This poem was given to me by our mother a little while after our father died in 1962.
I had a dad, just yesterday; not young, it’s true, but well and gay and full of life and love and vim~~today but memories live of him.
My dad was good, his life was clean; he never acted small and mean. He was tender, unselfish and strangely fine; a prince of a man, that dad of mine.
He had not set the world on fire, great fame was never his desire; but, oh, his name is much revered by scores of friends whose hearts he cheered.
He never raved around nor swore, nor stamped his foot upon the floor; but just one quiet word from him could make you squirm and hide your chin.
He had a gentle, patient way of hearing each one say his say. He never argued~~just sat still and let the hotheads rant at will; But after they had gotten through, you glanced at him and then you knew that not one argumental height had altered his clear view of right.
His God came first, his family next, and “love thy neighbor” was his text. His riches he was laying by in that fair land beyond the sky.
He left no fortune grand behind, but oh, he left a peace of mind. The knowledge that his life was free of naught but fineness comforts me.