I want him waiting for me at night
With eyes that glisten with real delight;
When it’s right that punished my boy should be
I don’t want the job postponed for me;
I want to come home to a round of joy
And not to frighten a little boy.

“Wait till your Pa comes home!” Oh, dear,
What a dreadful threat for a boy to hear. 
Yet that is ever his Mother’s way
Of saving herself from a bitter day;
And well she knows in the evening gloam
He won’t be hurt when his Pa comes home.

Nothing to Laugh At

‘Taint nothin’ to laugh at as I can see! 
If you’d been stung by a bumble bee,
An’ your nose wuz swelled an’ it smarted, too,
You wouldn’t want people to laugh at you. 
If you had a lump that wuz full of fire,
Like you’d been touched by a red hot wire,
An’ your nose spread out like a load of hay,
You wouldn’t want strangers who come your way
To ask you to let ’em see the place
An’ laugh at you right before your face.

What’s funny about it, I’d like to know? 
It isn’t a joke to be hurted so! 
An’ how wuz I ever on earth to tell
’At the pretty flower which I stooped to smell
In our backyard wuz the very one
Which a bee wuz busily working on? 
An’ jus’ as I got my nose down there,
He lifted his foot an’ kicked for fair,
An’ he planted his stinger right into me,
But it’s nothin’ to laugh at as I can see.

I let out a yell an’ my Maw came out
To see what the trouble wuz all about. 
She says from my shriek she wuz sure ’at I
Had been struck by a motor car passin’ by;
But when she found what the matter wuz
She laughed just like ever’body does
An’ she made me stand while she poked about
To pull his turrible stinger out. 
An’ my Pa laughed, too, when he looked at me,
But it’s nothin’ to laugh at, as I can see.

My Maw put witch hazel on the spot
To take down the swellin’ but it has not. 
It seems to git bigger as time goes by
An’ I can’t see good out o’ this one eye;
An’ it hurts clean down to my very toes
Whenever I’ve got to blow my nose. 
An’ all I can say is when this gits well
There ain’t any flowers I’ll stoop to smell. 
I’m through disturbin’ a bumble bee,
But it’s nothin’ to laugh at, as I can see.

No Room for Hate

We have room for the man with an honest dream,
With his heart on fire and his eyes agleam;
We have room for the man with a purpose true,
Who comes to our shores to start life anew,
But we haven’t an inch of space for him
Who comes to plot against life and limb.

We have room for the man who will learn our ways,
Who will stand by our Flag in its troubled days;
We have room for the man who will till the soil,
Who will give his hands to a fair day’s toil,
But we haven’t an inch of space to spare
For the breeder of hatred and black despair.