Results for ‘POEMS’
[Welland Telegraph March 20, 1903]
My father bought an undershirt
Of bright and flaming red,
“All wool” I’m ready to assert.
“Fleece-dyed” the merchant said;
“Your size is thirty-eight, I think
A forty you should get,
Since all wool goods are bound to
shrink
A trifle when they’re wet.
That shirt two weeks my father were
Two washings- that was all;
From forty down to thirty-four
It shrank like leaves in fall
I wore it then a day or two,
But when ‘twas washed again
My wife said: “Now ‘twill only do
For little brother Ben.”
A fortnight Ben squeezed into it
At last he said it hurt;
We put it on your baby-the fit
Was good as any shirt.
We ne’er will wash it more while yet
We see it flickering light,
For if again that shirt is wet
“Twill vanish from our sight.
[Welland Telegraph January, 23, 1903]
I wish I was a little boy,
And didn’t have no curls,
So I could run and jump and fight
And needn’t play with girls.
And needn’t wash my face and hands
And brush and comb my hair;
And clean my teeth three times a day
Oh, I don’t think it’s fair!
But just because I am a girl
I have to be real good,
And not spill syrup on my frock,
And always chew my food.
[Welland Telegraph May 22, 1903]
The doctor was discouraged, for the
neighborhood was well;
The colic spared the little one, and
also it befel.
The elders had no troubles that demanded
medic’s skill-
No one in that vicinity was even
slightly ill.
The doctor’s wife was worried, for
she longed to have a gown;
The doctor, when she mentioned it,
could only darkly frown,
“There is,” he said, “no chance at
all of getting what you need,
While every person hereabout is from
all sickness freed.”
“Oh, woe is me! Alas! Alack!” then
cried the doctor’s wife,
“It’s terrible, indeed, that I should
have so hard a life;
I must, it seems, have patience just
because your patients lack;
I must, to go abroad in style, put
someone on his back.”
This woe she pondered deeply, but
ere long was seen to smile,
“I have a plan,” she said at last,
“that really seems worth while;
I’ll start at once a cooking school.”
He straightway ceased to frown.
“My dear,” he cried, most joyfully,
“you’ll surely get that gown.”
And so the people suffered, while
the doctor’s wife in pride
Paraded in the handsome gown that
once had been denied.
It cost-ah-well-she gained by
this heartless, mean device,
And anyone can see that indigestion
was the price.
[Welland Telegraph December 10, 1903]
Show me that boy that nightly
bows at mother’s knee to pray,
Who wears her golden precepts in
his heart,
Who lays his hand in hers and seeks
her counsel day by day,
Whose path in life from hers lies
not apart,
And thus his horoscope I’ll cast:
“His name will live among the last.”
Show me the youth whose good
right arm encircles mother’s form,
Whose lips fear not to kiss her
faded cheek,
Who lives for her to shield her and
protect her from all harm,
Who comforts her when she is old
and weak,
And in the coming years I see
A man for all eternity
Show me the man whose life is pure,
that man who claims success;
Show me the man who treads the
the ways of fame:
That man whose deeds adorn the
name of truth and uprightness,
Whose soul knows not the tarnished
blush of shame,
And in his glory thus arrayed-
Behold a man that mother made.
-L.P. Hext.
[Welland Telegraph May 22, 1903]
Here are some rules for living one
hundred years:
Eight hours sleep.
Sleep on your right side.
Keep your bedroom window open
all night.
Have a mat to your bedroom door.
Do not have your bedstead
against the wall.
No cold water in the morning, but
a bath at the temperature of the body
Exercise before breakfast.
Eat little meat and see that it is
well cooked.
(For adults) drink no milk
Eat plenty of fat to feed the cells
which destroy disease germs.
Avoid intoxicants, which destroy
those cells.
Daily exercise in the open air.
Allow no pet animals in your
living rooms
Live in the country if you can.
Watch the three D’s-drinking water
damp and drains.
Have change of occupation.
Take frequent and short holidays.
Keep your temper.
Limit your ambitions.
[Welland Telegraph February 27, 1903]
It won’t be long, my Welland friends
Ere spring is here-just think-
When there won’t be any music played
By the orchestra in the rink.
The passerby along the streets-
Well known in musical arts-
They stop dead still, and listen to
“A Mansion of Aching Hearts,”
The above is one of the latest
Which the orchestra now blows;
While another they’ve just learned to
play
Is “Down Where the Werzburgur Flows.”
Besides these are many others,
Which the people love to hear,
Though not new, they’re just the caper
For the music-loving ear.
It’s no great snap to blow a horn,
After working hard all day,
And the way the boys attend to biz,
Invites their friends to say:
“Your labors we appreciate”
And say it good and loud-
“We thank you with well wishes, for
Of the orchestra we’re proud.”
