I’ve hooked a ball when just that hook I needed,
  And wondered how I ever turned the trick;
I’ve thanked my luck for what a friendly tree did,
  Although my fortune made my rival sick;
Sometimes my shots turn out just as I planned ’em,
  The sort of shots I usually play,
But when up to the cup I chance to land ’em,
  I never claim I played ’em just that way.

There’s little in my game that will commend me;
  I’m not a shark who shoots the course in par;
I need good fortune often to befriend me;
  I have my faults and know just what they are. 
I play golf in a desperate do-or-die way,
  And into traps and trouble oft I stray,
But when by chance the breaks are coming my way,
  I do not claim I played the shots that way.

Contradictin’ Joe

Heard of Contradictin’ Joe? 
Most contrary man I know. 
Always sayin’, “That’s not so.”

Nothing’s ever said, but he
Steps right up to disagree—­
Quarrelsome as he can be.

If you start in to recite
All the details of a fight,
He’ll butt in to set you right.

Start a story that is true,
He’ll begin correctin’ you—­
Make you out a liar, too!

Mention time o’ year or day,
Makes no difference what you say,
Nothing happened just that way.

Bet you, when his soul takes flight,
An’ the angels talk at night,
He’ll butt in to set ’em right.

There where none should have complaints
He will be with “no’s” and “ain’ts”
Contradictin’ all the saints.

The Better Job

If I were running a factory
I’d stick up a sign for all to see;
I’d print it large and I’d nail it high
On every wall that the men walked by;
And I’d have it carry this sentence clear: 
“The ‘better job’ that you want is here!”

It’s the common trait of the human race
To pack up and roam from place to place;
Men have done it for ages and do it now;
Seeking to better themselves somehow
They quit their posts and their tools they drop
For a better job in another shop.

It may be I’m wrong, but I hold to this—­
That something surely must be amiss
When a man worth while must move away
For the better job with the better pay;
And something is false in our own renown
When men can think of a better town.

So if I were running a factory
I’d stick up this sign for all to see,
Which never an eye in the place could miss: 
“There isn’t a better town than this! 
You need not go wandering, far or near—­
The ‘better job’ that you want is here!”

My Religion

My religion’s lovin’ God, who made us, one and all,
Who marks, no matter where it be, the humble sparrow’s fall;
An’ my religion’s servin’ Him the very best I can
By not despisin’ anything He made, especially man! 
It’s lovin’ sky an’ earth an’ sun an’ birds an’ flowers an’ trees,
But lovin’ human beings more than any one of these.