answer this demon by saying: "I can."

{54}

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

Written July 22, 1916, when the world lost its "Poet of Childhood."

  There must be great rejoicin' on the Golden
     Shore to-day,
  An' the big an' little angels must be feelin'
     mighty gay:
  Could we look beyond the curtain now I fancy
     we should see
  Old Aunt Mary waitin', smilin', for the coming
     that's to be,
  An' Little Orphant Annie an' the whole excited
     pack
  Dancin' up an' down an' shoutin': "Mr. Riley's
     comin' back!"

  There's a heap o' real sadness in this good old
     world to-day;
  There are lumpy throats this morning now that
     Riley's gone away;
  There's a voice now stilled forever that in
     sweetness only spoke
  An' whispered words of courage with a faith that
     never broke.
  There is much of joy and laughter that we
     mortals here will lack,
  But the angels must be happy now that Riley's
     comin' back.

  The world was gettin' dreary, there was too
     much sigh an' frown
  In this vale o' mortal strivin', so God sent Jim
     Riley down,
  An' He said: "Go there an' cheer 'em in your
     good old-fashioned way,
  With your songs of tender sweetness, but don't
     make your plans to stay,
  Coz you're needed up in Heaven. I am lendin'
     you to men
  Just to help 'em with your music, but I'll want
     you back again."

  An' Riley came, an' mortals heard the music of
     his voice
  An' they caught his songs o' beauty an' they
     started to rejoice;
  An' they leaned on him in sorrow, an' they
     shared with him their joys,
  An' they walked with him the pathways that
     they knew when they were boys.
  But the heavenly angels missed him, missed his
     tender, gentle knack
  Of makin' people happy, an' they wanted Riley
     back.

  There must be great rejoicin' on the streets of
     Heaven to-day
  An' all the angel children must be troopin'
     down the way,
  Singin' heavenly songs of welcome an' preparin'
     now to greet
  The soul that God had tinctured with an
     ever-lasting sweet;
  The world is robed in sadness an' is draped in
     sombre black;
  But joy must reign in Heaven now that Riley's
     comin' back.

{56}

RESULTS AND ROSES

  The man who wants a garden fair,
    Or small or very big,
  With flowers growing here and there,
    Must bend his back and dig.

  The things are mighty few on earth
    That wishes can attain.
  Whate'er we want of any worth
    We've got to work to gain.

  It matters not what goal you seek
    Its secret here reposes:
  You've got to dig from week to week
    To get Results or Roses.

{57}

THE OTHER FELLOW

  Are you fond of your wife and your children fair?
    So is the other fellow.
  Do you crave pleasures for them to share?
    So does the other fellow.
  Does your heart rejoice when your own are glad?
  And are you troubled when they are sad?
  Well, it's that way, too, in this life, my lad,
    That way with the other fellow.

  Do you want the best for your own to know?
    So does the other fellow.
  Do you stoop to kiss them before you go?
    So does the other fellow.
  When your baby lies on a fevered bed,
  Does your heart run cold with a silent dread?
  Well, it's that way, too, where all mortals tread—
    That way with the other fellow.

  Does it hurt when they want what you cannot buy?
    It does with the other fellow.
  Do you for their comfort yourself deny?
    So does the other fellow.
  Would you wail aloud if your babe should die
  For the lack of care you could not supply?
  Well, it's that way, too, as he travels by,
    That way with the other fellow.

{58}

OUR DUTY TO OUR FLAG

  Less hate and greed
  Is what we need
  And more of service true;
  More men to love
  The flag above
  And keep it first in view.

  Less boast and brag
  About the flag,
  More faith in what it means;
  More heads erect,
  More self-respect,
  Less talk of war machines.

  The time to fight
  To keep it bright
  Is not along the way,
  Nor 'cross the foam,
  But here at home
  Within ourselves—to-day.

  'Tis we must love
  That flag above
  With all our might and main;
  For from our hands,
  Not distant lands,
  Shall come dishonor's stain.

  If that flag be
  Dishonored, we
  Have done it, not the foe;
  If it shall fall
  We first of all
  Shall be to strike a blow.

{59}

THE HUNTER

  Cheek that is tanned to the wind of the north.
    Body that jests at the bite of the cold,
  Limbs that are eager and strong to go forth
    Into the wilds and the ways of the bold;
  Red blood that pulses and throbs in the veins,
    Ears that love silences better than noise;
  Strength of the forest and health of the plains;
    These the rewards that the hunter enjoys.

  Forests were ever the cradles of men;
    Manhood is born of a kinship with trees.
  Whence shall come brave hearts and stout
     muscles, when
    Woods have made way for our cities of ease?
  Oh, do you wonder that stalwarts return
    Yearly to hark to the whispering oaks?
  'Tis for the brave days of old that they yearn:
    These are the splendors the hunter invokes.

{60}

IT'S SEPTEMBER

  It's September, and the orchards are afire with
      red and gold,
  And the nights with dew are heavy, and the
     morning's sharp with cold;
  Now the garden's at its gayest with the salvia
     blazing red
  And the good old-fashioned asters laughing
     at us from their bed;
  Once again in shoes and stockings are the children's
     little feet,
  And the dog now does his snoozing on the
     bright side of the street.

  It's September, and the cornstalks are as high
     as they will go,
  And the red cheeks of the apples everywhere
     begin to show;
  Now the supper's scarcely over ere the darkness
     settles down
  And the moon looms big and yellow at the
     edges of the town;
  Oh, it's good to see the children, when