OFF TO THE WOODS

  All nature dons a cool green coat,
  Soft breezes blow and white clouds float;
  The blue jay screams his piercing note.

  The April sun shines fine today,
  And all the world is bright and gay. 
  Small twinkling leaves now dance and play!

  The Spring has made a grand debut;
  And turned up sod is reddish blue,
  Where last year’s roses bloomed for you.

  And to the woods then let us hie
  To gather sorrel for a pie,
  And pick some posies from the rye.

  O Daughter come, a walk is free,
  Lock up the house and bring the key;
  For sing we must in joy and glee.

THE HAPPY CAMPERS

  Burning brush
  In morning hush
    While bacon fragrance floats.

  Daylight dreams
  Along bright streams
    With knapsack and light coats.

  Wind blown hair,
  They march and share
    And sing the happy notes.

THE PROMISE

  O Glendolyn, the life of my being,
  O Darling, the good in your heart! 
  Bright eyes in the flash of a moment
  Grow sad as the time nears to part,
  Tears well in the midst of the laughter,
  Unbidden as the showers in Spring. 
  Although the days cloud, but after
  The future will brighten and sing.

  O Glendolyn, weep not at my going,
  The weary long hours will pass;
  And dawn with its flame and a promise
  Will touch the grey sod and dry grass. 
  The elm in the garden will flower
  And the hills on the plains be shining. 
  That day, then the battle is over,
  I will come with swift feet, my Darling.

IN REFLECTION

  In the morning of my youth
  When my veins were full of strength
  There was Dad and Mom to say
  What to do.  They spoke at length.

  Did I listen to the truth? 
  Much of it has passed me by. 
  Now if only some one would
  Speak to me and tell me why.

MEN MUST TOIL

  We wakened in the morning
  The wind had blown up cold;
  And too, the oaks were grumbling
  Like men agrowing old.

  We must all work this morning,
  Though rough and harsh outside,
  Men labor in the storming
  For all must eat betide.

THAT CLOSE DRAWN VEIL

  If we could lift that close drawn veil and see,
  The anxious hours might pass in rest and sleep. 
  But wait!  Could men but sow and counting reap? 
  Who would toil on when knowing loss must be? 
  No wild glad hoping with expectancy! 
  And wooing lover then might he not weep? 
  The fortune which would grieve—­no shop to keep. 
  Enough.  Man can climb higher and be free. 
  Leave be the veil and let men struggle