Now folks is folks on their different ways, With their different griefs an' pleasures, But the home they knew, when their years were few, Is the dearest of all their treasures. An' the richest man to the poorest waif Right under the skin is brother When they stand an' sigh, with a tear-dimmed eye, At a thought of the dear old mother. It makes no difference where it may be, Nor the fortunes that years may alter, Be they simple or wise, the old home ties Make all of 'em often falter. Time may robe 'em in sackcloth coarse Or garb 'em in gorgeous splendor, But whatever their lot, they keep one spot Down deep that is sweet an' tender. We was speakin' of folks, jes' common folks, An' we come to this conclusion, That one an' all, be they great or small, Will warm to a home allusion; That under the skin an' the beaten hide They're kin in a real affection For the joys they knew, when their years were few, An' the home of their recollection. {38} LITTLE MASTER MISCHIEVOUS Little Master Mischievous, that's the name for you; There's no better title that describes the things you do: Into something all the while where you shouldn't be, Prying into matters that are not for you to see; Little Master Mischievous, order's overthrown If your mother leaves you for a minute all alone. Little Master Mischievous, opening every door, Spilling books and papers round about the parlor floor, Scratching all the tables and marring all the chairs, Climbing where you shouldn't climb and tumbling down the stairs. How'd you get the ink well? We can never guess. Now the rug is ruined; so's your little dress. Little Master Mischievous, in the cookie jar, Who has ever told you where the cookies are? Now your sticky fingers smear the curtains white; You have finger-printed everything in sight. There's no use in scolding; when you smile that way You can rob of terror every word we say. Little Master Mischievous, that's the name for you; There's no better title that describes the things you do: Prying into corners, peering into nooks, Tugging table covers, tearing costly books. Little Master Mischievous, have your roguish way; Time, I know, will stop you, soon enough some day. {39} OPPORTUNITY So long as men shall be on earth There will be tasks for them to do, Some way for them to show their worth; Each day shall bring its problems new. And men shall dream of mightier deeds Than ever have been done before: There always shall be human needs For men to work and struggle for. {40} THE SORROW TUGS