My Books and I

My books and I are good old pals: My laughing books are gay, Just suited for my merry moods When I am wont to play. Bill Nye comes down to joke with me And, Oh, the joy he spreads. Just like two fools we sit and laugh And shake our merry heads.

When I am in a thoughtful mood, With Stevenson I sit, Who seems to know I've had enough Of Bill Nye and his wit. And so, more thoughtful than I am, He talks of lofty things, And thus an evening hour we spend Sedate and grave as kings.

And should my soul be torn with grief Upon my shelf I find A little volume, torn and thumbled, For comfort just designed. I take my little Bible down And read its pages o'er, And when I part from it I find I'm stronger than before.

Success

I hold no dream of fortune vast, Nor seek undying fame. I do not ask when life is past That many know my name.

I may not own the skill to rise To glory's topmost height, Nor win a place among the wise, But I can keep the right.

And I can live my life on earth Contented to the end, If but a few shall know my worth And proudly call me friend.

Questions

Would you sell your boy for a stack of gold? Would you miss that hand that is yours to hold? Would you take a fortune and never see The man, in a few brief years, he'll be? Suppose that his body were racked with pain, How much would you pay for his health again?

Is there money enough in the world to-day To buy your boy? Could a monarch pay You silver and gold in so large a sum That you'd have him blinded or stricken dumb? How much would you take, if you had the choice, Never to hear, in this world, his voice?

How much would you take in exchange for all The joy that is wrapped in that youngster small? Are there diamonds enough in the mines of earth To equal your dreams of that youngster's worth? Would you give up the

hours that he's on your knee The richest man in the world to be?

You may prate of gold, but your fortune lies, And you know it well, in your boy's bright eyes. And there's nothing that money can buy or do That means so much as that boy to you. Well, which does the most of your time employ, The chase for gold--or that splendid boy?