Composed by W.H. Meacham
The committee
here composed of three,
Laid off some
work last week for me;
And what I’ll do
may not be right,
But thought I’d
tell it here tonight.
Some will laugh
and some will not,
But then it is
the best I’ve got;
And now I’m proud
as one can be,
Of this, my
growing family.
And all of the
are bouncing boys,
Except “my wife”,
we like their noise;
And think our
nine as children run,
Are for less
troublesome than one.
They cost but
little more to raise,
Which I will
prove in sundry ways;
For instance as
each treasure grows,
He fills his
bigger brother’s clothes.
And when the
eldest of the nine,
Gets big enough
he’ll step in mine;
This plan which
gives no end of fun,
Takes no more
clothes than goes to one.
Their school
books like their garments brown,
Are to the others
handed down;
And as each lad
in knowledge grows,
He tells the next
one what he knows.
Up learning’s
ladder thus they climb,
A chain of wisdom
quite sublime;
Until with me
upon the top,
They know so much
they’ve got to stop.
Just like their
books and clothes, their toys
Are used in turn
by all our boys;
So that the nine
have lots of fun,
With no more toys
than goes to one.
When one of ours
is taken sick,
Of course the
others catch it quick;
So when the
doctor makes his call,
That visit nicely
serves for all.
They’re dosed by
wholesale; nursed the same,
And soon get
well, for they are game;
The feeding
question, I’ll admit,
Is where we need
must use our wit.
On oatmeal,
porridge, mush and milk,
Children grow
strong and fine as silk;
And this cheap,
healthy diet, fine,
Is what we have
to give our nine.
Which being
cooked an served with ease,
Saves work and
with us all agrees.
In summer when a
change we wish,
The boys go out
and catch some fish.
And pick some
berries, too, which serve,
For suppers and
homemade preserves.
If we had only
one, we’d try
To stuff him full
of cake and pie.
And other
dainties that would make
The little
fellow’s stomach ache;
And cost in
doctor bills and care,
More than our
nine boys better fare.
In fact, our one
would live so high,
And get so much
petting he would die.
If we’d out one,
he’d lonesome be,
And want to be
amused, so we
Would have no
time to read or rest,
And maybe think
he was a pest;
But having nine,
they sweetly play,
Together out of
doors all day,
‘Till night and
then they gladly creep
To bed and
“presto” they’re asleep.
When we are old,
nine loving boys,
Will crown our
latter days with joys.
And when we die,
we’ll live again
In nine good, solid,
handsome men;
If we had only
one like some,
We’d let him suck
his little thumb.
We sympathize
with brother Joy,
Who has but one
poor lonesome boy;
But after while,
if he’s not done,
He’ll be like us,
have lots of fun.
With five and
six; yes, eight or nine,
Romping ‘round
and doing fine;
We know we cannot
keep it hid;
The love we have
for every kid.
And wife can say
and speak it fine,
So funny; looking
at our nine.
I love her too,
with all my heart;
She’s helping me
to pull the cart,
That’s loaded up
with boys so fine,
With one odd seat
among the nine;
She saw it too,
among that den,
And would be glad
if there were ten.
Composed by W.H.
Meacham
Keller, Texas
January 29, 1891
Copied by E.M.
Gates.
Note: W.H. Meacham was the father of Nannie Meacham
Whitley.
