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A PLEA FOR PEACE 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 MAURICE C. WAUGH 
 
 From the Print Shop of 
 
 Will A. Smith, Whittier, California 
 
 1921 
 

 COPTBIGHT, 1921, BT 
 
 Mauhioe C. Waugh 
 
 g)C!.A627819 
 
 H0\I21'ZI 
 
 -v« / 
 
DEDICATION 
 
 To those who know war's dreadful curse, 
 I dedicate this book of verse; 
 And from the conference called for peace. 
 May wars, and rumors thereof, cease. 
 
^ 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 A Plea For Peace - - - 13 
 
 Worse Than Death - - - 14 
 
 Life - - - - - 15 
 
 The Impossible . - - 16 
 
 Wives And Otherwise - - - 17 
 
 The Real Need - - - 18 
 Ode To A Vermillion-Haired Million-Heiress 19 
 
 Preparedness - - - - 20 
 
 Preparedness — continued - - 21 
 
 The Game Of Love - - - 22 
 
 You Never Know - - 23 
 
 All For You - - - - 24 
 
 Something For Nothing - - 25 
 
 Visions - - - - - 26 
 
 Cart Before The Horse - - 27 
 Mine ----- 28 
 
 God or Mammon _ - - 29 
 
 To The Editor . . - 30 
 
 Cash - - - - 31 
 
 The Crisis - - - - 32 
 
 Then And Now . . - 33 
 
 Quality Or Quantity - - - 34 
 
 Quality Or Quantity — continued - 35 
 
 Love Dreams - - - - 36 
 
Divorce . _ _ - 37 
 
 The Wail Of A Commuter - - 38 
 
 Jazz - - - - 39 
 
 Freedom - - - - 40 
 
 Freedom — continued _ - 41 
 
 Fumbling . - - - 42 
 
 Sometime . - - - 43 
 
 Just You - - - - 44 
 
 Departed _ > . - 45 
 
 Hard Luck - - - - 46 
 
 I Kind O' Like You So - - 47 
 Why ----- 48 
 
 Lonliness _ . - - 49 
 
 The Organ - - - - 50 
 
 Death _ . . - 51 
 
 Prayer - - - - 52 
 
 Prayer — continued - - - 53 
 
 The Greatest Thing in Life - - 54 
 
 Finis - - - - 55 
 
A PLEA FOR PEACE 
 
 The past decade, so filled with might and greed, 
 Is but the fruitage of the grown-up seed, 
 Which all the imps of hell in minds had sown. 
 So that a false philosophy was known 
 Whereby some men thought nothing could be right 
 Except o'ertowered by the power of might. 
 
 Through years of struggle, blood, and grief, and pain. 
 We've seen how futile is this greed for gain; 
 We've seen the nations which were known for might 
 Hurled down and trampled under foot o'er night; 
 We've heard the very universe in doubt 
 Beseech, "Oh, God, can war be blotted out!" 
 
 Once more we face a time when cease it must. 
 
 For if we fail in this our sacred trust. 
 
 The world will reek and reel with profiteers. 
 
 With guns, with ships of war, with death, and tears — 
 
 More shame on all the human race, for then 
 
 We'll ne'er have "peace on earth, good will to men." 
 
 So, God, in this our time of greatest need 
 Help us forget our color, race, or creed. 
 And all unite in such a glorious plan 
 That we may know the brotherhood of man. 
 With strife, and conquest, war, and bloody gore 
 Unknown on earth henceforth forever more. 
 
 Pape Thirteen 
 
WORSE THAN DEATH 
 
 Suppose some day a little boy of mine 
 
 Should proudly look into my face and say, 
 
 "Now, Dad, you surely got up to the Rhine. 
 What made the Germans turn and run away?" 
 
 Suppose I'd gasp and frown, and hang my head, 
 And then should have to answer, "No, my lad. 
 
 Your Daddie didn't have to face the lead ; 
 For working in a shipyard was the fad. 
 
 "You see your father made almost as much 
 As eight of those poor simple fighting men, 
 
 Of whom you now see many on a crutch. 
 While others ask us please to lend a ten. 
 
