Taking His Place

He's doing double duty now;

Time's silver gleams upon his brow,

And there are lines upon his face

Which only passing years can trace.

And yet he's turned back many a page

Long written in the book of age,

For since their boy has marched away,

This kindly father, growing gray,

Is doing for the mother true

The many things the boy would do.

Just as the son came home each night

With youthful step and eyes alight,

So he returns, and with a shout

Of greeting puts her grief to rout.

He says that she shall never miss

The pleasure of that evening kiss,

And with strong arms and manner brave

He simulates the hug he gave,

And loves her, when the day is done,

Both as a husband and a son.

His laugh has caught a clearer ring;

His step has claimed the old-time swing,

And though his absence hurts him, too,

The bravest thing that he can do

Is just to try to take his place

And keep the smiles on mother's face.

So, merrily he jests at night —

Tells her with all a boy's delight

Of what has happened in the town,

And thus keeps melancholy down.

Her letters breathe of hope and cheer;

No note of gloom she sends from here,

And as her husband reads at night

The many messages she writes,

He chuckles o'er the closing line.

She's failed his secret to divine —

“When you get home,” she tells the lad,

“You'll scarcely know your doting dad;

Although his hair is turning gray,

He seems more like a boy each day.”