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.