The Way of a Boy by James W. Foley

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Aug 3, 1916

The Way of a Boy

By James W. Foley

THIS is the way a boy comes home, And the way it shall ever be: A scamper of feet through the leaf and loam And the chase of a vagrant bee; A coat cast off and quite forgot, A whistle and ringing cheer, And a romp near every well-known spot On the way from There to Here.

This is the way a boy makes haste, And the way it has ever been: A squirrel seen is a squirrel chased, And a top is made to spin; A tree's to climb and a brook's to wade, And the shade is a place to lie After the zest of the game that's played When the sun is hot and high.

This is the path a boy calls straight: By every winding way, Where berries are or wild birds wait Or squirrels dart at play; By banks that bid you sit and cool Two dusty feet and brown In the pebbly shallows of the pool That's on the way from town.

This is the errand swiftly done, As doing shall ever be: An ounce of care to the pound of fun, And an hour that grows to three; A fence to climb and a rail to stride, With berries to hunt and share, And a breathless quarter hour beside A timid woodchuck's lair.

And this is the thing that a boy calls care, And the thing it shall ever be: An old straw hat that's lost somewhere In the shade of some far-off tree; A shirt that's damp or trousers rent, A bruise or a hornet's sting, And lagging footsteps choreward bent In the soft twilight of spring.

So these are the ways that boys all know, And so may they ever be: Fancies as fickle as winds that blow, And dreams as wide as the sea; Heaven above where the blue sky smiles, With no day overlong, And a whistle of merry tunes that whiles A whole world into song. — James W. Foley.