was through
She'd spread the icing over it, an' we knew very soon
That one would get the plate to lick, an' one would get the spoon.

It seemed no matter where we were those mornings at our play,
Upstairs or out of doors somewhere, we all knew right away
When Ma was in the kitchen, an' was gettin' out the tin
An' things to make an angel cake, an' so we scampered in.
An' Ma would smile at us an' say: "Now you keep still an' wait
An' when I'm through I'll let you lick the spoon an' icing plate."

We watched her kneel beside the stove, an' put her arm so white
Inside the oven just to find if it was heatin' right.
An' mouths an' eyes were open then, becoz we always knew
The time for us to get our taste was quickly comin' due.
Then while she mixed the icing up, she'd hum a simple tune,
An' one of us would bar the plate, an' one would bar the spoon.

Could we catch a glimpse of Heaven, and some snow-white kitchen there,
I'm sure that we'd see mother, smiling now, and still as fair;
And I know that gathered round her we should see an angel brood
That is watching every movement as she makes an angel food;
For I know that little angels, as we used to do, await
The moment when she lets them lick the icing spoon and plate.

The Gift of Play

Some have the gift of song and some possess the gift of silver speech,
Some have the gift of leadership and some the ways of life can teach.
And fame and wealth reward their friends; in jewels are their splendors
told,
But in good time their favorites grow very faint and gray and old.
But there are men who laugh at time and hold the cruel years at bay;
They romp through life forever young because they have the gift of play.

They walk with children, hand in hand, through daisy fields and orchards
fair,
Nor all the dignity of age and power and pomp can follow there;
They've kept the magic charm of youth beneath the wrinkled robe of Time,
And there's no friendly apple tree that they have grown too old to climb.
They have not let their boyhood die; they can be children for the day;
They have not bartered for success and all its praise, the gift of play.

They think and talk in terms of youth; with love of life their eyes are
bright;
No rheumatism of the soul has robbed them of the world's delight;
They laugh and sing their way along and join in pleasures when they can,
And in their glad philosophy they hold that mirth becomes a man.
They spend no strength in growing old.