' Jordon Rib- ber's crossed; Erbout de boat you got ter build ter keep fum gittin' lost. "0, brethren and sisters, dere's some facts Ah wants ter tell Relatin' ter de ravages ob sinfulness, an' hell. ^ ««^ ^ ^ ^ags: yg yg ^gg ^^ —150- ^«^ ^8^ g^ y^ SHUT-IN SONGS Ah ain't talkin' 'bout de hell er man gits when he am daid; But 'bout de hell on earth dat's fallin' on er sin- ner's haid. "Experience will teach us fum de day ob our birth, An' we realize it later, dat dere am er hell on earth. When de debil gits a-holt you, ef you lets him hab his way. He am gwine ter lead you crooked— den dere's sho'ly hell ter pay. "You hab got ter be er so'jer in de Army ob de Right, An' er battle fierce an' constant you hab got ter go an' fight. You hab got ter keep er dodgin', ter de enemy's dislike, An' de spot whar you am weakes' am de spot whar he will strike. "Yo' passions am de weapons dat de debil's gwine ter use. Ef you doan watch out, Ah'll tell you, you am sho'ly gwine ter lose. De debil an' his so'jers gwine ter make ob you er slave Ef you doan keep on er watchin' an' be manly, true an' brave. "When Gabriel blows his trumpet ter announce de Jedgment Day, An' you stan's befo' de jedgment seat, what you gwine ter say? *;»^- ^' ^ ^ yg €j^ ^ ^^ ^^ -151- ^^ y^ ^^ ^^ SHUT-IN SONGS Is you gwine ter tell de Great Jedge dat you stumbled an' you fell, And dat you been er livin' all yo' natu'al life in hell? "But, brethren an' sisters, dere am also heaben, too, Foh de po'est an' de lowest. Dere am heaben heah foh you. Dere's an angel dat will gib you all er crown ob happiness An' er wand ter carry wid you fer ter keep erway distress. "De onlies' good weapon you can carry ter de fight Am de weapon ob religion. It's de weapon, shure, ob might. It will bring de joys ob Heaben on dis earth ter you each day. May you one an' all soon get it wid its blessin's. Let us pray." Venezuelan Hot Air. With thirty thousand soldiers brave, And battle flags unfurled, Comes Castro, like a mighty wave. To startle all the world. ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ yg ^jge: yg ^a^ ^^ —152- " ' j^ ' j^ ' 2^ ' J^ ' j:^ I ^i^ ^^ ^i^ ^^ SHUT-IN SONGS With plans of monstrous magnitude, Which reek of blood galore, With Napoleonic aptitude. In quest of fame and gore. Just like a "howling hurricane," Unchecked by mortal foe, From off their flag to wash the stain Of insult with one blow. Like Grant, during the Civil strife, Down in the Southern regions. Up through the States, destroying life, Is coming Castro's legions. Old Mississippi's fertile vale Sad war scenes will assume. And burning homes will tell the tale Of grief and woe and doom. Each beautiful Southern city This great and wondrous chap. With never a show of pity Will wipe clean off the map. Woe unto the United States And the red, white and blue! Sad to think Death's angel waits Our falling hosts to view. But let us cheer our lagging hopes; His victory's not "cinched. ' Castro and his bunch of mopes In N. 0. may get "pinched." —153— 3^ 3^ :^ 3?«^ 3?^ ^8^ ^^ €3^ ^8^ SHUT-IN 50NG5 Hans' Soliloquy. Hans Printz Sabro iss mine name — In print it looks like Dutch. Although it has not yet gained fame, I like it wery much. I could have other names, you see; Dey're easier to find Dan dollars are, but one suits me, Und it iss yust mine kind. I am a yoUy Danish lad From far across the sea. I'm not considered wery bad — Nor as good as I could be. I live in Greenaa, Lillegade, Old Denmark's finest place. Mine fortune (vitch has not been made) Depends upon mine face. I took a notion in mine mind Dat I vould leave mine home And so I left mine friends behind And started fort' to roam. Mine heart was light mit hope and yoy Of future days to be. In all Denmark there was no boy More happier dan me. I vent to Copenhagen Und vent aboard de ship, Und mit mine passage taken, Vas feeling pretty "flip." ^ ^ ^ ^ ^^ ^' yg ^ ^^ —154- I ^^ ^^ M^ ^^ SHUT-IN SONG5 Und vhile de ship vas bringing Me far across de sea, I vas, mit yoy a-singing— As happy as could be. I like dis country wery veil: It suits me to a "T." How long I'll stay I cannot tell, It don't depend mit me. But vhen mine fortune has been made Und I am free to roam, If long enough I think I've staid, I vill embark for home. Time Waits for No Man. Jim Lazyman went out to seek a position With wages quite large and with not much to do. He stood on the comer— made no proposition To any employer with hiring in view. He was sure that in time, Good Fortune, all smiling, Would stop at his house and would knock at his door. In the meantime he loafed on the street comer, whiling The valuable time as he'd done oft