Only A Dad
Only a dad with a tired face,
Coming
home from the daily race,
Bringing little of gold or fame
To show how well
he has played the game;
But glad in his heart that his own rejoice
To see
him come and to hear his voice.
Only a dad with a brood of four,
One
of ten million men or more
Plodding along in the daily strife,
Bearing the
whips and the scorns of life,
With never a whimper of pain or hate,
For
the sake of those who at home await.
Only a dad, neither rich nor
proud,
Merely one of the surging crowd,
Toiling, striving from day to
day,
Facing whatever may come his way,
Silent whenever the harsh
condemn,
And bearing it all for the love of them.
Only a dad but he
gives his all,
To smooth the way for his children small,
Doing with
courage stern and grim
The deeds that his father did for him.
This is the
line that for him I pen:
Only a dad, but the best of men.
From the book "A Heap o' Livin'" ©1916
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