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Title: Riley Songs of Home

Author: James Whitcomb Riley

Illustrator: Will Vawter

Release date: July 12, 2005 [eBook #16265]

Most recently updated: December 12, 2020

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/16265

Credits: Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Scott G. Sims and the Online

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RILEY SONGS OF HOME ***

RILEY

SONGS OF HOME

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

WITH PICTURES BY

WILL VAWTER

NEW YORK

GROSSET & DUNLAP

PUBLISHERS

1910

BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

TO

GEORGE A. CARR

CONTENTS

AS CREATED56

AS MY UNCLE USED TO SAY 126

AT SEA 160

BACKWARD LOOK, A 155

BEST IS GOOD ENOUGH, THE 123

BOYS, THE 104

"BRAVE REFRAIN, A" 113

DREAMER, SAY 61

FEEL IN THE CHRIS'MAS AIR 52

FOR YOU 50

GOOD MAN, A 132

HER BEAUTIFUL HANDS 189

HIS ROOM 38

HONEY DRIPPING FROM THE COMB 125

"HOW DID YOU REST, LAST NIGHT?" 94

IN THE EVENING 115

IT'S GOT TO BE 107

JACK-IN-THE-BOX 100

JIM 117

JOHN MCKEEN 165

JUST TO BE GOOD 26

KNEELING WITH HERRICK 138

LAUGHTER HOLDING BOTH HIS SIDES 81

MULBERRY TREE, THE 46

MY DANCIN' DAYS IS OVER 184

MY FRIEND 29

NATURAL PERVERSITIES 70

NOT ALWAYS GLAD WHEN WE SMILE 36

OLD DAYS, THE 135

OLD GUITAR, THE 161

OLD TRUNDLE-BED, THE 64

OUR BOYHOOD HAUNTS 182

OUR KIND OF A MAN 92

OUR OWN 63

"OUT OF REACH?" 112

OUT OF THE HITHERWHERE 98

PLAINT HUMAN, THE 43

QUEST, THE 44

RAINY MORNING, THE 141

REACH YOUR HAND TO ME 143

SCRAWL, A 75

SONG OF PARTING 90

SONG OF YESTERDAY, THE 82

SPRING SONG AND A LATER, A 137

"THEM OLD CHEERY WORDS" 172

THINKIN' BACK 31

THROUGH SLEEPY-LAND 170

TO MY OLD FRIEND, WILLIAM LEACHMAN 145

TO THE JUDGE 177

WE MUST BELIEVE 130

WE MUST GET HOME 19

WHERE-AWAY 57

WHO BIDES HIS TIME 68

WRITIN' BACK TO THE HOME-FOLKS 76

RILEY SONGS OF HOME

WE MUST GET HOME

JUST TO BE GOOD

This is enough—enough!

Ah! though we miss

All else but this,

To be good is enough!

Enough—just to be good!

Ah! though we miss

All else but this,

To be good is enough!

MY FRIEND

THINKIN' BACK

age

feelin'

young

Aprile first

Ooh! my-oh!

a-thinkin'

him

NOT ALWAYS GLAD WHEN WE SMILE

Though we wear a fair face and are gay,

And the world we deceive

May not ever believe

We could laugh in a happier way.—

Ofttimes, with our faces aglow,

There's an ache and a moan

That we know of alone,

For the heart, in a tempest of pain,

May live in the guise

Of a smile in the eyes

As a rainbow may live in the rain;

May hang out a radiant star

Whose light in the sky

Of despair is a lie

But the conscience is quick to record,

All the sorrow and sin

We are hiding within

Is plain in the sight of the Lord:

And evasion shall cease to defile

The sacred recess

Of the soul, we confess

HIS ROOM

I'm home again, and happy, too,

I find myself alone with you:

Though brief my stay, nor far away,

I missed you—missed you night and day—

As wildly yearned for you as now.—

Old Room, how are you, anyhow?

Awaits me just within the door;

Have never seemed so bright before,—

The old rosettes and mignonettes

And ivy-leaves and violets,

Look up as pure and fresh of hue

As though baptized in morning dew.

Fold round me like the arms of love,

A blessing pure as from above—

Even as a nestling child caressed

And lulled upon a loving breast,

With folded eyes, too glad to weep

And yet too sad for dreams or sleep.

