James Whitcomb Riley

It’s_Got_To Be

'When it’s _got_ to be,'—like! always say,
As I notice the years whiz past,
And know each day is a yesterday,
When we size it up, at last,—
Same as I said when my _boyhood_ went
And I knowed _we_ had to quit,—
'It’s _got_ to be, and it’s _goin’_ to be!'—
So I said 'Good-by’ to _it_.
 
It’s _got_ to be, and it’s _goin’_ to be!
So at least I always try
To kind o’ say in a hearty way,—
'Well, it’s _got_ to be. Good-by!'
 
The time jes melts like a late, last snow,—
When it’s _got_ to be, it melts!
But I aim to keep a cheerful mind,
Ef I can’t keep nothin’ else!
I knowed, when I come to twenty-one,
That I’d soon be twenty-two,—
So I waved one hand at the soft young man,
And I said, 'Good-by to _you_!'
 
It’s _got_ to be, and it’s _goin’_ to be!
So at least I always try
To kind o’ say, in a cheerful way,—
'Well, it’s _got_ to be.—Good-by!'
 
They kep’ a-goin’, the years and years,
Yet still I smiled and smiled,—
For I’d said 'Good-by’ to my single life,
And I now had a wife and child:
Mother and son and the father—one,—
Till, last, on her bed of pain,
She jes’ smiled up, like she always done,—
And I said 'Good-by’ again.
 
It’s _got_ to be, and it’s _goin’_ to be!
So at least I always try
To kind o’ say, in a humble way,—
'Well, it’s _got_ to be. Good-by!'
 
And then my boy—as he growed to be
Almost a man in size,—
Was more than a pride and joy to me,
With his mother’s smilin’ eyes.—
He gimme the slip, when the War broke out,
And followed me. And I
Never knowed till the first right’s end...
I found him, and then,... ‘Good-by.’
 
It’s _got_ to be, and it’s _goin’_ to be!
So at least I always try
To kind o’ say, in a patient way,
'Well, it’s _got_ to be. Good-by!'
 
I have said, ‘Good-by!—Good-by!—Good-by!’
With my very best good will,
All through life from the first,—and I
Am a cheerful old man still:
 
But it’s _got_ to end, and it’s _goin’_ to end!
And this is the thing I’ll do,—
With my last breath I will laugh, O Death,
And say 'Good-by’ to _you_!...
 
It’s _got_ to be! And again I say,—
When his old scythe circles high,
I’ll laugh—of course, in the kindest way,—
As I say ‘Good-by!—Good-by!’
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