There are just a few things that a home must possess,
Besides all your money and all your success—­
A few good old books which some loved one has read,
Some trinkets of those whose sweet spirits have fled,
And then in the pantry, not shoved back too far
For the hungry to get to, that old cookie jar.

Let the house be a mansion, I care not at all! 
Let the finest of pictures be hung on each wall,
Let the carpets be made of the richest velour,
And the chairs only those which great wealth can procure,
I’d still want to keep for the joy of my flock
That homey, old-fashioned, well-filled cookie crock.

Like the love of the Mother it shines through our years;
It has soothed all our hurts and has dried away tears;
It has paid us for toiling; in sorrow or joy,
It has always shown kindness to each girl and boy;
And I’m sorry for people, whoever they are,
Who live in a house where there’s no cookie jar.

Little Wrangles

Lord, we’ve had our little wrangles, an’ we’ve had our little bouts;
There’s many a time, I reckon, that we have been on the outs;
My tongue’s a trifle hasty an’ my temper’s apt to fly,
An’ Mother, let me tell you, has a sting in her reply,
But I couldn’t live without her, an’ it’s plain as plain can be
That in fair or sunny weather Mother needs a man like me.

I’ve banged the door an’ muttered angry words beneath my breath,
For at times when she was scoldin’ Mother’s plagued me most to death,
But we’ve always laughed it over, when we’d both cooled down a bit,
An’ we never had a difference but a smile would settle it. 
An’ if such a thing could happen, we could share life’s joys an’ tears
An’ live right on together for another thousand years.

Some men give up too easy in the game o’ married life;
They haven’t got the courage to be worthy of a wife;
An’ I’ve seen a lot o’ women that have made their lives a mess,
’Cause they couldn’t bear the burdens that are, mixed with happiness. 
So long as folks are human they’ll have many faults that jar,
An’ the way to live with people is to take them as they are.

We’ve been forty years together, good an’ bad, an’ rain an’ shine;
I’ve forgotten Mother’s faults now an’ she never mentions mine. 
In the days when sorrow struck us an’ we shared a common woe
We just leaned upon each other, an’ our weakness didn’t show. 
An’ I learned how much I need her an’ how tender she can be
An’ through it, maybe, Mother saw the better side o’ me.

The Wide Outdoors

The rich may pay for orchids rare, but, Oh the apple tree
Flings out its blossoms to the world for every eye to see,
And all who sigh for loveliness may walk beneath the sky
And claim a richer beauty than man’s gold can ever buy.