You may think it very fine to know the great; You may glory in some leader's words of praise; You may tell with eyes aglow of the public men you know, But the true friends seldom travel glory's ways, And the day you're lying ill, lonely, pale and keeping still, With a fevered pulse, that's beating double quick, Then it is you must depend on the old-familiar friend To come to call upon you when you're sick. It is pleasing to receive a great man's nod, And it's good to know the big men of the land, But the test of friendship true, isn't merely: "Howdy-do?" And a willingness to shake you by the hand. If you want to know the friends who love you best, And the faithful from the doubtful you would pick, It is not a mighty task; of yourself you've but to ask: "Does he come to call upon me when I'm sick?" The Old Wooden Tub I like to get to thinking of the old days that are gone, When there were joys that never more the world will look upon, The days before inventors smoothed the little cares away And made, what seemed but luxuries then, the joys of every day; When bathrooms were exceptions, and we got our weekly scrub By standing in the middle of a little wooden tub. We had no rapid heaters, and no blazing gas to burn, We boiled the water on the stove, and each one took his turn. Sometimes to save expenses we would use one tub for two; The water brother Billy used for me would also do, Although an extra kettle I was granted, I admit, On winter nights to freshen and to warm it up a bit. We carried water up the stairs in buckets and in pails, And sometimes splashed it on our legs, and rent the air with wails, But if the nights were very cold, by closing every door We were allowed to take our bath upon the kitchen floor. Beside the cheery stove we stood and gave ourselves a rub, In comfort most luxurious in that old wooden tub. But modern homes no more go through that joyous weekly fun, And through the sitting rooms at night no half-dried children run; No little flying forms go past, too swift to see their charms, With shirts and underwear and things tucked underneath their arms; The home's so full of luxury now, it's almost like a club, I sometimes wish we could go back to that old wooden tub. Lost Opportunities "When I am rich," he used to say, "A thousand joys I'll give away; I'll walk among the poor I find And unto one and all be kind. I'll place a wreath of roses red Upon the bier of all my dead; I'll help the struggling youth to climb; In doing good I'll spend my time; To all in need I'll friendly be The day that fortune smiles on me." He never guessed that being kind Depends upon the heart and mind And not upon the purse at all; That poor men's gifts, however small, Make light some weary traveler's load And smooth for him his troubled road. He never knew or understood The fellowship of doing good. Because he had not much to spare He thought it vain to give his share.