And now we could not get along
Without their laughter and their song. 
Joy is not bottled on a shelf,
It cannot feed upon itself,
And even love, if it shall wear,
Must find its happiness in care;
Dull we’d become of mind and speech
Had we no little ones to teach. 
No children in the house to play! 
Oh, we could never live that way!

The Loss Is Not So Great

It is better as it is:  I have failed but I can sleep;
Though the pit I now am in is very dark and deep
I can walk to-morrow’s streets and can meet to-morrow’s men
Unashamed to face their gaze as I go to work again.

I have lost the hope I had; in the dust are all my dreams,
But my loss is not so great or so dreadful as it seems;
I made my fight and though I failed I need not slink away
For I do not have to fear what another man may say.

They may call me over-bold, they may say that I was frail;
They may tell I dared too much and was doomed at last to fail;
They may talk my battle o’er and discuss it as they choose,
But I did no brother wrong—­I’m the only one to lose.

It is better as it is:  I have kept my self-respect. 
I can walk to-morrow’s streets meeting all men head erect. 
No man can charge his loss to a pledge I did not keep;
I have no shame to regret:  I have failed, but I can sleep.

Dan McGann Declares Himself

Said Dan McGann to a foreign man who worked at the selfsame bench,
“Let me tell you this,” and for emphasis he flourished a Stilson wrench;
“Don’t talk to me of the bourjoissee, don’t open your mouth to speak
Of your socialists or your anarchists, don’t mention the bolsheveek,
For I’ve had enough of this foreign stuff, I’m sick as a man can be
Of the speech of hate, and I’m tellin’ you straight that this is the land
    for me!

“If you want to brag, just take that flag an’ boast of its field o’ blue,
An’ praise the dead an’ the blood they shed for the peace o’ the likes
    o’ you. 
Enough you’ve raved,” and once more he waved his wrench in a forceful way,
“O’ the cunning creed o’ some Russian breed; I stand for the U.S.A.! 
I’m done with your fads, and your wild-eyed lads.  Don’t flourish your rag
    o’ red
Where I can see or by night there’ll be tall candles around your bed.

“So tip your hat to a flag like that!  Thank God for its stripes an’ stars! 
Thank God you’re here where the roads are clear, away from your kings and
    czars. 
I can’t just say what I feel to-day, for I’m not a talkin’ man,
But, first an’ last, I am standin’ fast for all that’s American. 
So don’t you speak of the bolsheveek, it’s sick of that stuff I am! 
One God, one flag is the creed I brag!  I’m boostin’ for Uncle Sam.”

A Boy and His Stomach