THE FAMILY ALBUM

Acrost the swellin' flood O' years

    Whose waters ever climbin' higher

Sweep off so much we fondly loved

    When life wuz young an' heaven nigher,

I glimpse, as on. some fur-off shore,

    The humble farm-house unpretentious

Where first our spirits bubbled forth

    While stern-faced parents tried to quench us.

I see its parlor, locked an' barred

    Except when company wuz callin',

To us it wuz the room 0' state

    Though furnished in a style appallin':

The hair-cloth chairs, the hangin' lamp,

    The gilded what-not in the corner,

The family portraits - one had died

    An' all the rest seemed doomed to mourn 'er.

The card-board motto on the wall­

    How often have I stopped to view it­

"There is no place like home," it read,

    A fact far truer than we knew it.

An', in the center of the room

    Upon its table safe reposin',

The album - never failin' cure

    When well-fed vis'ters started dozin'.

"You like to look at photygraphs?"

    No caller could evade the question. .

We laid the album on his knees

    An' gathered 'round in eager session:

"I bet you can't guess who that is

    Rigged out in thatj long li~en duster?

That's gran'pop, years an' years ago ­

    My gran'ma sez he wuz a buster!

                                                         -Turn over.