A little boy came knocking at my Scout room door,
An awfully little fellow, just twelve and no more.
His eyes danced as he watched my gang at rowdy play.
“I would like to be a Scout,” he said, “I’m 12 just yesterday.”
In the weeks to come he found his place, a trim young Scout he made.
The tests he passed with eagerness, a thorough job sure paid.
The oath, the laws, the knots and flag were taken to his heart.
A better man he was sure to be though he’d just begun to start.
By the candle-lighted darkness I watched his round face beam
As the oath and law he pledged to keep – just like a prayer it seemed.
The years to come were happy ones as we followed on the trail
that greater men had laid for us, far up where eagles sail.
I watched him grow from boy to man, the days were far too few,
To try and teach the important things that Scouting said were true.
He thanked me once for what I did so many years ago.
It was not his thanks that paid me because he did not know
that greater thanks he’d given me a thousand times before
by his dancing eyes and smiling face – could one ask for more?
There are other boys a-knocking, I must invite them in.
Please, God, give me strength to make them better men.
Buch Burshears, Scoutmaster, Koshare Indian Dancers, La Junta, Colorado