So patient in your tender care,

Has blossomed for you unaware;

And who but you had cared to woo

A heart so dark, and heavy, too,

As in the past you lifted mine

From out the shadow to the shine?

When first you gladly welcomed me

Than rioting incessantly:

And thus the din that stormed within

The old guitar and violin

Has fallen in a fainter tone

And sweeter, for your sake alone.

In festal halls a favored guest,

My worthy work and worthy rest—

By this I know that long ago

You loved me first, and told me so

In art's mute eloquence of speech

The voice of praise may never reach.

Confuse the faces of my friends,

I find unraveling at the ends;

But as I turn to you, and learn

To meet my griefs with less concern,

Your love seems all I have to keep

Me smiling lest I needs must weep.

Forget the world and all its woes;

Old Room, and lull me to repose:

And as we glide adown the tide

Of dreams, forever side by side,

I'll hold your hands as lovers do

Their sweethearts' and talk love to you."

THE PLAINT HUMAN

Seasons of loss and gain!—

Why do we still complain?

O my intolerant brother—

And much too much of the other.

THE QUEST

my

THE MULBERRY TREE

FOR YOU

Delirium of merriment,

In endless silence of content.

I could forget, for your dear sake,

The utter emptiness and ache

Of every loss I ever knew.—

What could I not forget for you?

Of mine own sins, and so erase

And all that mars or masks my face.

For your fair sake I could forget

The bonds of life that chafe and fret,

Nor care if death were false or true.—

What could I not forget for you?

One thing, I know, would still abide

Though all of love were lost beside—

I yet would feel how first the wine

Of your sweet lips made fools of mine

Until they sung, all drunken through—

"What could I not forget for you?"

A FEEL IN THE CHRIS'MAS-AIR

feel

When the Chris'mas-times sets in.

As ever I've run ag'in!—

And gineral health, I swear

goneness

A kind o' feel in the air.

To the spot where a man lives at!—

They ain't no doubt about that!—

somepin

That follers me, here and there,

A kind o' feel in the air!

feel

As blame-don sad as sweet!—

And am spryest on my feet,

ache

That I can't lo-cate no-where;—

Chris'mas

A kind o' feel in the air.

W'y, no!—God bless 'em!—no!—

Like my own wuz, long ago?—

O' the little toy-drum and blare

No! no!

The sad-sweet feel in the air.

AS CREATED

Every heart of man or woman,—

Or however brimmed with gall,

After all.

WHERE-AWAY

DREAMER, SAY

A wild sweet dream of a foreign land,

With lips of coral and silver sand;

Or lave themselves in the tearful mist

O'er crags of opal and amethyst?

Of tropic shades in the lands of shine,

That flows like a rill of wasted wine,—

Parry the shafts of the Indian sun

The reeds below where the waters run?

That lives in a land of sweet perfume,

In molten spatters of bud and bloom?

And never a sob in the balmy air,

Breaks the sleep of the silence there?

OUR OWN

We gossip, knee-by-knee;

Of all their joys to be,—

All desolate we cry

Good-by! Good-by! Good-by!

THE OLD TRUNDLE-BED

WHO BIDES HIS TIME

Faces defeat full patiently,

However poor his fortunes be,—

Of poverty—the paltry clime

Who bides his time.

Of honey in the saltest tear;

Joy runs to meet him, drawing near;

And, like a never-ending rhyme,

Who bides his time.

In the hot race that none achieves,

With crimson berries in the leaves;

And sway his hand o'er every clime,

Who bides his time.

NATURAL PERVERSITIES

In scientific doubt

To puzzle us about,—

Of wise elucidation,

From simple observation.

little

I never missed a train

run

I never knew it rain

Or, when in my possession,

A jocular expression.

To dun me for a debt

I never knew one yet,

To make the least invasion,—

Have courted no occasion.

What Nature has in view

To trust we oughtn't to.—

Disastrously exploded

We didn't think was loaded.

And what is worse by half,

And never raise a laugh:

And sparkling jests and liquor,

To melt in tears the quicker.

The right; in like effect,

Do most when we neglect.—

As wild and quick as tinder,

The more we seem to hinder.

And, on the selfsame plan,

Was quite a little man:

We prove a thing, then doubt it,—

everything

Know anything about it.

A SCRAWL

I try and I try, but the rhymes are dull

Limp and unlovable.

