SOMEBODY'S MOTHER. Be good, be pure, be noble, John, That they should do to you; And place your trust in God, my boy, Good-bye! May Heaven guard and bless Your footsteps day by day! The old house will be lonesome, John, SOMEBODY'S MOTHER. THE woman was old and ragged and gray, The street was wet with the recent snow, She stood at the crossing and waited long, Of human beings who passed her by, Down the street with laughter and shout, Came the boys like a flock of sheep, 333 Past the woman so old and gray Nor offered a helping hand to her, Lest the carriage wheels or the horses' feet At last came one of the merry troop― He paused beside her and whispered low, you Her aged hand on his strong young arm Then back again to his friends he went, "She's somebody's mother, boys, you know, And I hope some fellow will lend a hand If ever she's poor and old and gray, And "somebody's mother" bowed low her head Was, "God be kind to the noble boy, Who is somebody's son and pride and joy!" OLD GRANDPA'S SOLILOQUY. OLD GRANDPA'S SOLILOQUY. It wasn't so when I was young— We used plain language then; When speaking of the nice hand-write An' when we saw a girl we liked, Well, when we met a good old friend We greeted him, but didn't say, The boys sometimes got mad an' fit; Once when a youth was turned away He walked upon his feet-but now We used to dance when I was young, But now they don't-they only "sling Of death we spoke in language plain But in these days one doesn't die- 335 We praised the man of common sense; "His judgment's good," we said But now they say: "Well, that old plum Has got a level head." It's rather sad the children now Are learnin' all such talk; They've learned to "chin" instead of chat, An' "waltz" instead of walk. To little Harry yesterday My grandchild, aged two I said, "You love grandpa?" said he, "You bet your boots I do.” The children bowed to a stranger once; It is no longer so The little girl, as well as boys, Now greets you with "Helloa!" Oh, give me back the good old days, When both the old and young Conversed in plain, old-fashioned words, And slang was never "slung." THE GALLANT BRAKEMAN. DUST-GRIMED features, weather-beaten, In the storms or in the sunshine In the pleasant summer weather, THE GALLANT BRAKEMAN. While notes this beauteous picture Comes the quick shrill cry for brakes. But when winter's icy fingers Cover earth with snowy shroud, Do not scorn to greet him kindly, Tho' his clothes are coarse and plain, In his fearless bosom, beats a Heart that feels both joy and pain. He may have a widowed mother, Daily facing death and danger, Note what its filled columns say, 337 |