Each for his loved ones wants to do
  His utmost.  Brothers are we all,
When we have run the work-day through,
  In romping with our children small;
Rich men and poor delight in play
  When care and caste have taken flight. 
At home, in all we think and say,
  We’re very much the same at night.

The Things You Can’t Forget

They ain’t much, seen from day to day—­
The big elm tree across the way,
The church spire, an’ the meetin’ place
Lit up by many a friendly face. 
You pass ’em by a dozen times
An’ never think o’ them in rhymes,
Or fit for poet’s singin’.  Yet
They’re all the things you can’t forget;
An’ they’re the things you’ll miss some day
If ever you should go away.

The people here ain’t much to see—­
Jes’ common folks like you an’ me,
Doin’ the ordinary tasks
Which life of everybody asks: 
Old Dr. Green, still farin’ ’round
To where his patients can be found,
An’ Parson Hill, serene o’ face,
Carryin’ God’s message every place,
An’ Jim, who keeps the grocery store—­
Yet they are folks you’d hunger for.

They seem so plain when close to view—­
Bill Barker, an’ his brother too,
The Jacksons, men of higher rank
Because they chance to run the bank,
Yet friends to every one round here,
Quiet an’ kindly an’ sincere,
Not much to sing about or praise,
Livin’ their lives in modest ways—­
Yet in your memory they’d stay
If ever you should go away.

These are things an’ these the men
Some day you’ll long to see again. 
Now it’s so near you scarcely see
The beauty o’ that big elm tree,
But some day later on you will
An’ wonder if it’s standin’ still,
An’ if the birds return to sing
An’ make their nests there every spring. 
Mebbe you scorn them now, but they
Will bring you back again some day.

The Making of Friends

If nobody smiled and nobody cheered and nobody helped us along,
If each every minute looked after himself and good things all went to the
    strong,
If nobody cared just a little for you, and nobody thought about me,
And we stood all alone to the battle of life, what a dreary old world it
    would be!

If there were no such a thing as a flag in the sky as a symbol of
    comradeship here,
If we lived as the animals live in the woods, with nothing held sacred or
    dear,
And selfishness ruled us from birth to the end, and never a neighbor had
    we,
And never we gave to another in need, what a dreary old world it would be!

Oh, if we were rich as the richest on earth and strong as the strongest
    that lives,
Yet never we knew the delight and the charm of the smile which the other
    man gives,
If kindness were never a part of ourselves, though we owned all the land we
    could see,
And friendship meant nothing at all to us here, what a dreary old world it
    would be!