before. ^ ^ ^m^ ^^ ^^ ^r yg ^8^ ^£ -155— w a^ a^ :^ a^ :^ ^ ^ ^ ^ SHUT-IN S ONGS The days that were speeding were passed off in fishing, And cursing his luck when the fish wouldn't bite, And dreaming and scheming, contriving and wishing That things in the future would come out all right. The jobs he secured often paid too small wages, So straightway he left something better to find, Thinking a man of his ilk who engages In honest pursuit should have just the best kind. But he woke up one morn to the true situation ' And facts, as they were, he began to scan. Home to him came then the realization That he was fast growing to be an old man. Then he ran after Time, most woefully crying: "O, Time, just give me one more chance, i pray. ' ' "Too late," Time then answered, "in idleness lying You've passed all the best of your lifetime away. ' ' She Was From Missouri. Johnny Green and his brother Claude Bought a mule that pranced and pawed. They hitched her up. The mule hee-hawed. Biff!! bang!! Farewell, Her name was Maud. €a^ M^ y^ (J^ t^ (^. —156- ^^ ^i^ 4^ ^^ 5HUT-1N SONGS Easter Acrostic. Everywhere upon the earth Are joyful hearts today. Songs of praise, of joy, of mirth Take sorrow's pains away. Eastertide is here! Rejoice! Raise in praise of Christ thy voice! Jesus died on the cross to save E'en the soul of the outcast knave, For did He not on the cross forgive Fallen man and bid him live E'er He crossed the Eternal abyss. Reaching the shore of heavenly bliss? Sing the songs of joy and praise! Over the land His temples raise! Never does he fail to keep Vigil o'er the wand'ring sheep- Incorrigible, always wrong- Like the straggler from the throng. Lord, we bow in praise of Thee! Everywhere on bended knee! Ring the bells of joy and peace. Everywhere let worry cease, For Christ is risen from the dead! O, bless the cross where Jesus bled! fneceive into thy heart today Morals strewn along life's way And treasure them, for Jesus died That your life might be glorified. O, 'twas for you that Jesus bled. Remember, then, that from the dead Your Savior rose and lives today. . g^ y^ ^8^ ^J^_ €^ fc^ c^ar cajg: ^jgg -157— ^J^ ^8^ ^^ y^ SHUT-IN SONGS A Child Again at Niglit. 0, I love to sit at evening when the toil of day is o'er And the shadows change the twilight into gloam, And in memory go backward to my boyhood days once more And the scenes around my dear old Southern home. I can see my darling mother as she looked long, long ago, Before her raven locks had turned to gray, And the little cottage nestHng where the spread- ing oak trees grow And the mocking birds were singing every day. Chorus:— 0, I am a child again often at night And am at home with you, mother, once more. My heart, oft so heavy, is joyously light, As I drift back to Boyland's fair shore. I kneel at your feet near the old rocking chair, As I did in the days long ago. And earnestly pray again that childish prayer That so early you taught me to know. When I'm feeling sad and lonely, it is then my heart repines For the scenes that in my boyhood days I knew; «3^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^g yg yg yg yg —158— ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 5HUT-IN SONGS For the humble little cottage where the honey suckle vines In profusion round the porch in summer grew. I can hear my mother plainly as she softly speaks my name. Then forgotten are the worries that annoy. Tho' the passing years have changed the place in fancy 'tis the same As it was when I was just a Httle boy. An Apt Scholar. When Jim complained of aching head— From being out too late— His wife looked solemn as she said: "My dear, don't dissipate. There's one word you must learn to say As through this world you go — 'Twill easier become each day — The word to say is: 'No!' " "Good-bye," said Jim, as off he went At eight toward the shop. But after him his wifey sent A call for him to stop. "I most forgot to ask you, dear, For five before you go. I need another hat this year." Quite easy Jim said: "No!" ^ ^ y^ ^ ^<^ yg yg ^i^ ^8^ -159- '" 'J^ 'J^ 'Jm 'J^ 'J^ ^^ (^ ^^ ^^ SHUT-IN 50NG5 =-K = Comin' ob de Spring. De busy sounds o' life comes a-creepin' o'er de wall, An' when de window's open it floats into de hall. De sun dat comes shinin' in my cell don't fail to bring A feelin' o' gladdness for de comin' o' de spring. Even in the smalles' cells we smell de sweet perfume 0' things dat we know outside right soon is gwine to bloom, It brings us recollections dat ever to us cling. Boys dat are in prison are mighty glad to see de spring. Wen Ohio River steamboats come puffin' up de river, I feel like givin' thanks to de great