 "Then, too, there wasn't all the danger here 
 
 Of raids, and gas, and bullets, bombs or shells; 
 
 And in our feather beds we'd never fear 
 
 The rats, and mud, or trenches deathly smells. 
 
 "If father had been in that awful fight. 
 
 He might not be here for his Tootsie Toots 
 
 To look up to, and love with all his might. 
 So some day he can fill his Daddy's boots." 
 
 Should I in this wise have to make reply, 
 I'd rather by a million times have died 
 
 E'er I beheld the beauteous earth or sky. 
 Or learned of men whose honor atrophied. 
 
 Page Fourfpen 
 
LIFE 
 
 In the morning time of life 
 E'er we learn of sin and strife. 
 We can dance, and skip, and sing — 
 Naught we know that fate will bring. 
 
 Then our youth begins to dream 
 Visions, that just make us beam 
 With a sense of strength and pride, 
 And there's nothing can betide. 
 
 So our manhood comes at last; 
 Castles shattered strew the past. 
 Hopes destroyed, and love o'er thrown- 
 Open, Grave, and claim thine own. 
 
 Evening falls upon the stage 
 And remorse comes on with age. 
 Had we only done our best. 
 We'd not fear this going West. 
 
 Page Fifteen 
 
THE IMPOSSIBLE 
 
 The woman never has been born 
 
 Whose life with mine could be entwined. 
 
 For she would surely be forlorn 
 
 And lose her mind before she pined. 
 
 Suppose for breakfast she served mush 
 When I have always eaten pie; 
 
 Or else, she'd like a coat of plush 
 So my old coat I'd have to dye. 
 
 Then next she'd want a limousine, 
 In spite of knowing that my purse 
 
 Was sparcely filled for gasolene. 
 Ye gods! to live with a curse. 
 
 A summer cottage at the beach 
 
 She'd be determined to erect ; 
 But, I could never, never reach 
 
 The social stratum she'd select. 
 
 Or maybe she'd not care to roam 
 But rather make a homelike place; 
 
 I like the spray of ocean foam — 
 A change of scene and also face. 
 
 The woman never has been born 
 
 Whose life with mine could be entwined, 
 
 For heartstrings surely would be torn 
 And more than likely I'd be fined. 
 
 Page Sixteen 
 
WIVES OR OTHERWISE 
 
 I've often wondered at the scores of men 
 Who seem much younger than their sons of ten; 
 For years rest lightly on Dad's burdened frame. 
 When son has lassoed him into his game. 
 
 I've seen a lady no more young in years 
 Console her daughter who was grieved with tears. 
 And really you would have to look again 
 To see which was the younger of the twain. 
 
 Howe'er there's something gives me greater care. 
 
 Because I fear to answer back the dare. 
 
 At times I see a lady with a man; 
 
 The lady's eyes say, "Catch me if you can." 
 
 By Jove, she looks so young, and sweet, and spry. 
 
 And he so very old, and cold, and wry — 
 
 And yet, I cannot tell you for my life 
 
 If she's his daughter, or his charming wife. 
 
 P«ge Seventeen 
 
THE REAL NEED 
 
 When I was just "around the town," 
 Folks never seemed to care a w^hit 
 
 If I was sick, or well, or down 
 And out, or even where I lit. 
 
 Some day my name may flare and flame 
 In letters you can read a block, 
 
 Then these dear folks, with loud acclaim 
 Will hail me by the drove and flock. 
 
 When men are really out of luck. 
 
 And look up to the crest above, 
 That's when they're in the mire and muck — 
 
 They need a pull, and not a shove. 
 
 Dame Fortune smiles on many men 
 In spite of all they have to face. 
 
 And you may wager one to ten, 
 
 'Twas not from boosts, but just His grace. 
 
 Pa^e Eighteeo 
 
AN ODE TO A VERMILLION-HAIRED 
 MILLION-HEIRESS 
 
 No, I am not exactly an old batch, 
 
 Tho' some young damsel failed to find her match; 
 
 For several years ago I turned the page 
 
 Into the realm where men are called of age. 
 
 I used to think I was a ladies' man, 
 But now, folks point and say, "He also ran." 
 Altho' I've gone with girls, a score or more, 
 Still where I sleep, mine is the only snore. 
 
