Let others sing in modern ways, it's joy enough for me To sing in good old-fashioned rhyme the days that used to be. The page of boyhood's scribbled full with things we used to do, The fun we had, the games we played, the little tasks we knew, And back to mind there comes today the hardest of our cares, That springtime job of putting down the carpet on the stairs. Housecleaning time meant weary legs and hands and aching backs, For no more tedious job there is than driving carpet tacks. Then mother told us what to do, and on our hands and knees We stretched and hauled and pulled and tugged and did our best to please; But, oh! I well remember now one task which patience wears, That awkward, muscle straining job of carpeting the stairs. We'd start upon the topmost step and let the carpet roll, But then began a feat of strength to try the bravest soul. The corners must be folded so and stretched and firmly tacked, With mother watching every move as down the stairs we backed; And many a time we've reached the end, discovering there and then It wouldn't do at all that way and must be laid again. No more we break our finger nails and set our knees on fire In stretching carpets on the floors, no more our muscles tire; No more the mother stands above our bended forms to see That every tack is driven home the way it ought to be. The times are very different now, and no one ever shares The joy and pain of long ago, while carpeting the stairs. _Horse and Cutter Days_ Winters are not what they used to be in the cities of haste and rush; The snow is white for a little while, then turns to an ugly slush. And the rapid wheels of the motor cars grind all of its beauty down-- But I long for the horse and cutter days we knew in the little town. Then the world stayed white for a month or two and the snow drifts higher grew And cheeks were pink with the glow of health and the joys we youngsters knew, Then sleigh bells added a merry lilt to the cold and crispy air And youth and maid in an open sleigh were always a happy pair. We hitched a ride to the runners strong and the snow flew from our feet, But it's dangerous now to hitch a ride on the dark and crowded street, And the raucous honk of the motor horn has banished the sleigh bell's song, For winter days are cheerless now and winter nights are long. Perhaps it's well that our customs change and good that we travel on, But blent with the smiles of our newer joys are sighs for the pleasures gone, And I sometimes long for the drifted snow and the white and frosty ways, For the cheeks of pink and the laughter gay of our horse and cutter days. _The Old-Time Lilac Bush_