He never made a fortune, or a noise <br />In the world where men are seeking after fame; <br />But he had a healthy brood of girls and boys <br />Who loved the very ground on which he trod. <br />They thought him just little short of God; <br />Oh you should have heard the way they said his name – <br /> ‘Father.’ <br /> <br />There seemed to be a loving little prayer <br />In their voices, even when they called him ‘Dad.’ <br />Though the man was never heard of anywhere, <br />As a hero, yet somehow understood <br />He was doing well his part and making good; <br />And you knew it, by the way his children had <br /> Of saying ‘Father.’ <br /> <br />He gave them neither eminence nor wealth, <br />But he gave them blood untainted with a vice, <br />And opulence of undiluted health. <br />He was honest, and unpurchable and kind; <br />He was clean in heart, and body, and in mind. <br />So he made them heirs to riches without price – <br /> This father. <br /> <br />He never preached or scolded; and the rod – <br />Well, he used it as a turning pole in play. <br />But he showed the tender sympathy of God. <br />To his children in their troubles, and their joys. <br />He was always chum and comrade with his boys, <br />And his daughters – oh, you ought to hear them say <br /> ‘Father.’ <br /> <br />Now I think of all achievements ‘tis the least <br />To perpetuate the species; it is done <br />By the insect and the serpent, and the beast. <br />But the man who keeps his body, and his thought, <br />Worth bestowing on an offspring love-begot, <br />Then the highest earthly glory he was won, <br />When in pride a grown-up daughter or a son <br /> Says ‘That’s Father.’<br /><br />Ella Wheeler Wilcox<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/father-2/