 I've traveled far, in many foreign strands, 
 I've seen the women of some varied lands; 
 But now, my feet are tired and need a rest; 
 I feel that I must face the crucial test. 
 
 And so I'm looking for a lady fair. 
 But she must have a hue and shade of hair 
 The color men once painted up the town. 
 Before they learned of Prohibition's frown. 
 
 A million shekels, at the very least 
 
 Must be her dower at the wedding feast; 
 
 So, Lady Fair, with hair of bright Vermillion, 
 
 Please prove to me that you are worth a million. 
 
 Page Nineteen 
 
PREPAREDNESS 
 
 Why hitch your wagon to a single star 
 
 When twinklers fill the broad expanse of night? 
 Some time you may receive a sudden jar, 
 
 And your lone star may cease to give its light. 
 
 But if you use a half a dozen ropes 
 
 With which to lasso several other stars, 
 
 Then don't you really see the increased hopes 
 You have of saving your old carts and cars? 
 
 Now take the illustration of a man 
 
 Who pays his debts and taxes with a vim, 
 
 And also fights for country when he can, 
 
 And joins a lodge which may appeal to him. 
 
 Old age swoops down upon this mortal's frame 
 And fate has robbed him of his earthly stores; 
 
 Of course, he's learned there's nothing in a name, 
 So turns to where the poor men do the chores. 
 
 A fire has burned the poor house to the ground ; 
 
 But Uncle Sam will surely treat him right. 
 For Uncle's judgment never is unsound. 
 
 Then to the Soldiers' Home he takes his flight. 
 
 Page Twenty 
 
They meet him at the door with gracious smiles, 
 Tho' lists they keep proclaim he was a slacker; 
 
 Despite the fact of all these crushing wiles 
 
 One place he knows will keep him in "tobakker." 
 
 The home for aged which his lodge supplies 
 Receives him with its portals thrown ajar — 
 
 Kind friend who would have furnished him with pies, 
 If he had hung his wagon on one star? 
 
 Page Twenty-one 
 
THE GAME OF LOVE 
 
 This game of love's a funny thing; 
 
 You think you've found the only girl 
 And, then you have to buy a ring. 
 
 Thus to secure life's dearest pearl. 
 
 So many times men make a choice 
 Before they know what they're about, 
 
 And later wish she'd lose her voice. 
 Or else was slim instead of stout. 
 
 But then of course, she too, perhaps 
 Might think that fate was most unkind. 
 
 Which dealt one of its rattle traps 
 For her through life to try to mind. 
 
 Perchance our love must be both dumb 
 And blind to faults which each possess. 
 
 Or we may sit and suck our thumb 
 And wish the other would confess. 
 
 Pagf Twenty-two 
 
YOU NEVER KNOW 
 
 You never know what you can do 
 
 Until you've tried with all your might, 
 
 And never quit when you'd like to, 
 Altho' you seemed to lose the fight. 
 
 You never know what "brass" is worth 
 Unless you've never had a cent. 
 
 But still acquired a look of mirth, 
 And kept right on and made a dent. 
 
 You never know the power of prayer 
 
 Until you're down and out; 
 Then answering your plea for care. 
 
 The Lord most always makes you stout. 
 
 But all that is required of us 
 
 Is just to do our level best. 
 And never fret, or fume, or fuss — 
 
 So shall we find our promised rest. 
 
 Page Twenty-three 
 
ALL FOR YOU 
 
 The power to tell you of my love, dear heart. 
 Is futile as the feeble hand of man to stay 
 
 The flames, which o'er the prairie leap and dart, 
 Consuming everything along the way. 
 
 The power to build the home like sort of nest 
 Which I would like to ask if you will share. 
 
 Is not sufficient to procure the best — 
 
 And that for you, is not enough to fare. 
 
 The power to reach the highest plane in life 
 And there to win the battles we must fight. 
 
 Gives vim and vigor to our earthly strife, 
 And keeps us always in the path of right. 
 
 The power to will is still our grandest gift 
 For which I thank an ever watchful hand. 
 
 And trust that from my failures I may sift 
 The gold and fortune of a fairer land. 
 
