tle Master Mischievous, that's the name for you;
There's no better title that describes the things you do:
Into something all the while where you shouldn't be,
Prying into matters that are not for you to see;
Little Master Mischievous, order's overthrown
If your mother leaves you for a minute all alone.

Little Master Mischievous, opening every door,
Spilling books and papers round about the parlor floor,
Scratching all the tables and marring all the chairs,
Climbing where you shouldn't climb and tumbling down the stairs.
How'd you get the ink well? We can never guess.
Now the rug is ruined; so's your little dress.

Little Master Mischievous, in the cookie jar,
Who has ever told you where the cookies are?
Now your sticky fingers smear the curtains white;
You have finger-printed everything in sight.
There's no use in scolding; when you smile that way
You can rob of terror every word we say.

Little Master Mischievous, that's the name for you;
There's no better title that describes the things you do:
Prying into corners, peering into nooks,
Tugging table covers, tearing costly books.
Little Master Mischievous, have your roguish way;
Time, I know, will stop you, soon enough some day.

{39}

OPPORTUNITY

So long as men shall be on earth
There will be tasks for them to do,
Some way for them to show their worth;
Each day shall bring its problems new.

And men shall dream of mightier deeds
Than ever have been done before:
There always shall be human needs
For men to work and struggle for.

{40}

THE SORROW TUGS

There's a lot of joy in the smiling world,
there's plenty of morning sun,
And laughter and songs and dances, too, whenever
the day's work's done;
Full many an hour is a shining one, when
viewed by itself apart,
But the golden threads in the warp of life are
the sorrow tugs at your heart.

Oh, the fun is froth and it blows away, and
many a joy's forgot,
And the pleasures come and the pleasures go,
and memory holds them not;
But treasured ever you keep the pain that causes
your tears to start,
For the sweetest hours are the ones that bring
the sorrow tugs at your heart.

The lump in your throat and the little sigh when
your baby trudged away
The very first time to the big red school--how
long will their memory stay?
The fever days a