I had a wild encounter with a mad and awful beast, His eyes were bulged with malice, for he'd picked me for a feast. I tried to scream, but couldn't. Then he growled a fearful note And gave one spring towards me and his fangs sank in my throat, One gulp and it was over--it was much too black to see, But I knew beyond all question that the end had come for me. I tumbled from an aeroplane and looped and looped around, And was twenty-seven minutes on my journey to the ground; I bumped a dozen steeples on my perilous descent And left as many flagstaffs either snapped in two or bent-- But when I woke, in terror, I discovered with a sigh How much of real excitement lurks in mother's hot mince pie. _The Laughing Boy_ Always seeing the funny side, That's the glorious way of him. Rollin' his head, with his mouth stretched wide, As quick to laugh as a duck to swim; Whatever you say or whatever you do, He'll answer you back with a chuckle or two. Laughing from mornin' till night, it seems, Just chock full of the gift o' fun, An' the angels send him their comic dreams So's he can grin for 'em every one, An' his grandma says when he laughs her down, He's the disrespectfullest boy in town. Laughed at the prayer that the preacher spoke The night Ma asked him to come for tea; Seemed to think it was all a joke, An' he actually winked his eye at me. His ears are keen an' his mind is quick An' his grin is ready for every trick. "What'll we do?" says Ma to me, "With a boy like that who won't behave?" An' I answer back: "We'll let him be. Old folks' faces are far too grave, An' it's good for us all to have the joy An' the rollickin' mirth of a laughin' boy." _Apples Ripe for Eating_ Apples ripe for eating, and the grate fire blazing high, And outside the moon of autumn fairly swimming in the sky; The cellar packed with good things from the vine and field and tree-- Oh, the speech of man can't tell it, but it somehow seems to me With such warmth and cheer around us, we should all burst into song And store enough of gladness now to last our whole lives long. Apples ripe for eating--there's a joy beyond compare To pay for all our trouble and the burdens we must bear! The bowl upon the table filled with round and rosy cheeks, And enough down in the cellar to last all the winter weeks, So that when the bowl is empty we can fill it up again-- And in spite of that we grumble and we bitterly complain. I sometimes sit and wonder as we pack life's fruits away And hoard them in the cellar for the bleak and wintry day, Why the mind of man has never tried to store a stock of cheer In the cellar of his memory for the barren time of year, So that when joy's bowl is emptied and he thinks that life is vain, He can seek his hoard of pleasures and just fill it up again.