6
Poems
She was ready to laugh at the hearts that were caught
In the strands of her chestnut curls,
And I smile even yet at the pranks she played,
For she was the wildest of girls,
She led me a dance that I'll not forget,
But at last I'd a chance to "crow,"
For I outstripped all rivals and won the prize
Just fifty years ago.
In the strands of her chestnut curls,
And I smile even yet at the pranks she played,
For she was the wildest of girls,
She led me a dance that I'll not forget,
But at last I'd a chance to "crow,"
For I outstripped all rivals and won the prize
Just fifty years ago.
(To the mother.)
And many the gifts that God sent us, wife,
For daughters and sons followed fast,
And each little hand drew the cords of love
Closer 'round each heart to the last.
And I often prayed that my boys might choose,—
As I watched them to manhood grow,—
A wife as true as their father won
Just fifty years ago.
And many the gifts that God sent us, wife,
For daughters and sons followed fast,
And each little hand drew the cords of love
Closer 'round each heart to the last.
And I often prayed that my boys might choose,—
As I watched them to manhood grow,—
A wife as true as their father won
Just fifty years ago.
Many a worry has jarred our life,
And many a cross word said,
But 'twas never the fault of the heart, dear wife,
'Twas always the fault of the head;
And those things slipped into the little graves
And were covered up with the woe,
And many a cross word said,
But 'twas never the fault of the heart, dear wife,
'Twas always the fault of the head;
And those things slipped into the little graves
And were covered up with the woe,