[Welland Telegraph October 29, 1903]
When things don’t go to suit you,
And the world seems upside down;
Don’t waste your time in fretting,
But drive away that frown.
Since life is oft perplexing,
‘Tis much the wisest plan,
To bear all trials bravely,
And smile whene’er you can.
Why should you dread the morrow,
And thus despoil to-day?
For when you borrow trouble
You always have to pay.
It is a good old maxim,
Which should be often preached-
Don’t cross the bridge before you,
Until the bridge is reached.
[Welland Telegraph April 3, 1903]
Sad news; bad news;
Anything but glad news!
What do you suppose they’re saying
at the fashion show?
Grum things; blum things;
Gloomier than some things;
They declare the shirt waist girl
must pack her trunk and go.
Tall girls; small girls;
Medium ad all girls
Are informed that it’s decreed by
those who cut and sew-
Slim waists; trim waists
None of them may wear the things
if the shirt waist girl must go.
Spare girls; fair girls;
Touch-me-if-you-dare girls;
Heavy girls or skinny girls will
hear the news with woe.
Cheap waists; steep waists;
Price-that-causes-sleep waists-
None of them are dear enough; the
shirt waist girl must go.
Pert waists; flirt waists;
Guimped and gored and girt waists;
Any kind of shirt waist with
collar high or low-
Rough news; tough news;
Hope that it is bluff news-
It’s more than enough news; the
shirt waist girl must go!
[Sands of Time by Lorne C Loney, 1964]
‘Neath shading and greenwood bough
The Ploughman’s team doth stand,
But where to find the ploughman
For he seemth not at hand?
While echoing down the valley
Though it soundth far away,
There comes a faint but earnest call
At the waning of the day.
Oh! Robbie come ta supper lad
For it canna’ longer wait,
Now ye’ve ploughed enough the red-soil
And the hour is getting late,
But lying on the river bank
With foot in cooling stream
We find the weary ploughman
Where he’s ever prone to dream.
For he’s watching as the white clouds
Drift on a lazy sky,
And the verse that forms within his mind
Through pen will never die,
With beauteous thought, his mind hath caught
The gladness born of May,
For dawning love hath filled his soul
To form a poet’s lay.
There are meetings in the twi-light
Along the River Ayr,
For Robbie and his Jeannie
Have their trysting places there…
But echoing down the valley
And out across the glade,
There comes a faint and loving call
The woodlands to invade.
Oh! Robbie come to supper lad
For it canna’ longer wait,
Now ye’ve ploughed enough the red-soil
And the hour is getting late
Dedicated to the memory of Robert Burns and all his fellow Scotsmen throughout the world.
ON ROBERT BURNS
There’s a hush in the air of Ballachmyle woods
Near the banks of the river Ayr,
See the fisherman pause as he whiffs on his pipe
For he senses a presence there.
With a whispering breeze, comes a sigh in the trees
And it seems of a past refrain,
For two lovers of old haunt the woodland path
To stroll through the green-fern again.
“Oh! Dear Robbie Burns, can ye catch me the noo
As I hide ‘neath the greenwood tree?’
“Oh! Sweet Jeannie Armour, I’ll find ye for sure
Cause ye niver can hide fra’ me”…
“Oh! Robbie, dear Robbie, the years have sped by”
“Whatever awa’ can ye be?”
“Oh! Sweet Jeannie Armour, ye’ll be wi’ me soon
And ‘twill be forever ye’ll see
There’s a sunset glow on the river of Ayr
Reflecting the willows of gold
And ‘twas here they went wandering arm in arm,
On that fern-strewn path of old.
There’s a whispering sigh in the woods near Mauchline
Oh! fisherman hark to the sound,
For two lovers of yore haunt the woodland path
And ‘tis here their story is found.
Though the years have been many and far between
Since she hid ‘neath the greenwood tree,
There’s a whispering sound of a song in the birch
And there’s love in it’s melody.
“Oh! Robbie, dear Robbie, where are ye the noo?
“A’ the ache in my heart is for thee,’
Oh! sweet Jeannie Armour, ye’ll be wi me soon
And ‘twill be forever ye’ll see.
[Welland Telegraph November 19, 1903]
She walks unnoticed in the street;
The casual eye
Sees nothing in her, fair or sweet;
The world goes by
Unconscious that an angel’s feet
Are passing nigh.
She little has of beauty’s wealth;
Truth will allow
Only her priceless youth and health,
Her broad white brow;
Yet grows she on the heart by stealth
I scarce know how.
She does a thousand kindly things
That no one knows;
A loving woman’s heart she brings
To human woes;
And to her face the sunlight clings
Where’er she goes.
And so she walks her quiet ways
With that content
That only comes to sinless days
And innocent
A life devoid of fame or praise,
Yet nobly spent.
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