n all the joys that have no thrill in 'em are spurious.
Some think that pleasure's only found down where the lights are shining,
An' where an orchestra's at work the while the folks are dining.
Still others seek it at their play, while some there are who roam,
But I am happiest when I am tinkerin' 'round the home.

I like to wear my oldest clothes, an' fuss around the yard,
An' dig a flower bed now an' then, and pensively regard
The mornin' glories climbin' all along the wooden fence,
An' do the little odds an' ends that aren't of consequence.
I like to trim the hedges, an' touch up the paint a bit,
An' sort of take a homely pride in keepin' all things fit.
An' I don't envy rich folks who are sailin' o'er the foam
When I can spend a day or two in tinkerin' 'round the home.

If I were fixed with money, as some other people are,
I'd take things mighty easy; I'd not travel very far.
I'd jes' wear my oldest trousers an' my flannel shirt, an' stay
An' guard my vine an' fig tree in an old man's tender way.
I'd bathe my soul in sunshine every mornin', and I'd bend
My back to pick the roses; Oh, I'd be a watchful friend
To everything around the place, an' in the twilight gloam
I'd thank the Lord for lettin' me jes' tinker 'round the home.

But since I've got to hustle in the turmoil of the town,
An' don't expect I'll ever be allowed to settle down
An' live among the roses an' the tulips an' the phlox,
Or spend my time in carin' for the noddin' hollyhocks,
I've come to the conclusion that perhaps in Heaven I may
Get a chance to know the pleasures that I'm yearnin' for to-day;
An' I'm goin' to ask the good Lord, when I've climbed the golden stair,
If he'll kindly let me tinker 'round the home we've got up there.

When An Old Man Gets to Thinking

When an old man gets to thinking of the years he's traveled through,
He hears again the laughter of the little ones he knew.
He isn't counting money, and he isn't planning schemes;
He's at home with friendly people in the shadow of his dreams.

When he's lived through all life's trials and his sun is in the west,
When he's tasted all life's pleasures and he knows which ones were best,
Then his mind is stored with riches, not of silver and of gold,
But of happy smiling faces and the joys he couldn't hold.

Could we see what he is seeing as he's dreaming in his chair,
We should find no scene of struggle in the distance over there.
As he counts his memory treasures, we sho