 The power to live as I have long desired 
 
 May yet be placed within my humble reach; 
 
 Then I shall offer you a heart inspired 
 To live and learn, as only you can teach. 
 
 Pafie Twenty-four 
 
SOMETHING FOR NOTHING 
 
 I thought that I could surely get rich quick — 
 I thought, and now I wonder why I thought, 
 
 That all I'd need to turn the little trick 
 
 Was just the wild cat stock that I had bought. 
 
 The stock went down, and with it my heart sank; 
 
 The moon came up, and with it came regret: 
 Gone were all of my savings from the bank; 
 
 Gone also was the girl I'd hoped to get. 
 
 Something for nothing never has been true, 
 Tho' here and there exceptions prove the rule; 
 
 So in my memory may I always rue 
 
 The times I've acted like a bloomin' mule. 
 
 Pag€ Tweniy-iive 
 
VISIONS 
 
 I sit in my room and stare at the wall, 
 
 Full well do I know there's nothing in sight. 
 
 Yet visions appear from nowhere at all. 
 
 Which cause me to smile, or shiver with fright. 
 
 The past is all strewn with dead memories; 
 
 The future's alive with dreams unfulfilled. 
 Like leaves which are blown in fall from the trees. 
 
 And those that are green which spring has just 
 thrilled. 
 
 I think of the times when luck has been bad, 
 I long for the time, when into my life 
 
 The joys of the day will drown all the sad, 
 And then, perhaps, I can find a good wife. 
 
 Page Twenty-sis 
 
CART BEFORE THE HORSE 
 
 When we were merely lads in school, 
 
 We never used to study much, 
 Though Joe would study like a fool 
 
 We'd laugh about his "mental crutch." 
 
 A flower we would classify 
 
 Because we knew its given name. 
 
 And from the name we would rely 
 On working backward for our fame. 
 
 When we were summoned up in class 
 To tell the things we could recall. 
 
 We never once would fail to pass. 
 For long ago we'd learned to "stall." 
 
 We see the error of our pranks 
 
 When years have swiftly come and flown; 
 For. Joe directs aff"airs in banks. 
 
 While by the winds of chance we're blown. 
 
 Like many folks, we tried to cop 
 Our fortunes and our fame at first. 
 
 By starting at the ladder's top — 
 
 But, Fate has doomed us to be cursed. 
 
 Page Twenty seven 
 
MINE 
 
 When you're away 
 
 I cannot sing, 
 Or read, or play. 
 
 Or do a thing. 
 
 When you are near 
 My heart strings leap; 
 
 My brain acts queer; 
 I feel so cheap. 
 
 This life is short 
 
 And death is sure — 
 
 Why not report 
 
 And seek the cure? 
 
 Or else someone 
 May win your love. 
 
 And call you "hun," 
 Or "sweet," or "dove." 
 
 And then my heart 
 
 Would cease to pump^ 
 My thoughts to start. 
 
 My nerves to jump. 
 
 So, Love Divine, 
 With heart of gold. 
 
 Will you be mine 
 To have and hold? 
 
 Pape Twenty-eight 
 
GOD OR MAMMON 
 
 In a pew at the church where I worshipped today, 
 I took note of the plate which the ushers passed 
 'round. 
 The collection was such that indeed I might say, 
 That by far the most part merely dimes would be 
 found. 
 
 Then I studied the brethren who sat near at hand, 
 And I thought of the places each day of the week 
 
 They would stuff with their dollars all over the land. 
 Just to gratify whims and the pleasures they seek. 
 
 So the Lord gets our dimes, and the devil our bills; 
 
 But the time will approach, and is not far away. 
 When a voice will proclaim from the mountains and 
 hills, 
 
 Tliat the Lord is nearby and the devil must pay. 
 
 Page Tw«»nty-nine 
 
TO THE EDITOR 
 
 When you have looked this poem thru 
 And have decided it will "du," 
 Please find a place for it in print 
 Where folks may read and take the hint 
 
 But if you think it is too "punk," 
 Just throw it in a pile of junk; 
 Or, better still, for such a fizzle. 
 Build up the fire and watch it sizzle. 
 
