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.