In Calm Content

In Calm Content.
101.5

A little amrike land slowly thi from of my
big calm
The clut chair was both woft and warm,
club chates sornclinies are
The bottle hobworked with the game Jok
Where to? A we bent
And there was naught for
to want un- Indore contant
For longingly I gazed away, all through mulden haze,
Eack to the time that comes but once back
to my boyhood deya
I closed my eyes to better see that happy land
of chart.
The long-lost daya when, free from care, I
lived back on the farm
I slowly stretched weary frame whe
knocked upon the door?
“Get up! Chet up! you laky bones, it’s newly
helf-paat four.”
The night before 14 sparking been and chel
home rather late
Today I’d plow the old atump lot
through hours more than eight,
The days want by, and took their time, thess
days of gobten charm
And Satan found no mischief for me down
there on the farm.
And some days it was piping hot, and anme days
it would rain
But always was the work to do of jobs an
endless chain.
I picked potatoes without stint-the sun bored
through my back.
I swung the knife amid the corn until my
arms did rack:
I sweated at the old grindstone, I cleaned
the stable floors

And did some eight and forty thingpe that
lightly are called chores.
One blessed night, most tired to death, I
tumbled into bed-
And worke to see an angel’s face on Ham-
bo’a sable head;
He brought another bottle in, relit my big
cigar,
And back I leaned in calm content that things
are as they are.
Philadelphia Press