 Page Thirty 
 
CASH 
 
 The filthy lucre we have christened cash 
 To some of us means room, and shoes, and hash; 
 To others 'tis a millstone 'round their necks, 
 For they are cursed with it in bales and pecks. 
 
 It's good to have a sum of cash around. 
 If you should want to buy a little ground; 
 It's bad to find that you're entirely out 
 When you are sick, or have a case of gout. 
 
 It's hard to get and keep, but not to spend; 
 Easy to draw and lose, but not to lend. 
 It's loose when we have Democratic sway. 
 And tight when things have gone the other way. 
 
 To taste its power, men will fight and die; 
 To clutch and squeeze it, others steal and lie. 
 The rich disburse it in a steady stream. 
 While misers grip it till the "eagles scream." 
 
 When man has ceased to speak and draw his breath 
 We say that he has what is known as death; 
 Till then he cannot live without his cash — 
 To say what happens after that is rash. 
 
 Page Thirty-one 
 
THE CRISIS 
 
 When the turning points in life are near 
 And we pace the floor throughout the night. 
 
 Could we only hear a voice so clear 
 Telling us just how to seek the right. 
 
 If our eyes could only see the way 
 That we ought to follow here below, 
 
 Many times we'd chide ourselves and say, 
 
 "What weak wills in human skulls do grow." 
 
 When at length we're driven to the wall 
 
 With our backs thrust up against the stone. 
 
 And we're forced to fight, perhaps to fall. 
 Maybe it is best to strive alone. 
 
 But it must be comforting to feel 
 
 That your soul mate knows what you must face. 
 And is ready by your side to kneel, 
 
 While you ask for strength and guiding grace. 
 
 Page TTiirly-lH'o 
 
THEN AND NOW 
 
 I should like to have lived when a man was a dub, 
 Who could not simply go, if he sought for a bride. 
 
 With some beads in one hand, in the other a club. 
 And request that she cook for him all of her life. 
 
 I should like to have owned a small castle in Spain 
 When the knights were still bold in their feudal 
 array ; 
 Then a stronghold I'd storm with my brave, gallant 
 train. 
 And the fairest I'd claim to be known as my own. 
 
 But, perhaps it is best that I live when I do, 
 And never complain about difficult tasks; 
 
 For there never was any old timer who knew. 
 
 Or who dared even dream of a modern romance. 
 
 Oh, it's nothing now, days just to read of a case 
 Where a couple eloped in a flying machine, 
 
 Or, it may be the charge which they're called to face 
 Was for stealing Dad's Ford when they went to 
 be tied. 
 
 Page Thirty-three 
 
QUALITY OR QUANTITY 
 
 There are schools and colleges that boast 
 Of the thousands which they have enrolled. 
 
 What a motto for a striking toast, 
 "Quantity for quality extolled." 
 
 Many lodges have become machines 
 
 That are making members by the score; 
 
 But the sad part lies behind the scenes 
 Where they've lost the spirit as of yore. 
 
 So the church, instead of training souls. 
 Tries to double its old membership; 
 
 And the pastor figures out new goals. 
 While the devil causes men to slip. 
 
 In the modern world of business cares 
 Men just try to see who'll mass the most; 
 
 We put premiums on the millionaires, 
 And all grab from coast to thriving coast. 
 
 Emerson was surely in the right 
 
 When he asked, "Why live eternally? 
 
 For to try with all our mortal might, 
 One half hour we use infernally." 
 
 Page Thirty-four 
 
Even so, our gold is but a curse. 
 
 And our lives are blighted in its wake. 
 
 If we take our dollars from our purse 
 Just to cast them in the sea or lake. 
 
 Pajje Thirty-five 
 
LOVE DREAMS 
 
 I never dreamed that I love you 
 Till after you had gone away; 
 
 I wonder now what I would do 
 
 If you should go, and always stay. 
 
 I never dreamed that you love me; 
 
 I never knew you even care, 
 Or I would ask you just to be — 
 
 Pray tell me, Love, how would I fare? 
 
