Then our fortune changed a little, and my mother said that she Wouldn't bother any longer fitting father's duds on me, But the store clothes didn't please me; there were times they made me sad, For I missed those good old pockets that my father's trousers had. Dinner-Time Tuggin' at your bottle, An' it's O, you're mighty sweet! Just a bunch of dimples From your top-knot to your feet, Lying there an' gooin' In the happiest sort o' way, Like a rosebud peekin' at me In the early hours o' day; Gloating over goodness That you know an' sense an' clutch, An' smilin' at your daddy, Who loves you, O, so much! Tuggin' at your bottle, As you nestle in your crib, With your daddy grinnin' at you 'Cause you've dribbled on your bib, An' you gurgle an' you chortle Like a brook in early Spring; An' you kick your pink feet gayly, An' I think you'd like to sing. All you wanted was your dinner, Daddy knew it too, you bet! An' the moment that you got it Then you ceased to fuss an' fret. Tuggin' at your bottle, Not a care, excepting when You lose the rubber nipple, But you find it soon again; An' the gurglin' an' the gooin' An' the chortlin' start anew, An' the kickin' an' the squirmin' Show the wondrous joy o' you. But I'll bet you're not as happy At your dinner, little tot, As the weather-beaten daddy Who is bendin' o'er your cot! The Pay Envelope Is it all in the envelope holding your pay? Is that all you're working for day after day? Are you getting no more from your toil than the gold That little enclosure of paper will hold? Is that all you're after; is that all you seek? Does that close the deal at the end of the week? Is it all in the envelope holding his pay? Is that all you offer him day after day? Is that all he wins by his labor from you? Is that the reward for the best he can do? Would you say of your men, when the week has been turned, That all they've received is the money they've earned? Is it all in the envelope, workman and chief? Then loyalty's days must be fleeting and brief; If you measure your work by its value in gold The sum of your worth by your pay shall be told; And if something of friendship your men do not find Outside of their envelopes, you're the wrong kind. If all that you offer is silver and gold, You haven't a man in your plant you can hold. If all that you're after each week is your pay, You are doing your work in a short-sighted way; For the bigger rewards it is useless to hope If you never can see past the pay envelope. The Evening Prayer