A Heap O' Livin Part 1

A Heap o' Livin'

by Edgar A. Guest.

WHEN YOU KNOW A FELLOW

When you get to know a fellow, know his joys and know his cares, When you've come to understand him and the burdens that he bears, When you've learned the fight he's making and the troubles in his way, Then you find that he is different than you thought him yesterday.

You find his faults are trivial and there's not so much to blame In the brother that you jeered at when you only knew his name.

You are quick to see the blemish in the distant neighbor's style, You can point to all his errors and may sneer at him the while, And your prejudices fatten and your hates more violent grow As you talk about the failures of the man you do not know, But when drawn a little closer, and your hands and shoulders touch, You find the traits you hated really don't amount to much.

When you get to know a fellow, know his every mood and whim, You begin to find the texture of the splendid side of him; You begin to understand him, and you cease to scoff and sneer, For with understanding always prejudices disappear.

You begin to find his virtues and his faults you cease to tell, For you seldom hate a fellow when you know him very well.

When next you start in sneering and your phrases turn to blame, Know more of him you censure than his business and his name; For it's likely that acquaintance would your prejudice dispel And you'd really come to like him if you knew him very well.

When you get to know a fellow and you understand his ways, Then his faults won't really matter, for you'll find a lot to praise.

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THE ROUGH LITTLE RASCAL

A smudge on his nose and a smear on his cheek And knees that might not have been washed in a week; A b.u.mp on his forehead, a scar on his lip, A relic of many a tumble and trip: A rough little, tough little rascal, but sweet, Is he that each evening I'm eager to meet.

A brow that is beady with jewels of sweat; A face that's as black as a visage can get; A suit that at noon was a garment of white, Now one that his mother declares is a fright: A fun-loving, sun-loving rascal, and fine, Is he that comes placing his black fist in mine.

A crop of brown hair that is tousled and tossed; A waist from which two of the b.u.t.tons are lost; A smile that s.h.i.+nes out through the dirt and the grime, And eyes that are flas.h.i.+ng delight all the time: All these are the joys that I'm eager to meet And look for the moment I get to my street.

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IT ISN'T COSTLY

Does the grouch get richer quicker than the friendly sort of man?

Can the grumbler labor better than the cheerful fellow can?

Is the mean and churlish neighbor any cleverer than the one Who shouts a glad "good morning," and then smiling pa.s.ses on?

Just stop and think about it. Have you ever known or seen A mean man who succeeded, just because he was so mean?

When you find a grouch with honors and with money in his pouch, You can bet he didn't win them just because he was a grouch.

Oh, you'll not be any poorer if you smile along your way, And your lot will not be harder for the kindly things you say.

Don't imagine you are wasting time for others that you spend: You can rise to wealth and glory and still pause to be a friend.

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MY CREED

To live as gently as I can; To be, no matter where, a man; To take what comes of good or ill And cling to faith and honor still; To do my best, and let that stand The record of my brain and hand; And then, should failure come to me, Still work and hope for victory.

To have no secret place wherein I stoop unseen to shame or sin; To be the same when I'm alone As when my every deed is known; To live undaunted, unafraid Of any step that I have made; To be without pretense or sham Exactly what men think I am.

To leave some simple mark behind To keep my having lived in mind; If enmity to aught I show, To be an honest, generous foe, To play my little part, nor whine That greater honors are not mine.

This, I believe, is all I need For my philosophy and creed.

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A WISH

I'd like to be a boy again, a care-free prince of joy again, I'd like to tread the hills and dales the way I used to do; I'd like the tattered s.h.i.+rt again, the knickers thick with dirt again, The ugly, dusty feet again that long ago I knew.

I'd like to play first base again, and Sliver's curves to face again, I'd like to climb, the way I did, a friendly apple tree; For, knowing what I do to-day, could I but wander back and play, I'd get full measure of the joy that boyhood gave to me.

I'd like to be a lad again, a youngster, wild and glad again, I'd like to sleep and eat again the way I used to do; I'd like to race and run again, and drain from life its fun again, And start another round of joy the moment one was through.

But care and strife have come to me, and often days are glum to me,

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And sleep is not the thing it was and food is not the same; And I have sighed, and known that I must journey on again to sigh, And I have stood at envy's point and heard the voice of shame.

I've learned that joys are fleeting things; that parting pain each meeting brings; That gain and loss are partners here, and so are smiles and tears; That only boys from day to day can drain and fill the cup of play; That age must mourn for what is lost throughout the coming years.

But boys cannot appreciate their priceless joy until too late And those who own the charms I had will soon be changed to men; And then, they too will sit, as I, and backward turn to look and sigh And share my longing, vain, to be a care-free boy again.

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WHAT A BABY COSTS

"How much do babies cost?" said he The other night upon my knee; And then I said: "They cost a lot; A lot of watching by a cot, A lot of sleepless hours and care, A lot of heart-ache and despair, A lot of fear and trying dread, And sometimes many tears are shed In payment for our babies small, But every one is worth it all.

"For babies people have to pay A heavy price from day to day-- There is no way to get one cheap.

Why, sometimes when they're fast asleep You have to get up in the night And go and see that they're all right.

But what they cost in constant care And worry, does not half compare With what they bring of joy and bliss-- You'd pay much more for just a kiss.

"Who buys a baby has to pay A portion of the bill each day; He has to give his time and thought Unto the little one he's bought.

He has to stand a lot of pain Inside his heart and not complain; And pay with lonely days and sad For all the happy hours he's had.

All this a baby costs, and yet His smile is worth it all, you bet."

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MOTHER

Never a sigh for the cares that she bore for me Never a thought of the joys that flew by; Her one regret that she couldn't do more for me, Thoughtless and selfish, her Master was I.

Oh, the long nights that she came at my call to me!

Oh, the soft touch of her hands on my brow!

Oh, the long years that she gave up her all to me!

Oh, how I yearn for her gentleness now!

Slave to her baby! Yes, that was the way of her, Counting her greatest of services small; Words cannot tell what this old heart would say of her, Mother--the sweetest and fairest of all.

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SELFISH