That is the sort of a man was he: 
Straight when it hurt him a lot to be;
Times when a lie would have paid him well,
No matter the cost, the truth he’d tell;
An’ he’d rather go down to a drab defeat
Than save himself if he had to cheat.

Cleaning the Furnace

Last night Pa said to Ma:  “My dear, it’s gettin’ on to fall,
It’s time I did a little job I do not like at all. 
I wisht ’at I was rich enough to hire a man to do
The dirty work around this house an’ clean up when he’s through,
But since I’m not, I’m truly glad that I am strong an’ stout,
An’ ain’t ashamed to go myself an’ clean the furnace out.”

Then after supper Pa put on his overalls an’ said
He’d work down in the cellar till ’twas time to go to bed. 
He started in to rattle an’ to bang an’ poke an’ stir,
An’ the dust began a-climbin’ up through every register
Till Ma said:  “Goodness gracious; go an’ shut those things up tight
Or we’ll all be suffocated an’ the house will be a sight.”

Then he carted out the ashes in a basket an’ a pail,
An’ from cellar door to alley he just left an ashy trail. 
Then he pulled apart the chimney, an’ ’twas full of something black,
An’ he skinned most all his knuckles when he tried to put it back. 
We could hear him talkin’ awful, an’ Ma looked at us an’ said: 
“I think it would be better if you children went to bed.”

When he came up from the cellar there were ashes in his hair,
There were ashes in his eyebrows—­but he didn’t seem to care—­
There were ashes in his mustache, there were ashes in his eyes,
An’ we never would have known him if he’d took us by surprise. 
“Well, I got it clean,” he sputtered, and Ma said:  “I guess that’s true;
Once the dirt was in the furnace, but now most of it’s on you.”

Trouble Brings Friends

It’s seldom trouble comes alone.  I’ve noticed this:  When things go wrong
An’ trouble comes a-visitin’, it always brings a friend along;
Sometimes it’s one you’ve known before, and then perhaps it’s someone new
Who stretches out a helping hand an’ stops to see what he can do.

If never trials came to us, if grief an’ sorrow passed us by,
If every day the sun came out an’ clouds were never in the sky,
We’d still have neighbors, I suppose, each one pursuin’ selfish ends,
But only neighbors they would be—­we’d never know them as our friends.

Out of the troubles I have had have come my richest friendships here,
Kind hands have helped to bear my care, kind words have fallen on my ear;
An’ so I say when trouble comes I know before the storm shall end
That I shall find my bit of care has also brought to me a friend.