قراءة كتاب All That Matters
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
اللغة: English
الصفحة رقم: 5
will be a lad we've never known before,
Older and wiser in his ways, and filled with new-found lore.
Now here's another boy to-day, counting his marble heaps
And proudly boasting to his dad he's playing mibs for keeps!
His mother doesn't like this change. She says it is a shame—
That since he plays with larger boys, he's bound to lose the game.
But little do I mind his loss; I'm more concerned to know
The way he acts the times when he must see his marbles go.
And oh, I hope he will not be the little boy who weeps
Too much when he has failed to win while playing mibs for keeps.
That since he plays with larger boys, he's bound to lose the game.
But little do I mind his loss; I'm more concerned to know
The way he acts the times when he must see his marbles go.
And oh, I hope he will not be the little boy who weeps
Too much when he has failed to win while playing mibs for keeps.
Playing for keeps! Another step toward manhood's broad estate!
This is what some term growing up, or destiny, or fate.
Yet from this game with marbles, played with youngsters on the street,
I hope will come a larger boy, too big to lie or cheat,
And by these mibs which from his clutch another madly sweeps,
I hope he'll learn the game of life which must be played for keeps.
This is what some term growing up, or destiny, or fate.
Yet from this game with marbles, played with youngsters on the street,
I hope will come a larger boy, too big to lie or cheat,
And by these mibs which from his clutch another madly sweeps,
I hope he'll learn the game of life which must be played for keeps.
THE FROSTING DISH
When I was just a little tad
Not more than eight or nine,
One special treat to make me glad
Was set apart as "mine."
On baking days she granted me
The small boy's dearest wish,
And when the cake was finished, she
Gave me the frosting dish.
Not more than eight or nine,
One special treat to make me glad
Was set apart as "mine."
On baking days she granted me
The small boy's dearest wish,
And when the cake was finished, she
Gave me the frosting dish.
I've eaten chocolate many ways,
I've had it hot and cold;
I've sampled it throughout my days
In every form it's sold.
And though I still am fond of it,
And hold its flavor sweet,
The icing dish, I still admit,
Remains the greatest treat.
I've had it hot and cold;
I've sampled it throughout my days
In every form it's sold.
And though I still am fond of it,
And hold its flavor sweet,
The icing dish, I still admit,
Remains the greatest treat.
Never has chocolate tasted so,
Nor brought to me such joy
As in those days of long ago
When I was but a boy,
And stood beside my mother fair,
Waiting the time when she
Would gently stoop to kiss me there
And hand the plate to me.
Nor brought to me such joy
As in those days of long ago
When I was but a boy,
And stood beside my mother fair,
Waiting the time when she
Would gently stoop to kiss me there
And hand the plate to me.
"The Frosting Dish"
From a painting by H. C. Pitz.
Now there's another in my place
Who stands where once I stood.
And watches with an upturned face
And waits for "something good."
And as she hands him spoon and plate
I chuckle low and wish
That I might be allowed to wait
To scrape the frosting dish.
Who stands where once I stood.
And watches with an upturned face
And waits for "something good."
And as she hands him spoon and plate
I chuckle low and wish
That I might be allowed to wait
To scrape the frosting dish.
PLAY THE GAME
When the umpire calls you out,
It's no use to stamp and shout,
Wildly kicking dust about—
Play the game!
And though his decision may
End your chances for the day,
Rallies often end that way—
Play the game!
It's no use to stamp and shout,
Wildly kicking dust about—
Play the game!
And though his decision may
End your chances for the day,
Rallies often end that way—
Play the game!
When the umpire shouts: "Strike two!"
And the ball seems wide to you,
There is just one thing to do:
Play the game!
Keep your temper at the plate,
Grit your teeth and calmly wait,
For the next one may be straight
Play the game!
And the ball seems wide to you,
There is just one thing to do:
Play the game!
Keep your temper at the plate,
Grit your teeth and calmly wait,
For the next one may be straight
Play the game!
When you think the umpire's wrong,
Tell him so, but jog along;
Nothing's gained by language strong—
Play the game!
For his will must be obeyed
Wheresoever baseball's played,
Take his verdict as it's made—
Play the game!
Tell him so, but jog along;
Nothing's gained by language strong—
Play the game!
For his will must be obeyed
Wheresoever baseball's played,
Take his verdict as it's made—
Play the game!
Son of mine, beyond a doubt,
Fate shall often call you "out,"
But keep on, with courage stout—
Play the game!
In the battlefield of men
There'll come trying moments when
You shall lose the verdict—then
Play the game!
Fate shall often call you "out,"
But keep on, with courage stout—
Play the game!
In the battlefield of men
There'll come trying moments when
You shall lose the verdict—then
Play the game!
There's an umpire who shall say
You have missed your greatest play,
And shall dash your hopes away—
Play the game!
You must bow unto his will
Though your chance it seems to kill,
And you think he erred, but still
Play the game!
You have missed your greatest play,
And shall dash your hopes away—
Play the game!
You must bow unto his will
Though your chance it seems to kill,
And you think he erred, but still
Play the game!
For the Great Umpire above
Sees what we see nothing of,
By His wisdom and His love—
Play the game!
Keep your faith in Him although
His grim verdicts hurt you so,
At His Will we come and go—
Play the game!
Sees what we see nothing of,
By His wisdom and His love—
Play the game!
Keep your faith in Him although
His grim verdicts hurt you so,
At His Will we come and go—
Play the game!
WHEN THE
YOUNG ARE GROWN
Once the house was lovely, but it's lonely here to-day,
For time has come an' stained its walls an' called the young away;
An' all that's left for mother an' for me till life is through
Is to sit an' tell each other what the children used to do.
For time has come an' stained its walls an' called the young away;
An' all that's left for mother an' for me till life is through
Is to sit an' tell each other what the children used to do.
We couldn't keep 'em always an' we knew it from the start;
We knew when they were babies that some day
We knew when they were babies that some day
