I HEARD an old man say today: ‘A young man gives me orders now,’ A beardless youth gets better pay And tells me what to do and how; While I have toiled for forty years,

They ain’t much, seen from day to day– The big elm tree across the way, The church spire, an’ the meetin’ place Lit up by many a friendly face. You pass 'em by a dozen times

H’it’s h’easy to be 'appy, Don’t you know; There’s no sense in being snappy, Don’t you know; Wot’s the use h’of being grumpy,

I notice when the news comes in Of one who’s claimed eternal glory, This simple phrase, ‘the next of kin,’ Concludes the soldier’s final story. This tells the world what voice will cho…

The whistle sounds! The game is o’er! We pay our tribute now with tears Instead of smiling eyes and cheers. Neil Snow has crossed the line once mor… Life’s scrimmage ends! A manly soul

WHOM is your boy going to for advice? Tough Johnny Jones at the end of the st… Rough Billy Green or untaught Jimmy Pr… Who is now guiding his innocent feet? Who takes him walking or swimming today,

When he was just a lad in school, He used to sit around and fool And watch the clock and say: ‘I can’t see that I’ll ever need This stuff the teacher makes me read,

‘My Crown Prince was fine and fair,’ a… father said, ‘But he marched away with his regiment a… they tell me that he’s dead! ‘We all must go,’ he whispered low, ‘We…

Love Truth went forth on a search one day I For the source of love that he might… He had found its depth and its breadth f… He met a miser, bent and old,

I START the day with paper white, And put it in my old machine, And wonder whether, as I write The night will find my copy clean. Will this day’s finished task be fair

I’m standing at my lathe all day And this is what I hear it say: ‘The best of you, the best of me Are needed now across the sea. We do not hear the cannon roar,

I ALWAYS think of mother, when The lilac tree’s in bloom, It seems her soul comes back again Upon its sweet perfume. And every opal spire that sways

Little girlie, kneeling there, Speaking low your evening prayer, In your cunning little nightie With your pink toes peeping through, With your eyes closed and your hands