Dreams Come True KNOW that the songs I am bringing Were never writ by rule, -ampgt For I learned all my singing In the wild birds school. We had no music-master, Not even a fiddler s string Twas the linnet I copied after She taught me how to sing. She sang her song at evening With all a bird s glad thrill, While I, a child believing, Mimicked her at will. I learned to love the grasses And every flower that grew There were no fads nor classes For me to cater to. I never longed for the city, Like some poor rhymers do But kept on with my ditty My audience, birds I knew. I had my dreams of glory, Morning, noon and night Many a wing for a story Was halted in its flight. Now beyond toil and fretting I ll bring my songs to you With your love for a setting My dreams have all come true. M A Song of Father Y father was a quiet man, Built on the very noblest plan, His life to God s best meanings ran. His days were full of sweet content, He always said just what he meant And never owed a man a cent. No one went empty from his door, He always said, quotGod would send more. He loved to help where hearts were sore. We children loved to see him come, Our hearts with tender love were dumb When we would hear him coming home. Now memory lends her sweetest grace As this poor simple song I trace For strangers sit in that dear place. The birds sing there just as of yore, The rosebush climbs about the door, But father s face we ll see no more. Page eight Our Little Part cET us start a good thought going, Page nine It may reach a hungry one, It may light without our knowing, A work for God be done. Some glad song with good intended May be wafted to its goal Some glad word where love is blended May help astranded soul. Walls may crumble in the making, Cities moulder with their dead But a thought that starts souls waking Will live when life has fled. It will live when we are sleeping Neath the daisies on the hill God the record will be keeping When our pulseless hands are still. Then let s keep on sowing, sowing, Doing our little part We must keep on throwing, throwing, Some day a seed may start. c Beggar and Painter OME out, come out, the wild birds said, The eastern sky was gold and red, The earth was putting on her best, A robin circling round her nest While I, a beggar, with new eyes Gazed all enraptured at the skies, Unmindful when my feet struck sod, The soul of me was fed by God. I heard the birds in all their glee, They sang their carolings to me. What, though I had an empty purse, I d heard of things, oh, so much worse Dishonor had not come to me From all such sinning I was free. Even pangs of hunger passed me by When I could see God paint the sky. P a g- e ten Motherhood wHEN they brought the baby Page eleven to me And held it for a kiss, How mother love thrilled through me, I said, quotThank God for this, quot The little tender clinging thing, Of my own life a part I wondered how a child could bring Such joy to a mother s heart. The little tender clinging hands, That clung so to my own While, mother-like, I made such plans When baby would be grown. The little nestling cheek of pink With its dear velvet touch Made me, a young wife, stop and think For motherhood meant much. Twas the happiest moment of my life I say it now with pride I had known both loves, of mother and wife, And I was satisfied. For a mother s heart is a wondrous thing, Thrilling at baby s cries And that is whythis tribute I bring All mine have flown to the skies.