Blessin' Giver. I listens for its soundin' an' it never fails to bring Assurance o' de fact o' de comin' o' de spring. De sparrows are a-chirpin' in de window ev'ry morn. An' de dew is glistenin' Hke de di'mon's on de lawn. ■<^ y^ ^J^ €^ —160- ^S^ :S^ 3^ 3^ 3pe^ ^^ ^>^ ^ ^»^ SHUT-IN 50NG5 An' de notes o' de blue bird an' de robin w'en dey sing, Makes me know it's on de way— de comin' o' de spring. Ef my life's mo' troublesome den seems it ought to be, Still I'm glad I'm livin' w'en I hear Nature's plea, An' see Nature's beauties, dey never fail to bring A feelin' o' gladness for de comin' o' de spring. Parable of the Talents. The Master gave a spirit brave two talents to use on earth. With no sign of shirk he went to work and faith- fully proved his worth; And amid the strife encountered in life he gar- nered contentment's sheaves, And he proved each day there's joy on the way for men who strive to achieve. Another man grieved because he received one talent only in life. He deplored the way that he toiled each day, he could not stand so much strife. ? ^^ w^ w^ w^ , ^id^ ^i^ yg €8^ yg —161- 3^ 3?e^ 3?^ 3?^ 3^ I ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ \ 5HUT-IN SONGS With his lot came care, which was hard to bear, (he hardly received life's needs,) So he grieved in the shade, near the forest glade, while his crop was spoiled by the weeds. A talent — 'tis health— not measured by wealth, the Master gave you and me. So that as we live our efforts we'll give to ac- complish the good that we see. No heritage, grand, with houses and lands, is as great as the gift of life And of mind to cope, by braveness and hope with vicissitudes and strife. The Master, sublime, has given us time to ac- complish deeds on our way; With human power to treasure each hour let us meet life's purpose each day. If we sat in the shade that the forest made de- ploring sorrows and needs. The time would pass by as a cloud in the sky and our crops would be spoiled by the weeds. Hallucinations. "No use to write," the poet cried, I lack the "inspiration." 'Tis but in vain that I have tried This strenuous occupation. The sentences will not "rhyme up," No matter how I try them; The "feet" somehow, will not "time up," Most everyone would "guy them.' ^ ^ SHUT-IN SONGS Begin Today. If you've got a thing to do, Begin today! If some habit you'd eschew, Begin today! You can never foretell fate. And what is the use to wait? Tomorrow may be too late! Begin today! If you never bow in prayer. Begin today! There's a lot of comfort there. Begin today! If too heavy seems life's strain, And your lot is woe and pain. Go to Christ. His solace gain. Begin today! If for better things you'd strive, Begin today! If in business you would thrive, Begin today! The dawn that comes tomorrow May bring you only sorrow. But, trouble never borrow. Begin today! t^. t^. '^^. ^^. €^ —169— ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 5HUT-IN 50NG5 Street Corner Mashers. Have you noticed on the comers of your town, As some evening you've gone strolling up and down, Just a little bunch of dandies. With their cigarettes and candies. Each one acting like a monkey or a clown? You can see them on the corner every night. And they're there all day on Sunday if it's bright. Sucking on their cigarettes, Just like hungry calves with frets, And the way they stare at women is a fright. If a pretty girl should happen down the street, Then this little bunch of lambkins look so sweet. They will wink the other eye. Shake their change and cough and sigh, And perhaps one has sufficient nerve to bleat. For a man to pass that crowd it is a task. It's enough to make a lady stand aghast. She must cross a slushy sluice Of filthy tobacco juice. She should have on rubber clothing and a mask. In the middle you will note they part their hair, And they sleep upon their trousers with great care. They resemble frizzled noodles. Or a wealthy lady's poodles — Or perhaps an ass with them would best com- pare. ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^agg yg ^a^ ^a^ ^^ -170- 3^ 3^ 3^ 3i?