It is oh, my little laddie, though you cannot hear me call, I am always there to help you every time you chance to fall; I am with you in the school room and I'm with you on the street, And though you may not know it, I am dogging at your feet. It's oh, my little laddie, all my life belongs to you, All the dreams that I have cherished through the years depend on you; And though now you cannot know it, you shall some day come to see How this old heart loved to hover 'round a boy that used to be. _The Boy_ A possible man of affairs, A possible leader of men, Back of the grin that he wears There may be the courage of ten; Lawyer or merchant or priest, Artist or singer of joy, This, when his strength is increased, Is what may become of the boy. Heedless and mischievous now, Spending his boyhood in play, Yet glory may rest on his brow And fame may exalt him some day; A skill that the world shall admire, Strength that the world shall employ And faith that shall burn as a fire, Are what may be found in the boy. He with the freckles and tan, He with that fun-loving grin, May rise to great heights as a man And many a battle may win; Back of the slang of the streets And back of the love of a toy, It may be a Great Spirit beats-- Lincoln once played as a boy. Trace them all back to their youth, All the great heroes we sing, Seeking and serving the Truth, President, poet and king, Washington, Caesar and Paul, Homer who sang about Troy, Jesus, the Greatest of all, Each in his time was a boy. _I Don't Want to Go to Bed_ World wide over this is said: "I don't want to go to bed." Dads and mothers, far and near, Every night this chorus hear; Makes no difference where they are, Here or off in Zanzibar, In the igloos made of snow Of the fur-clad Eskimo, In this blistering torrid zone, This one touch of nature's known; In life's various tongues it's said: "I don't want to go to bed!" This has ever been the way Of the youngsters at their play. Laughter quickly dries their tears, Trouble swiftly disappears, Joy is everywhere about, Here and there and in and out; Yet when night comes on they cry That so glad a day should die, And they think that they will miss Something more of precious bliss, So shouts every curly-head: "I don't want to go to bed!" Age is glad to put away All the burdens of the day, Glad to lay the worries down, Quit the noises of the town, And in slumber end the care That has met them here and there. But the children do not know Life is freighted down with woe; They would run until they drop, Hoping day would never stop, Calling back when it has fled: "I don't want to go to bed." _Morning Brigands_