 Page Thirty-six 
 
DIVORCE 
 
 Oh, Love, that was, but now art flown, 
 I would that I had never known 
 The sweetness of that voice divine; 
 Those tresses brown, and soft, and fine ; 
 The glances which those eyes could dart; 
 The joy those lips would oft impart; 
 That mind so keen, so fresh, so wise; 
 That soul which lived beyond the skies. 
 I cannot understand the Fate 
 Which changes Love almost to Hate. 
 
 Pa^ Thirty -seven 
 
THE WAIL OF A COMMUTER 
 
 Upon a crowded bus the other day, 
 There hopped a husky, wild eyed, country jay. 
 His hands frisked in and out among his pockets ; 
 His eyes were scarce constrained within their sockets. 
 
 When all his useless jerks, and jams, and jabs 
 Had come to naught but fruitless grabs and stabs, 
 A light dawned on his frantic, thoughtless face — 
 His hatband held the object of his chase. 
 
 Then followed several miles of jolts and shakes. 
 Before a lady signalled for the brakes. 
 She searched, and then researched a silken bag, 
 Until she found her purse among the swag. 
 
 She gazed into her purse for quite a spell. 
 
 And poked, and tweaked, and pulled at things as 
 
 well; 
 Of course, the driver thought that she was broke. 
 When lo ! she plucked the ticket from her cloak. 
 
 Moral, 
 
 If in your garb you only keep one place. 
 
 Whether in pocket or among some lace, 
 
 Where you are sure that you have placed your billet. 
 
 Then you can find it any time you will-it. 
 
 Page Thirty-eight 
 
JAZZ 
 
 Some people like the "jazz" so much 
 That all their records wail and screech, 
 
 And all their friends are only such 
 
 As "shimmy" in their acts and speech. 
 
 The music which they always buy 
 
 Just reels and reeks in snappy strains, 
 
 And all their songs so rend the sky, 
 
 That all the neighbors groan with pains. 
 
 Likewise, the dances which they know 
 Are wicked, weavy, wily shakes. 
 
 And glides so creepy and so slow 
 
 That they compare with snails and snakes. 
 
 The very atmosphere is steeped 
 And saturated with this slime; 
 
 We know that what we sow is reaped, 
 And many times we're sowing crime. 
 
 Page Thirty nine 
 
FREEDOM— TO DO AS WE OUGHT 
 
 Most all of us can sing a bar or two 
 
 And also whistle, when we're feeling fine. 
 
 And talk a streak about the things we do, 
 Or eat our food as noisily as swine. 
 
 But when I go to hear a band perform, 
 I want to hear the music that they play, 
 
 And not a hoarse voice, sadly out of form 
 Proclaiming some one in the crowd's a jay. 
 
 So, likewise, when a drama comes to town. 
 And I have paid good money for a seat, 
 
 I don't go just to hear some would-be clown 
 Behind me, tell his girl she's "hard to beat." 
 
 Sometimes I try to concentrate my mind 
 On weighty problems of the present age. 
 
 When someone, who has never learned to mind 
 His business, butts in whistling — to my rage. 
 
 When I go in a restaurant to eat, 
 
 "The orchestra is fine," I like to say. 
 
 But how can any man enjoy this treat 
 
 If someone's yodling soup across the way. 
 
 Page Forty 
 
Of course, we're living in a land of free 
 
 And brave, and equal men, and women, too; 
 
 But may we ever clearly try to see 
 
 That what "I" do also pertains to "You." 
 
 Page Forty-one 
 
FUMBLING 
 
 Fumbling, always fumbling 
 
 O'er the words I speak to you; 
 
 Jumbling, always jumbling 
 Everything I try to do. 
 
 Mumbling, ever mumbling — 
 
 What I say is all so trite; 
 Stumbling, ever stumbling — 
 
 So I'm forced at length to write. 
 
 Rumbling, my head's rumbling 
 Till my thoughts are in a mess 
 
 Crumbling, my heart's crumbling 
 When you seem to love me less. 
 
 Grumbling, how I'm grumbling 
 'Cause the world is upside down; 
 
 Tumbling, yes I'm tumbling 
 To the fact I'm but a clown. 
 
 Page Forty-two 
 
SOMETIME 
 
 Sometime I shall build a house; 
 Sometime I shall find a spouse; 
 Sometime I shall write a book; 
 Sometime cease to be a crook. 
 
