"'Twas months before he came," says Ma. "'Twas after he was born," says Pa; "I rather think I ought to know Just when it was I suffered so." "Maybe you ought," says Ma, "but still, I saw you tumble down the hill, And it was March with snow drifts high-- Bud wasn't born till next July." "I'd walk him round the floor," says Pa. "You're all mixed up again," says Ma. "We'll ask Aunt Lizzie, she was there, She'd come to help." Says Ma: "I swear You're just as crazy as a loon, Aunt Lizzie didn't come till June. To argue on is most absurd, Bud wasn't born when that occurred." I wish I knew just what is what Or whether I was born or not, But I'll just have to sit and wait Until Pa gets his story straight; And I have never heard at all Just how it was he chanced to fall, For Pa and Ma can't yet agree Which one came first--the fall or me. _The Spirit of the Home_ Dishes to wash and clothes to mend, And always another meal to plan, Never the tasks of a mother end And oh, so early her day began! Floors to sweep and the pies to bake, And chairs to dust and the beds to make. Oh, the home is fair when you come at night And the meal is good and the children gay, And the kettle sings in its glad delight And the mother smiles in her gentle way; So great her love that you seldom see Or catch a hint of the drudgery. Home, you say, when the day is done, Home to comfort and peace and rest; Home, where the children romp and run-- There is the place that you love the best! Yet what would the home be like if you Had all of its endless tasks to do? Would it be home if she were not there, Brave and gentle and fond and true? Could you so fragrant a meal prepare? Could you the numberless duties do? What were the home that you love so much, Lacking her presence and gracious touch? She is the spirit of all that's fair; She is the home that you think you build; She is the beauty you dream of there; She is the laughter with which it's filled-- She, with her love and her gentle smile, Is all that maketh the home worth while. _If I Were Sending My Boy Afar_ If I were sending my boy afar To live and labor where strangers are, I should hold him close till the time to go, Telling him things which he ought to know; I should whisper counsel and caution wise, Hinting of dangers which might arise, And tell him the things I have learned from life, Of its bitter pain and its cruel strife And the sore temptations which men beset, And then add this: "Boy, don't forget When your strength gives out and your hope grows dim, Your father will help if you'll come to him."