They will not walk as I want them to,

Of my telling my love for you.

Knowing I love you as sun the sod

That swings in the smile of God.

WRITIN' BACK TO THE HOME-FOLKS

The way you write a letter

lastfirst

And ever' next-un's better!—

You make so interestin',

Can't tell which is the best-un.

'Pears-like I almost hear ye

And hitch my cheer up near ye

Acrosst the whole per-rairies

And country couples marries.

To talk jes like we're thinkin',

And giggle-un and winkin',

Like some is allus doin',—

Isturned

Er shore-enough a new-un!"—

'A leetle kindo'-sorto'"—

Jes 'cause he hadn't ort to?"

dad-libitum

Tel all of us feels, someway,

When we git up to come 'way!

old

Jes 'cause you're so abidin'.—

fer keeps

My principul residin'

Me allus thinkin' of 'em,

To tell 'em how I love 'em.—

I wouldn't live without 'em,

But what I dreamp' about 'em,—

We'd all love one-another

And Madaline and Mother.

LAUGHTER HOLDING BOTH HIS SIDES

THE SONG OF YESTERDAY

I

II

III

IV

SONG OF PARTING

Shatter every vow!

Will be welcome now!

And if this fair hand I touch

I have worshipped overmuch,

It was my mistake—and so,

Say farewell, and let me go.

Murmur no regret,

Do not waste them yet!

They might pour as pours the rain,

And not wash away the pain:

I have tried them and I know.—

Say farewell, and let me go.

Think me not untrue—

I am true to you!

If the ghost of love may stay

Where my fond heart dies to-day,

I am with you alway—so,

Say farewell, and let me go.

OUR KIND OF A MAN

I

II

"HOW DID YOU REST, LAST NIGHT?"

I've heard my gran'pap say

Jes them words thataway!

To ever heave in sight

"How did you rest, last night?"

At breakfast, on the sly,

And eyebrows belt so high

How did you rest, last night?

We'd mumble and let on

Was dim, and hearin' gone.

All I'm a-wantin' is

And sweet a sleep as his!

To wake, and with its light

his

"How did you rest, last night?"

OUT OF THE HITHERWHERE

JACK-IN-THE-BOX

(Grandfather, musing.)

You bring such curious things to me!—

THE BOYS

As when we raced over

Pink pastures of clover,

Forever adrift down the years that are flown?

Where over the meadow,

In sunshine and shadow,

The whippoorwill's call has a sorrowful tone,

I want the glad luster

Of youth, and the cluster

IT'S GOT TO BE

got

As I notice the years whiz past,

When we size it up, at last,—

boyhood

And I knowed we had to quit,—

gotgoin'

So I said "Good-by" to it.

gotgoin'

So at least I always try

"Well, it's got to be. Good-by!"

When it's got to be, it melts!

Ef I can't keep nothin' else!

That I'd soon be twenty-two,—

And I said, "Good-by to you!"

gotgoin'

So at least I always try

"Well, it's got to be.—Good-by!"

Yet still I smiled and smiled,—

And I now had a wife and child:

Till, last, on her bed of pain,

And I said "Good-by" again.

gotgoin'

So at least I always try

"Well, it's got to be. Good-by!"

Almost a man in size,—

With his mother's smilin' eyes.—

And followed me. And I

I found him, and then, ... "Good-by."

gotgoin'

So at least I always try

"Well, it's got to be. Good-by!"

With my very best good will,

Am a cheerful old man still:

gotgoin'

And this is the thing I'll do,—

And say "Good-by" to you!...

got

When his old scythe circles high,

As I say "Good-by!—Good-by!"

"OUT OF REACH?"

Nay, by my own dead, I deny

'Tis not so far to die.

And outheld hands and welcoming speech,

This side of "out-of-reach."

"A BRAVE REFRAIN"

And the knuckled twigs are gloved with frost;

And the old pathway to the barn is lost;

And the stamp of the stabled horse is vain,

O then is the time for a brave refrain!

And the tallow gleams in frozen streaks;

And the pump sounds hoarse and the handle squeaks;

And the frost is scratched from the window-pane

O then is the time for a brave refrain!

And hob-nailed shoes on the hearth below,

And the eight-day clock ticks loud and slow;

'Neath the kitchen-loft, and the drowsy brain

O then is the time for a brave refrain!