 Sometime birds will sweetly sing; 
 Sometime Life will lose it's sting; 
 Sometime skies will all be bright; 
 Sometime dark will turn to light. 
 
 Sometime — it is always sometime 
 That the bells are going to chime; 
 Shall we never reach the "time some" 
 Of these things may yet become? 
 
 Page Forty -three 
 
JUST YOU 
 
 There's a time in our lives when the spirit to roam 
 Is suppressed by a motive far deeper and sound ; 
 
 For our lighter desires are so much like the foam, 
 While our purer emotions are firm as the ground. 
 
 Nearly all of us see more or less of the world, 
 
 Then we tire of the fickleness, pomp and display. 
 
 And we long for a cabin, or cottage, where curled 
 In a chair, we can listen as wife talks away. 
 
 At some time we may wish to go back to the place 
 Where we hunted, or fought, or our learning im- 
 bibed; 
 
 But how nice, with our better half scanning our face, 
 It will be to relate what our memory inscribed. 
 
 Surely joy will be many fold greater with you 
 To explore all the beauties of nature and art, 
 
 Than to selfishly gobble up all of the view. 
 
 And to leave you with hopes unattained in your 
 heart. 
 
 Page Fortv-four 
 
DEPARTED 
 
 In the gloom we often grope 
 Till the darkness sort o' clears. 
 
 From the murk in which we mope 
 Many times we lose our fears. 
 
 Even sorrows we have known 
 
 That have seemed to deep for tears, 
 Have all passed, and have been blown 
 Like the wind which disappears. 
 
 With our joys this is not true. 
 
 For we look back o'er the years, 
 And recall a jolly "rue" 
 
 Where they served light wines and beers. 
 
 Page Forty -five 
 
HARD LUCK 
 
 It seems hard luck is always mine; 
 
 My eyes are in a horrid fix, 
 My teeth are bad, my feet are flat, 
 
 My lungs are weak, my hair is — nix. 
 
 My salary is'nt very much; 
 
 I have no decent place to eat. 
 And rooms cost what a house is worth, 
 While all my trousers need a seat. 
 
 I walked along the street today 
 And saw a fellow on the walk 
 
 Whose legs were gone, whose back was bent. 
 And who could neither hear nor talk. 
 
 I know a man who's out of work. 
 
 And yet his wife and babes must live; 
 
 So all their pride is crushed and seared. 
 For they must take what folks will give. 
 
 If what ails me is called hard luck. 
 
 Then new words should be coined to fit 
 
 The case of those who drink life's dregs. 
 And seem so near the fiery pit. 
 
 Page Forty-sis 
 
I KIND 0' LIKE YOU SO 
 
 When the world is out of joint 
 And most everything goes wrong, 
 
 Come to me and let me point 
 Out the way to joy and song — 
 Because I kind o' like you so. 
 
 Health all gone and temper riled? 
 
 Mortgaged all that you possess? 
 Lost your friend, or wife, or child? 
 
 I may help you ne'er the less — 
 Because I kind o' like you so. 
 
 Tho' it seems no hope is left 
 And perdition's not so bad. 
 
 You are surely not bereft, 
 
 While I'm here to make you glad- 
 Because I kind o' like you so. 
 
 So cheer up and smile a grin; 
 
 Night is darkest — then the dawn 
 Bursts upon this world of sin. 
 
 And our fears are all withdrawn— 
 Because He kind o' likes us so. 
 
 Page Forty -seven 
 
WHY? 
 
 Why do we tire of the things that we see 
 
 Each day of our lives as we pass on our way? 
 
 Why do we long for the great "out beyond" 
 Which hems in our little horizon we say? 
 
 Why do we plan for a future so grand, 
 
 And know all the while 'twill hold grief and 
 dismay? 
 
 Why does our heart cease to vibrate with joy 
 
 When shadows of sorrow have darkened our mind? 
 
 Why does a habit creep into our life 
 
 And get such a hold that it will not unwind? 
 
 Why are the riches and good things of earth 
 Withheld till we're toothless, and crabbed, and 
 blind? 
 
 When we were children we liked to ask why 
 
 The night had to come and spoil all of our play. 
 