^ 3?e^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ i SHUT-IN SONGS I grant this is the country of the free, And we're taught to love mankind where'er he be. That is good enough to tell; But I'd see this class in— well, A brindled pup demands more love from me. If I Were Free Tonight. If I were free tonight. And the moon shed its light, So lucid and pale, Over the vale. And" the silvery stars Which I see through the bars, With beauty so rare That naught can compare. Were gleaming as bright In the beauty of night, All things which annoy I'd forget, and enjoy The great beauty I'd see With a happy heart— free. I'd kneel on the sod And give thanks to God. Unto Him I'd unroll The great joy in my soul, And I'd weep with delight Were I free tonight — were I free tonight. ^J^ ^»^ ^Jg^ c^ yg ^8^ €3^ ^g €^ —171— g^ ^a^ ^1^ y?: SHUT-IN SONGS Orphan Joe. An orphan boy was little Joe — A lonely orphan boy; His lot in life was mostly woe, With very little joy. A mother's love he never knew, Nor father's hand to guide. Nor e'en a friend with friendship true In all the world so wide. The orphanage where Joe was raised Graced a landscape fair, And every day the Lord was praised For His kind, loving care. The "Home" officials lived in style, And sumptuously dined. But the orphan's board was set the while With food of coarsest kind. Once a week the Chaplain talked, (A well-fed happy man). He told of how he'd rightly walked Across the worldly span. He told of sacrifices made (And bitter was the cup) In answering the voice that bade Him lift the fallen up. When little Joe had grown to be A puny lad of eight. He embarked upon life's sea — The unknown Sea of Fate. t' ^ ^ ^^ ^^ ^a^ ^»^ yg yg ^»^ —172- i s^ 3?^ 3^ 3^ ^e^ r ^j^ ^^ ^^ ^g^ SHUT-IN 50NG5 His little craft was very frail To sail a sea so wide; So, little Joe reefed up his sail And drifted with the tide. He passed along the streets ablaze With their electric lights; With wondering and wistful gaze He viewed the city's sights. He passed a grand all-night cafe, From whence came music, low, And from within the laughter gay Was heard by little Joe. He passed by marble mansions grand. Where sweetest flowers bloomed; It seemed just Hke some fairy land, With atmosphere perfumed. The lights from cozy bedrooms shone Upon the street below. And midnight winds chilled to the bone The form of little Joe. At last he went into a park, Where plashed a fountain deep. And in a corner, still and dark. Tired out, he went to sleep. He dreamed the people everywhere Were trying to bestow The yoke of enmity and care On little Orphan Joe. At dawn the beams of sunlight broke Upon the world, so fair. And with their magic touch awoke The little sleeper there. . ^ ^ ^ ^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ -173- 3^ 3^ 3^ :3^ 3^ y^ ^^ €8^ y^ A big policeman, passing by, Perceived the look of woe And heard the soul-despairing sigh Of little Orphan Joe. And just because he wished him well He took the poor boy "in." They locked him in a gloomy cell- Though guilty of no sin. The Sea of Fate where sailed Joe's bark, Was tempest tossed and blue, And the dream he dreamed out in the park Alas, was coming true. The magistrate looked kindly at The little orphan boy. From tlie pedestal where he sat The world held forth much joy. He was a learned philanthropist; The kind who always know The thing to do to most assist The needy boys like Joe. And little Joe was sent away — A reform school, they said — Indefinitely there to stay. No friend his freedom plead. Passed the fleeting years apace Beside time's ceaseless flow, And change in heart and change in face Took place in Orphan Joe. When at last the great day came And freedom's goal was near, He'd failed to learn the woe and shame Of a thief's and crook's career. ^ yt ^ ^^ ^g yg ^^ ^ ^^ —174— 1^ '^^ "^^ 3?^,^^ Mg; yg ^8^ ^^ ^' f * SHUT-IN 50NG5 He learned to look on one who steals As an ideal and hero. (0, sad the fate that fortune deals To boys like Orphan Joe. When at last to man's estate He grew with passing time, The guardians of his sad fate Had led him deep in crime. His life was spent behind the walls And prison towers, grim. The voice to better things that calls Was never heard by him. He died today, unmourned, alone, Within his gloomy cell. No picture hangs upon the stone Of friendships, true, to tell. An old man ere he reached his prime— His self his greatest foe. Thus ends the life of woe and crime Of little Orphan Joe. They bore him off in a box of pine With slow and measured tread. And laid him where God's bright sunshine Gleams o'er the convict dead. ^ ^ ^ ^ <^ag: <^g: ^a^ ^a^ ^gg —175- 5^ 5^ :S^ ^S^ 3if^ ^a^ ^3^ yg y^ 5HUT-IN SONGS - K- ^= (The lonely cell he occupied Another tread will know- It's doors tonaorrow open wide For another Orphan Joe.) A mother's love he never knew Nor father's hand to guide, Nor friends with friendship kind true In all the world so wide. And when we figure up the shame, The trials and the woe. Let's weigh them up against the blame And not poor Orphan Joe. FINIS. ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ Qilg c^jg ^jg ^igg ^^ -176- D > > a o > H O fO 2 H 2: O H 33 > a H O K O o r ^ * AUG 22 1908