When a man has drawn from the busy throng To the sweet retreat of the silent hours, Low voices whisper of higher powers. He catches the strain of some far-off song, And the sham fades out and his eyes can see, Not the man he is in the day's hot strife And the greed and grind of a selfish life, But the soul of the man he is to be. He feels the throbbing of life divine, And catches a glimpse of the greater plan; He questions the purpose and work of man. In the hours of silence his mind grows fine; He seeks to learn what is kept unknown; He turns from self and its garb of clay And dwells on the soul and the higher way. Strange thoughts come when a man's alone. Shut-Ins We're gittin' so we need again To see the sproutin' seed again. We've been shut up all winter long Within our narrow rooms; We're sort o' shriveled up an' dry-- Ma's cranky-like an' quick to cry; We need the blue skies overhead, The garden with its blooms. I'm findin' fault with this an' that! I threw my bootjack at the cat Because he rubbed against my leg-- I guess I'm all on edge; I'm fidgety an' fussy too, An' Ma finds fault with all I do; It seems we need to see again The green upon the hedge. We've been shut up so long, it seems We've lost the glamour of our dreams. We've narrowed down as people will Till fault is all we see. We need to stretch our souls in air Where there is room enough to spare; We need the sight o' something green On every shrub an' tree. But soon our petulance will pass-- Our feet will tread the dew-kissed grass; Our souls will break their narrow cells, An' swell with love once more. And with the blue skies overhead, The harsh an' hasty words we've said Will vanish with the snow an' ice, When spring unlocks the door. The sun will make us sweet again With blossoms at our feet again; We'll wander, arm in arm, the ways Where beauty reigns supreme. An' Ma an' I shall smile again, An' be ourselves awhile again, An' claim, like prisoners set free, The charm of every dream. The Cut-Down Trousers When father couldn't wear them mother cut them down for me; She took the slack in fore and aft, and hemmed them at the knee; They fitted rather loosely, but the things that made me glad Were the horizontal pockets that those good old trousers had. They shone like patent leather just where well-worn breeches do, But the cloth in certain portions was considered good as new, And I know that I was envied by full many a richer lad For the horizontal pockets that those good old knickers had. They were cut along the waist line, with the opening straight and wide, And there wasn't any limit to what you could get inside; They would hold a peck of marbles, and a knife and top and string, And snakes and frogs and turtles; there was room for everything.