 Now that experience has widened our view. 
 
 We know that the night has to follow the day. 
 
 Still we are mortal and foolishly ask 
 
 About many things we don't know, but we may. 
 
 Fage Forty-eight 
 
LONELINESS 
 
 I've stood alone on desert sands; 
 
 I've hiked alone mid rocky peaks. 
 And prairie slopes, and timber lands; 
 
 Alone I've sat on great ship's beaks 
 And watched the seething briny deep: 
 
 But loneliness ne'er grips my heart 
 Till down a street I slowly creep. 
 
 And of the crowds know none apart. 
 
 Page Forty-nine 
 
THE ORGAN 
 
 The music of an organ seems 
 
 To grip me with a magic spell. 
 While pouring forth its very soul 
 
 I almost think that all is well. 
 
 I lose the sense of time and space 
 
 While rapture thrills me through and through; 
 I wish the past were all erased 
 
 And I might live my life anew. 
 
 Sometimes the tones are soft and sweet. 
 And then the pipes all seem to wail 
 
 In plaintive notes of solemn woe. 
 Just as in life we win or fail. 
 
 Oft times again in ecstacy 
 
 I'm swept beyond this little stage. 
 
 And feel the freedom of the skies. 
 Much as a bird which flees its cage. 
 
 But, suddenly the music stops, — 
 The earth extends a void expanse 
 
 And waits me with its cruel cares. 
 As I awaken from mv trance. 
 
 Page Fifty 
 
DEATH 
 
 Death is but a parting of the clay 
 From the soul which onward speeds its way; 
 Just a changing of our mortal shrouds, 
 For the robes of white beyond the clouds : 
 Life is sweet with all its toils and cares, 
 But this place we ask for in our prayers 
 Must be sweeter, fairer, lovelier than 
 Anything that's been revealed to man. 
 
 Page Fifty-one 
 
PRAYER 
 
 How often we think prayer is just 
 For use in time of direst needs. 
 
 Along with joys we rest our trust, 
 
 And let our souls grow up in weeds. 
 
 At other times we think that God 
 
 Should give the things we ask of him. 
 
 But never will his ways be trod 
 
 Again, unless he grants our whim. 
 
 When days are bright and roads are smooth 
 We never think to offer thanks; 
 
 When storms have crashed, our fears we soothe 
 By posing as religious cranks. 
 
 We're like the boy up on the roof 
 
 Who slipped, and with a smothered gulp 
 Exclaimed, "Oh, Lord, please give me proof 
 
 That I will not be crushed to pulp." 
 
 A nail projecting in his path 
 
 Was just the means that God had wrought, 
 And yet this boy cried out in wrath 
 
 "Ne'er mind, dear Lord, for I have caught.' 
 
 Page Fiflytwa 
 
But in all seriousness now 
 
 Our prayers should always meet the test, 
 Not of the "Father I will Thou," 
 
 But, "As Thou wilt" for us is best. 
 
 Page Fifty -three 
 
THE GREATEST THING IN LIFE 
 
 I think the greatest thing in life 
 Would be to have a faithful wife. 
 Who hankers not for bridge and punch 
 But can concoct a tempting lunch. 
 
 One who does not forever gad, 
 Nor fall for each new f angled fad; 
 Who plays and sings — yet likes to cook. 
 And loves me just like in a book. 
 
 I never owned a faithful bride 
 Perchance because of my false pride. 
 My gaze is 'way up in the sky ; 
 My eyes can't see the common fry. 
 
 Some day a little blue eyed dame 
 May have a chance to change her name; 
 Perhaps she'll say, "It is not best 
 For me to live with such a pest." 
 
 Page Fifty -four 
 
FINIS 
 
 My days have been so full of joy, 
 
 And sorrow too, and love, and strife, — 
 
 And yet, I'm only just a boy 
 In spite of concentrated life. 
 
 I've played the game from start to end, 
 And may folks say when I depart, 
 
 **His flesh and bones with earth shall blend. 
 But we shall always have his heart." 
 
 Page Fifty- five 
 
IB2 
 
t^r.'i 
 

 ^^y- N. MANCHESTER,