She mothered five! 
She gave her beauty—­from her cheeks let fade
Their rose-blush beauty—­to her mother trade. 
She saw the wrinkles furrowing her brow,
Yet smiling said:  “My boy grows stronger now.” 
When pleasures called she turned away and said: 
“I dare not leave my babies to be fed
By strangers’ hands; besides they are too small;
I must be near to hear them when they call.”

She mothered five! 
Night after night they sat about her knee
And heard her tell of what some day would be. 
From her they learned that in the world outside
Are cruelty and vice and selfishness and pride;
From her they learned the wrongs they ought to shun,
What things to love, what work must still be done. 
She led them through the labyrinth of youth
And brought five men and women up to truth.

She mothered five! 
Her name may be unknown save to the few;
Of her the outside world but little knew;
But somewhere five are treading virtue’s ways,
Serving the world and brightening its days;
Somewhere are five, who, tempted, stand upright,
Who cling to honor, keep her memory bright;
Somewhere this mother toils and is alive
No more as one, but in the breasts of five.

Little Girls Are Best

Little girls are mighty nice,
  Take ’em any way they come;
They are always worth their price;
  Life without ’em would be glum;
Run earth’s lists of treasures through,
  Pile ’em high until they fall,
Gold an’ costly jewels, too—­
  Little girls are best of all.

Nothing equals ’em on earth! 
  I’m an old man an’ I know
Any little girl is worth
  More than all the gold below;
Eyes o’ blue or brown or gray,
  Raven hair or golden curls,
There’s no joy on earth to-day
  Quite so fine as little girls.

Pudgy nose or freckled face,
  Fairy-like or plain to see,
God has surely blessed the place
  Where a little girl may be;
They’re the jewels of His crown
  Dropped to earth from heaven above,
Like wee angel souls sent down
  To remind us of His love.

God has made some lovely things—­
  Roses red an’ skies o’ blue,
Trees an’ babbling silver springs,
  Gardens glistening with dew—­
But take every gift to man,
  Big an’ little, great an’ small,
Judge it on its merits, an’
  Little girls are best of all!

The World and Bud

If we were all alike, what a dreadful world ’twould be! 
No one would know which one was you or which of us was me. 
We’d never have a “Skinny” or a “Freckles” or a “Fat,”
An’ there wouldn’t be a sissy boy to wear a velvet hat;
An’ we’d all of us be pitchers when we played a baseball match,
For we’d never have a feller who’d have nerve enough to catch.