No Better Land Than This

If I knew a better country in this glorious world today
Where a man’s work hours are shorter and he’s drawing bigger pay,
If the Briton or the Frenchman had an easier life than mine,
I’d pack my goods this minute and I’d sail across the brine. 
But I notice when an alien wants a land of hope and cheer,
And a future for his children, he comes out and settles here.

Here’s the glorious land of Freedom!  Here’s the milk and honey goal
For the peasant out of Russia, for the long-subjected Pole. 
It is here the sons of Italy and men of Austria turn
For the comfort of their bodies and the wages they can earn. 
And with all that men complain of, and with all that goes amiss,
There’s no happier, better nation on the world’s broad face than this.

So I’m thinking when I listen to the wails of discontent,
And some foreign disbeliever spreads his evil sentiment,
That the breed of hate and envy that is sowing sin and shame
In this glorious land of Freedom should go back from whence it came. 
And I hold it is the duty, rich or poor, of every man
Who enjoys this country’s bounty to be all American.

A Boy and His Dog

A boy and his dog make a glorious pair: 
No better friendship is found anywhere,
For they talk and they walk and they run and they play,
And they have their deep secrets for many a day;
And that boy has a comrade who thinks and who feels,
Who walks down the road with a dog at his heels.

He may go where he will and his dog will be there,
May revel in mud and his dog will not care;
Faithful he’ll stay for the slightest command
And bark with delight at the touch of his hand;
Oh, he owns a treasure which nobody steals,
Who walks down the road with a dog at his heels.

No other can lure him away from his side;
He’s proof against riches and station and pride;
Fine dress does not charm him, and flattery’s breath
Is lost on the dog, for he’s faithful to death;
He sees the great soul which the body conceals—­
Oh, it’s great to be young with a dog at your heels!

“Wait Till Your Pa Comes Home”

“Wait till your Pa comes home!” Oh, dear! 
What a dreadful threat for a boy to hear. 
Yet never a boy of three or four
But has heard it a thousand times or more. 
“Wait till your Pa comes home, my lad,
And see what you’ll get for being bad,

“Wait till your Pa comes home, you scamp! 
You’ve soiled the walls with your fingers damp,
You’ve tracked the floor with your muddy feet
And fought with the boy across the street;
You’ve torn your clothes and you look a sight! 
But wait till your Pa comes home to-night.”

Now since I’m the Pa of that daily threat
Which paints me as black as a thing of jet
I rise in protest right here to say
I won’t be used in so fierce a way;
No child of mine in the evening gloam
Shall be afraid of my coming home.