I'm glad I didn't live on earth when Fulton had his dream, And told his neighbors marvelous tales of what he'd do with steam, For I'm not sure I'd not have been a member of the throng That couldn't see how paddle-wheels could shove a boat along. At "Fulton's Folly" I'd have sneered, as thousands did back then, And called the Clermont's architect the craziest of men. Yet Franklin gave us wonders great and Fulton did the same, And many "boobs" have left behind an everlasting fame. And dead are all their scoffers now and all their sneers forgot And scarce a nickel's worth of good was brought here by the lot. I shudder when I stop to think, had I been living then, I might have been a scoffer, too, and jeered at Bob and Ben. I am afraid to-day to sneer at any fellow's dream. Time was I thought men couldn't fly or sail beneath the stream. I never call a man a boob who toils throughout the night On visions that I cannot see, because he may be right. I always think of Franklin's trick, which brought the jeers of men. And to myself I say, "Who knows but here's another Ben?" The Pathway of the Living The pathway of the living is our ever-present care. Let us do our best to smooth it and to make it bright and fair; Let us travel it with kindness, let's be careful as we tread, And give unto the living what we'd offer to the dead. The pathway of the living we can beautify and grace; We can line it deep with roses and make earth a happier place. But we've done all mortals can do, when our prayers are softly said For the souls of those that travel o'er the pathway of the dead. The pathway of the living all our strength and courage needs, There we ought to sprinkle favors, there we ought to sow our deeds, There our smiles should be the brightest, there our kindest words be said, For the angels have the keeping of the pathway of the dead. Lemon Pie The world is full of gladness, There are joys of many kinds, There's a cure for every sadness, That each troubled mortal finds. And my little cares grow lighter And I cease to fret and sigh, And my eyes with joy grow brighter When she makes a lemon pie. When the bronze is on the filling That's one mass of shining gold, And its molten joy is spilling On the plate, my heart grows bold And the kids and I in chorus Raise one glad exultant cry And we cheer the treat before us Which is mother's lemon pie.