ENVOI

IN THE EVENING

I

When the first far stars above

Than the dewy eyes of love,

To the vanished morns and Mays

In the evening of our days?

II

Till the twain are thrilled as now,

Shall my kiss upon your brow

And, in all forgetful ways,

In the evening of our days?

III

Shall enfold us velvetwise,

Of the gladness of your eyes:

Mingles with the darkening maze,

In the evening of our days.

JIM

jour.,

Consumpted-lookin'—but la!

laughin'est, jolliest

Feller you ever saw!

enough in his talk,

And his feelin's, too!

a-carryin' on

Like he ust to do!

dirt,

A better feller'n Jim!

You could git it o' him!

guess!

Give up ever' nickel he's worth—

was his,

He'd a-give you the earth!

Pore feller onto his feet—

So's the feller got somepin' to eat!

he

dressed,

He ust to say to me,—

winter-time, a-huntin' a job,

And he'll git along!" says he.

much

O' this world's goods at a time.—

and haf to, more'n like,

Turn round and borry a dime!

then jerk his coat.

And kindo' square his chin,

shoe-bench,

And go to peggin' ag'in!

natchurly

Coughed hisse'f to death!

whisper and say

He could git ever'thing but his breath—

You fellers

"Is a-pilin' onto me

ghost o' mine to pack

Through all Eternity!"

'At ortn't a-never a-died!

said—

"On'y to Jim!" and cried:

shop—

Er the whole blame neighborhood,—

anything else that day

But jes set around and feel good!"

THE BEST IS GOOD ENOUGH

you

HONEY DRIPPING FROM THE COMB

Upon the dead sea of the Past!—A view—

A far-off "Ooh! ooh-ooh!"

In some wood's-pasture of the Long Ago—

Of rest we used to know.

A wilted apple that the worm had spurned.—

Of good old days returned.—

Tinkles a tune so tender and complete,

So bitter, yet so sweet!

AS MY UNCLE USED TO SAY

As my uncle ust to say,—

W'y, they ain't no use to pray!

tearssweat

As my uncle ust to say.

As my uncle ust to say,

Ner whistle their lives away!

As my uncle ust to say.

As my uncle ust to say,

And our round-up, night and day:

His

As my uncle ust to say.

WE MUST BELIEVE

Lord, I believe: help Thou mine unbelief.

And wind and bind them as one harvest-sheaf

forever

Lord, I believe:

Help Thou mine unbelief.

have

promise

The eyes uplifting from all deeps of grief,

Lord, I believe:

Help Thou mine unbelief.

And lead each as Thine Own Child—even the Chief

Lord, I believe:

Help Thou mine unbelief.

A GOOD MAN

I

In worthy deed and prayer

If smiles or tears be there:

Lives for the world he tries

A good man never dies.

II

His share of toil and stress,

Makes every burden less,—

Lie fallen—hands and eyes

A good man never dies.

THE OLD DAYS

The overdear and fair!—

How lovely they were!

With the dew-drench on the flowers

Of those old days of ours.

real

Spendthrift Summer flung;

real

Bird or Poet sung!

Only honest praise—

In the old days.

The first and the best;

Close where they rest:

Would we were there!...

How lovely they were!

A SPRING SONG AND A LATER

Wherein once more I heard

The orchard's earliest bird—

New-clad in leaf and bloom,

In dewy gleam and gloom.

Of heart and spirit fell

Still irresistible,—

To mate her bright refrain.

As dim as Autumn rain.

KNEELING WITH HERRICK

Give me content—

Whate'er it be:

And simple hoard;

The chimney wide,

And twine about

And household worth:

The rafters low;

As fingers might

The children croon:

Thou boldest true,

My comfort there,—

That makes each seat

Loved as the rest.

THE RAINY MORNING

And the lowering clouds o'erhead

Where the sweet sunshine lay dead;

Like an endless sigh of pain,

And writhed in the falling rain.

To chord my harp with the sun,

And the task was a weary one:

And sick of a discontent,

And mourned with the instrument.

Of the sun bent over me,

As a father's hand might be:

My clouded soul grew bright,

Melted in mists of light.

REACH YOUR HAND TO ME

With its heartiest caress—

To its present faithfulness—

Sometime I may ask in vain

For the touch of it again,

When between us land or sea

Holds it ever back from me.

