Just Folks

Daddies

          I would rather be the daddy
            Of a romping, roguish crew,
          Of a bright-eyed chubby laddie
            And a little girl or two,
          Than the monarch of a nation
            In his high and lofty seat
          Taking empty adoration
            From the subjects at his feet.

          I would rather own their kisses
            As at night to me they run,
          Than to be the king who misses
            All the simpler forms of fun.
          When his dreary day is ending
            He is dismally alone,
          But when my sun is descending
            There are joys for me to own.

          He may ride to horns and drumming;
            I must walk a quiet street,
          But when once they see me coming
            Then on joyous, flying feet
          They come racing to me madly
            And I catch them with a swing
          And I say it proudly, gladly,
            That I'm happier than a king.

          You may talk of lofty places,
            You may boast of pomp and power,
          Men may turn their eager faces
            To the glory of an hour,
          But give me the humble station
            With its joys that long survive,
          For the daddies of the nation
            Are the happiest men alive.