From the Evening Star, September 29, 1914. By Philander Johnson.
My grandsire is a husky chap; his age is eighty-five.
He has a cheery smile and thinks it’s good to be alive.
He does not claim perfection. When the New Year comes again
He makes his resolutions, just the same as other men.
He seemed to start life’s journey on unfavorable terms.
His family did not know a thing about these wicked germs.
They let him travel barefoot and he ate green fruit by stealth.
I very often wonder how my grandsire kept his health.
He ate his bread and marmalade and didn’t care a straw
About the labels which are recommended by the law.
And when a cut or bruise unto his careless lot befell,
He tied a rag around it and then left it to get well.
He tried to love his neighbor and he wasn’t wild for pelf.
He did the best he could and then forgot about himself.
He faced the outdoor life without the luxuries of wealth.
It is a mystery how my good old grandsire kept his health!