Groping somewhere in the night,

Just a touch, however light,

Would make all the darkness day,

And along some sunny way

Lead me through an April-shower

Of my tears to this fair hour.

To go on forever thus!

Who can say what waits for us?—

Meeting—greeting, night and day,

Faring each the selfsame way—

Still somewhere the path must end.—

Reach your hand to me, my friend!

TO MY OLD FRIEND, WILLIAM LEACHMAM

dim

A BACKWARD LOOK

And lazily leaning back in my chair,

From weariness, toil and care,—

Left ajar the gates of my mind,—

Slipped out in street of "Auld Lang Syne."

Through scenes of silence, and jubilee

As far as the eye could see;

The same old dreams of our boyhood's days

Of walking asleep in the world's strange ways.

And there was the selfsame clock that ticked

And helped when the apples were picked.

With the gilded collar and yellow eyes,

Sound asleep with the dear surprise.

Where the grass was worn from the trampled ground

Doin' "sky-scrapers," or "whirlin' round:"

And again "had shows" in the buggy-shed

The old ghosts romp through the best days dead!

With a wistful look of a long June day,

He had such a "partial" way,

Of a probable likelihood to be

Catching a note from me.

Where the big, white, hollow, old sycamore grows,—

On the fellow that tied the clothes.—

That it seems to me now that then

Than it ever will have again.

AT SEA

But Hope remains behind,

And Peace, of passive mind;

With lifted sails of prayer,

Nor find it anywhere.

Yet keepest from our eyes

In calms of Paradise,

With all the driving rain

And waft us home again.

THE OLD GUITAR

And moldering into decay;

That the dull dust hides away,

In its silent lips to-day.

The sinews of brave old airs

So closely here declares

And the faded hue it wears.

Has cherished a smile for me;

That comes with a memory

And a moonlit balcony.

Or the minstrel's powers invent,

Of the fairy hands that lent

On the dear old instrument.

Still blooms; and the tiny sets

In the keys, and the silver frets;

Alas for the heart's regrets!—

And the wounds of rift and scar

Enthralled with a stronger bar

Like that of the old guitar!

JOHN McKEEN

His loosened collar, and swarthy throat;

And the wealth of a workman's vote!

And tilt him back in his Windsor chair

And the crickets everywhere!

With a watery jingle of pans and spoons,

And old-time fiddle-tunes!

And fill the hearing with childish glee

Old book of the Used-to-be!

To have grown ambitious in worldly ways!—

Out on election days!

To yield you the office you still maintain?

To the hunger of heart and brain?

Edging the drives where your blooded span

And the mirth, and the happy man?

Your faded wife is a close recluse;

And marry as you shall choose!—

With the watery jingle of pans and spoons,

And the old-time fiddle-tunes!

THROUGH SLEEPY-LAND

Little Boy! Little Boy! where?

A-wandering 'way in there;—in there—

A-wandering 'way in there!

Little Boy, 'way in there?

And mermaids, smiling out—'way in where

They're a-hiding—'way in there!

Little Boy! Little Boy! where?

And the Wee Folk—'way in there—in there—

And the Kelpies—'way in there!

Little Boy! Little Boy! what?

And tell her everything I've forgot

About, a-wandering 'way in there—

Through the blind-world 'way in there!

"THEM OLD CHEERY WORDS"

"Chris'mus comes but onc't a year!"

In his old split-bottomed cheer

And Eldory home fer two

Old folks tickled through and through,

we

Ser'ous in his "daily walk,"

Was no hand to joke er talk.

flinched

Hurt his wownd in winter. But

Mother

Watched his feet, and made him putt

Pap 'u'd say, and snap his eyes ...

Round the hearth, and me and 'Lize

Jest a-heppin' Pap: She'd fill

O' hard cider; er set still

"Boys," he'd say, "and you girls, too,

So, as you've a right to do,

Celebrate

Them old cheery words, you know.

All of us—then had to go

"Chris'mus comes but onc't a year!"

"Chris'mus comes but onc't a year!"

AllusThere

TO THE JUDGE

A Voice From the Interior of Old Hoop-Pole Township

Can't you arrange to come down

Out of the dust of the town?

And put by your dolorous frown

Can't you arrange to come down?

The arguments prosy and drear,—

In the lap of the greenery here?

