From the Evening Star, September 21, 1912.
By Philander Johnson.
 

 Oh, happy was the childhood hour
   When Father paid the bills
 And left us free to grasp the flower
   That blossomed on the hills!
 Those were the days in which we took
   No thought of taxes high,
 Nor feared the grafter or the crook
   Who might be drawing nigh.
 Three meals per day were always there;
   So was the dwelling place.
 We thought that Father’s greatest care
   Was simply to say grace.
 And so we wandered light and free,
   Without a trace of woe,
 Each had no thoughts save those of glee,
   Unless he stubbed his toe.
 Now greater wisdom bids us pause
   And grateful memory thrills.
 We were so happy then because
   Dear Father paid the bills.