We were settin’ there an’ smokin’ of our pipes, discussin’ things,
Like licker, votes for wimmin, an’ the totterin’thrones o’ kings,
When he ups an’ strokes his whiskers with his hand an’ says t’me: 
“Changin’ laws an’ legislatures ain’t, as fur as I can see,
Goin’ to make this world much better, unless somehow we can
Find a way to make a better an’ a finer sort o’ man.

“The trouble ain’t with statutes or with systems—­not at all;
It’s with humans jest like we air an’ their petty ways an’ small. 
We could stop our writin’ law-books an’ our regulatin’ rules
If a better sort of manhood was the product of our schools. 
For the things that we air needin’ ain’t no writin’ from a pen
Or bigger guns to shoot with, but a bigger typeof men.

“I reckon all these problems air jest ornery like the weeds. 
They grow in soil that oughta nourish only decent deeds,
An’ they waste our time an’ fret us when, if we were thinkin’ straight
An’ livin’ right, they wouldn’t be so terrible an’ great. 
A good horse needs no snaffle, an’ a good man, I opine,
Doesn’t need a law to check him or to force him into line.

“If we ever start in teachin’ to our children, year by year,
How to live with one another, there’ll be less o’ trouble here. 
If we’d teach ’em how to neighbor an’ to walk in honor’s ways,
We could settle every problem which the mind o’ man can raise. 
What we’re needin’ isn’t systems or some regulatin’ plan,
But a bigger an’ a finer an’ a truer type o’ man.”

A Boy and His Dad

A boy and his dad on a fishing-trip—­
There is a glorious fellowship! 
Father and son and the open sky
And the white clouds lazily drifting by,
And the laughing stream as it runs along
With the clicking reel like a martial song,
And the father teaching the youngster gay
How to land a fish in the sportsman’s way.

I fancy I hear them talking there
In an open boat, and the speech is fair;
And the boy is learning the ways of men
From the finest man in his youthful ken. 
Kings, to the youngster, cannot compare
With the gentle father who’s with him there. 
And the greatest mind of the human race
Not for one minute could take his place.

Which is happier, man or boy? 
The soul of the father is steeped in joy,
For he’s finding out, to his heart’s delight,
That his son is fit for the future fight. 
He is learning the glorious depths of him,
And the thoughts he thinks and his every whim,
And he shall discover, when night comes on,
How close he has grown to his little son.

A boy and his dad on a fishing-trip—­
Oh, I envy them, as I see them there
Under the sky in the open air,
For out of the old, old long-ago
Come the summer days that I used to know,
When I learned life’s truths from my father’s lips
As I shared the joy of his fishing-trips—­
Builders of life’s companionship!