And "husk" yourself out of your gown

Can't you arrange to come down?

And bah! for its technical lore!

But wish himself low as before!

Poke your bald head through a crown

Can't you arrange to come down?

here

The birds are in session by dawn;

complaints

And a breath that your betters have drawn;

To a jury of kine, white and brown,

Can't you arrange to come down?

Pigeonhole Blackstone and Kent!—

Twain, Burdette, Nye, and content!

And put by your dolorous frown

Can't you arrange to come down?

OUR BOYHOOD HAUNTS

fleur-de-lis

MY DANCIN'-DAYS IS OVER

Kindo' like that sweet-sick feelin', in the long sweep of a swing,

The first you ever swung in, with yer first sweet-heart, i jing!—

Yer first picnic—yer first ice-cream—yer first o' ever'thing

'At happened 'fore yer dancin'-days wuz over!

A-fiddlin' old "Gray Eagle"—And-sir! I jes stopped my load

O' hay and listened at him—yes, and watched the way he "bow'd,"—

And back I went, plum forty year', with boys and girls I knowed

And loved, long 'fore my dancin'-days wuz over!—

A-marchin'—and fire-ingines.—All the noise, the whole street through,

Wuz lost on me!—I only heerd a whipperwill er two,

It 'peared-like, kindo' callin' 'crost the darkness and the dew,

Them nights afore my dancin'-days wuz over.

With old Lew Church from Sugar Crick, with that old fiddle he

Had sawed clean through the Army, from Atlanty to the sea—

And yit he'd fetched, her home ag'in, so's he could play fer me

One't more afore my dancin'-days wuz over!

And all the girls 'at then wuz girls—I saw 'em, one and all,

As plain as then—the middle-sized, the short-and-fat, and tall—

And, 'peared-like, I danced "Tucker" fer 'em up and down the wall

Jes like afore my dancin' days wuz over!

poyou

all

But, jes the same,—in spite of all 'at you call "interprise

And prog-gress of you-folks Today," we're all of fambly-ties—

We're all got feelin's fittin' fer the tears 'at's in our eyes

Er the smiles afore our dancin'-days is over.

HER BEAUTIFUL HANDS

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RILEY SONGS OF HOME ***

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Table of Contents

RILEY SONGS OF HOME

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

WITH PICTURES BY

WILL VAWTER

NEW YORK GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS

TO

GEORGE A. CARR

CONTENTS

RILEY SONGS OF HOME

WE MUST GET HOME

JUST TO BE GOOD

MY FRIEND

THINKIN' BACK

NOT ALWAYS GLAD WHEN WE SMILE

HIS ROOM

THE PLAINT HUMAN

THE QUEST

THE MULBERRY TREE

FOR YOU

A FEEL IN THE CHRIS'MAS-AIR

AS CREATED

WHERE-AWAY

DREAMER, SAY

OUR OWN

THE OLD TRUNDLE-BED

WHO BIDES HIS TIME

NATURAL PERVERSITIES

A SCRAWL

WRITIN' BACK TO THE HOME-FOLKS

LAUGHTER HOLDING BOTH HIS SIDES

THE SONG OF YESTERDAY

SONG OF PARTING

OUR KIND OF A MAN

"HOW DID YOU REST, LAST NIGHT?"

OUT OF THE HITHERWHERE

JACK-IN-THE-BOX

THE BOYS

IT'S GOT TO BE

"OUT OF REACH?"

"A BRAVE REFRAIN"

ENVOI

IN THE EVENING

JIM

THE BEST IS GOOD ENOUGH

HONEY DRIPPING FROM THE COMB

AS MY UNCLE USED TO SAY

WE MUST BELIEVE

A GOOD MAN

THE OLD DAYS

A SPRING SONG AND A LATER

KNEELING WITH HERRICK

THE RAINY MORNING

REACH YOUR HAND TO ME

TO MY OLD FRIEND, WILLIAM LEACHMAM

A BACKWARD LOOK

AT SEA

THE OLD GUITAR

JOHN McKEEN

THROUGH SLEEPY-LAND

"THEM OLD CHEERY WORDS"

TO THE JUDGE

OUR BOYHOOD HAUNTS

MY DANCIN'-DAYS IS OVER

HER BEAUTIFUL HANDS

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG™ LICENSE