V.
And the blossoms still bloom on the beautiful way
Where the dews of the dusk kiss the rose-lips of May,
And the noon and the night from the far away shore
Sing the songs that you sang, to my heart evermore!
Caught on the Fly.
A bar-room full of laughter is more attractive than a home used for rag-chewing.
If a man stops to try on every shoe that fits him, he won't get dressed in time to build the fires in the morning.
Strength to do and to endure is the rich, ripe fruit of trial and struggle, grown only in the gardens of supreme courage.
Jist a-Wushin'!
Jist a-wushin' fer the grass
Whayre the brook's a-brimmin'
An' the tow-head fellers thayre
Strippin' off fer swimmin'!
Wushin' fer to be a boy
In the laughin' lan's o' joy,
Whayre the rain-bows ring the medders with a rosy rim of joy!
Wushin' fer the fields o' green,
Cow-bells jingle, jangle,
An' the kids thayre on the swing
In the tree-tops' tangle!
Wushin' fer to be a boy
Whayre no sorrows fun destroy,
An' the rain-bows ring the medders with a rosy rim of joy!
Wushin' fer a fishin pole,
Whayre the swallers chatter,
An' the Bob-whites come an' call
Through the cat-bird's clatter!
Wushin' still to be a boy
Whayre no grown-ups bring annoy,
An' the rain-bows ring the medders with a rosy rim of joy!
Jist a-wushin'! Only that,
Fer tho perished pleasures!
Jist a-wushin'! Fer the years
An' their squandered treasures!
Wushin' still to be a boy
With the wide world fer a toy,
While the rain-bows ring the medders with a rosy rim of joy!
A Happy Farmer.
What's the use to worry?
Joy is coming nigh:
Got the patches planted
For the melons bye and bye!
What's the use to worry?
Trust the rain and sky;
They will stuff the melons
Full of heaven bye and bye!
Sooner Sayings.
When the cow-path fades, the section line appears.
The testimony in a contest case is often a startling work of fiction.
The booth certificate and the lottery number are worthless to the fellow that won't hustle.
In the Lap of Spring.
Took a walk one day to hear
Mister Blue-bird sing;
Found old Winter sittin' there
In the lap of Spring!
"Mister Winter!" So I said,
"Guess you'd better hike!
Give the lady here a chance
At the rosy pike!"
Loafing.
Loafin' in the sunshine,
On a grassy bed,
Dreamin' of the melons
An' their hearts of red!
Loafin' in the sunshine,—
That is what I said!
Mockin'-bird a-singin',
Tree-tops overhead!
Loafin' in the sunshine!
All the cares are dead,
Thinkin' of the melons
An' their hearts of red!
Loafin' in the sunshine,—
Work an' worry fled!
Heart's a-dancin' hoe-downs
With the roses red!
No Encouragement.
"Ah tole yuh, boss, dat book whut yuh calls de Bible ain't no frien' to de cullud people," said Black Mose in a sceptical moment.
"Why, how is that Mose," said the preacher.
"Bekaze it doan't hol' no encouragement out foh de cullud sinnah! Now, ef Hebben wuz a place full ob banjoes en wohtah-millions, all de black raskels would suah come eh-runnin' to de moahneh's bench so fas' dey coulden' be bapsoused!" And the old man slouched away full of indignation at the barrenness of the heavenly promises.
Only the chemical tests of the long years can determine the true success or the utter failure,—the worth of a great deed or the nothingness of a mean act. The world's esteemed immortals have survived the shadows of oblivion only because of precious deeds they wrought for fellow men. The rags of yesterday are exchanged for purple robes as the centuries pass, while the crowns of today fade and crumble into forgetfulness. No man succeeds because he becomes a king or fails because he remains a peasant.
The Grip of the Prairies.
Up and down the world I've wandered, over land and over sea,
With the rivers rolling under and the mountains over me,
And as sure as truth is certain, you will find this saying so:
When the prairies grab a feller, they will never let him go!
For there's something in the stretches of the plains that comes and takes
All the loves and all the longings for their own exalted sakes,
And the man that gets to breathing of their glories day and night
Finds the prairies hold his heartstrings in a grip that's good and tight.
He may tread the balsam forests with their whiffs of fir and pine;
He may sail the tossing oceans and inhale their breaths of brine;
He may walk the rosy valleys, climb the mountains to the snow,
But if once the prairies grab him they will never let him go!
Ever see the sun rise proudly from the prairie's naked rim
Filling up the world of wonder till it overflows the brim?
