Daddies

I would rather be the daddy

Of a romping, roguish crew,

Of a bright-eyed chubby laddie

And a little girl or two,

Than the monarch of a nation

In his high and lofty seat

Taking empty adoration

From the subjects at his feet.

I would rather own their kisses

As at night to me they run,

Than to be the king who misses

All the simpler forms of fun.

When his dreary day is ending

He is dismally alone,

But when my sun is descending

There are joys for me to own.

He may ride to horns and drumming;

I must walk a quiet street,

But when once they see me coming

Then on joyous, flying feet

They come racing to me madly

And I catch them with a swing

And I say it proudly, gladly,

That I'm happier than a king.

You may talk of lofty places,

You may boast of pomp and power,

Men may turn their eager faces

To the glory of an hour,

But give me the humble station

With its joys that long survive,

For the daddies of the nation

Are the happiest men alive.