Page 27 - Poetry-Family

Of home—it was home-like there;
In parlor, in kitchen, or hall,
Wherever she chanced to be,
A beauty was over all,
For the heart of the house was she.

Another with pomp and pride
May rule, and their scepter sway;
But over the ingle-side
She reigns in a quiet way;
Another may choose to be
The head—she will not demur;
For the heart of the house is she,
And that is enough for her.

— Josephine Pollard (Demorest, 1886)

Little Whimpy

“Whimpy, little Whimpy,
Cried so much one day,
His grandma couldn’t stand it,
And his mother ran away;
His sister climbed the hay-mow,
His father went to town,
And cook flew to the neighbor’s
In her shabby kitchen-gown.

“Whimpy, little Whimpy,
Never’ll forget the day
When grandma couldn’t stand it,
And his mother ran away.
He was waiting by the window
When they all came home to tea,
And a gladder boy than Whimpy
You never need hope to see.”

—(St. Nicholas)

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