--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Chidester, Florence L. collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 25 number: 8 published: 1922-06 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'Florence L. Chidester, "Daddy Mine," *Improvement Era* 25, no. 8 (June 1922): 692.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2508unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera2508unse start_page: 692 end_page: 692 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1922-06) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2508unse publication_year: 1922 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1922, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # Daddy Mine Daddy Mine Sit here, young man, and you, sweet girl, sit here, The sun is sinking, and the sky is blue, And just here, asleep in straying sunbeams, Is a picture I wish to show to you. Look closely now, observe each careworn line! The face though growing thin to us is fair, And straying 'cross the broad and noble brow Are locks of thin and plainly whitening hair. Come, clasp this dear old hand that?s lying here, And hold it tenderly within your own; Once like yours, 'twas soft and white and shapely, But through the years has hard and calloused grown. This finger has a knuckle bent and stiff; This scar tells of a wound that has been made, The finger nail from here was torn away, In all the years it failed to reappear. To you, his grown up daughter and his son, I wish to make this statement, sad but true, These calloused spots these scars and all these wounds, Are traces of the blows he took for yo*. You often asked for favor», did you not? To grant you these he wwidered what to do; But he seldom left your wants unanswered, Though you scarce knew his sacrifice for you. You thanked him, did you, told him you were glad? You paused to kiss his tired face those days? No? For Daddy knew that you were grateful And didn't care for sentiment and praise? You didn't see the longing look he gave, Nor noticed yet the quiver of his lips, The drooping of his over-burdened frame, As once again the toils of day he grips. He didn't mind the calloused hands, the scars, Hard labor of his life was then a part; But often-times, I know, your thoughtlessness Has made some calloused spots upon his heart. You didn't mean to be unkind, I know, You hadn't seen those dear eyes light with joy, As words of gratitude, acts of kindness, Chanced reaching him from grown up girl or boy. You cannot bring him gems nor costly gifts; But of the love you each possess in store In rich abundance, feed his starving soul; Your Daddy, I am sure, will crave no more. As years pass and you follow in his path, I hope that you will often pray, and thus: "Father in Heaven, make us twice wor'hy Of blows our earthly father took for us." Honeyville, Utah Florence L. Chidester