For every poor, defective soul that wanders In the dark shades of subjectivity, For each deluded mind that glibly flounders In the foul mire of abnormality, Give us a host who cheerful laughter scatter, Whose willing hands toil on in love’s sweet right, Who plant the roses, guide the feet that patter Around the hearth of happiness at night. Give us, O God, a race of normal people Who walk no paths of morbidness apart; Who dwell not in the bog, nor yet the steeple, But in the dusty way, the busy mart; Who like their work, care for the folks about them, And make each day a thing of joy and song. This world of our’s could never do without them. They are the men who make it move along. The Railroad (1924) WHERE do they go, these shining rails That ramble so far away That seem to reach where the twilight pales At the beautiful gates of day?” “They run to the wider world, my boy, Of dreaming, and strife, and again, With its mingling of weariness and joy, To the city--and back again. Out of the valley and o’er the hill Where childhood has had its day, Out of the hamlet so small and still And into the far away, On, on to the world of toil, my lad, With its struggle of brawn and brain, Some of it good and some of it bad, To the city--and back again. Shadows on the Wall (1924) Coming, going, thru the play, Flashing on the screen, Do the actors take their way. Briefly each is seen. What are they--these shapes that move, Forms that rise and fall, Urged by hope, or fear, or love? Shadows on the wall. In the daily strain and strife Shift and change appear. On the larger stage of life Mingle smile and tear. Here our little race we run, Then are vanished all. What are we when all is done? Shadows on the wall. Sorrow (1924) God sometimes drops the shadows o’er us, And leaves them for a space, That we may clearly see before us The image of the love he bore us Reflected on his face. He sometimes sends us hours of grieving, That we may slip away From sounds and voices so deceiving, And once again in faith believing Kneel at his throne and pray. He sometimes leaves us to our weeping, Though bitter seem our tears, That briny drops from we eyes creeping May wake some happiness long sleeping For gladder, sweeter years. The Things That I Believe (1924) The things that I believe --These things are life to me. Some all the senses might deceive, For some I cannot see; But in the tempest fierce and old I feel their strong truth grip and hold. The things that I believe --I cannot let them go; And empty-hearted grope and grieve In darkness and in woe. So, God, I thank my every star They are no fewer than they are. Today and Tomorrow (1924)