'Tis a glory that's unrivaled! 'Tis a most exalted sight,
And the prairies that present it come and grab you good and tight!
O, the grandeur of the prairies! O, the seas of grassy plain!
How they soothe with satisfaction all the hopes of heart and brain!
'Tis a truth beyond disputing, and your own heart says it's so:
When the prairies grab a feller, they will never let him go!
Caught on the Fly.
The man who has only two hands has none to spare for his neighbor's business.
Some people get up and fool around in the dark so they can grumble at the lack of sunshine.
The man who laughs in the sunshine and sleeps when the shadows fall will never suffer much with the heart-ache.
The Meadows of Morning.
The raptures grow the blossoms
Over all the fields of May,
And they bring the birds with music
Just to sing the time away;
O, brother, lift your voice
In the anthems that rejoice
While the roses rim the meadows of the morning!
The glad hearts send the gladness
Over all the fields we go,
And the glory of the sunshine
Brightens all the world we know;
O, brothers, come along!
Let us sing the rain-bow song
While the roses rim the meadows of the morning!
The good Lord gives his bounties
To his children through the years,
And his gifts of love and labor
Conquer all the griefs and tears;
O, brother, bye and bye
We shall reach the home on high
While the roses rim the meadows of the morning!
Fields of May.
Here's a road that's never long,
Where it leads away
Through the blossom and the song
To the fields of May!
There the rain-bow bends above
Bags of gold, they say;
And there's laughter, light and love
In the fields of May!
Here's the road that's never long!
Come and let's away,
Through the blossom and the song
To the fields of May!
With all the strife and struggle after riches, the greatest joys of life are forever more the gifts of nature, within the reach of rich and poor alike, and beyond the measurings of gold. The clear sky and the green grass, the sunshine of the noon, and the dew of the morning, the blossom and the bird-song, good health and sound sleep, and the love of a man for a woman and of a woman for a man,—these have no prices in the catalogues of wealth and poverty alike.
The Journey.
This life, my dear, is a varied journey
And most of its ways are queer,
But those who laugh through its work and wonder
Will find that it holds good cheer;
And whether we laugh or languish
And whether we sigh or sing,
I am sure that still
There is good for ill
And the flash of an angel wing!
The world, my dear, and the folk that use it
Care naught for our waste or worth;
The smile and sorrow of hope and hurry
Are small to the brave old earth;
And whether with pain or pleasure
And whether with smiles or tears,
There is something glad
For the dark and sad,
And we go to the blessed years.
The deeds, my dear, that we faint in doing,
The dreams that we catch and cherish,
To those that walk in the ways beside us
Are naught when they fall and perish;
But whether they fail or triumph
And whether the rue or rose,
To the hearts that hold
They are more than gold
Till the years of the gods unclose.
It's up, my dear, with the purple morning,
And death to the heart's annoy;
No stop nor stay on the endless journey
To rest on the hills of joy!
And whether the paths are easy
And whether the roads are long,
There is rapture still
For the ache and ill,
As we wander the ways with song!
Yes, life, my dear, is a varied journey
And most of its ways are queer,
But those who laugh as they wander onward
Will find that it holds good cheer;
And whether we laugh or languish
And whether we sigh or sing,
I am sure that still
There is good for ill
And the flash of an angel wing!
"When the Sad Time Ends."
What's the use to beckon trouble
As you journey down the road?
Life will find its burdens double
If it cherishes the load!
Keep a smile and be contented
With the favors fortune sends,
And the joys will romp around you
Till the sad time ends.
What's the use to keep complaining
At the gifts the good days bring?
For each tear that flows from heart-ache
There's a hundred laughs that sing;
For the day that's dark and gloomy,
God a hundred bright days lends,
And his sunshine will be ceaseless
When the sad time ends.
What's the use to go to growling
When the comrades that you knew
Turn their backs on all your kindness
And unsheathe their knives for you?
For the scamp that proves a traitor,
You will find a hundred friends,
And their golden hearts ne'er waver
Till the sad time ends.
What's the use to welcome trouble?
Chase it from the paths you go!
There is always plenty of it
If you cherish every woe.
Keep your life alight with gladness
Till a song each day attends;
You will reach the land of sunshine
When the sad time ends.
Sooner Sayings.
The land office is the grave-yard of many a happy home.
In driving a settlement stake, one man is company and two's a crowd.
The ox-team makes a swift run when its owner understands how to drive them at the land-office window.
Snake [Bit].
"Did you have any accidents on the fishing trip?"
"No; none to speak of?"
"Any one snake bit?"
"Yes, but that's nothing. Bill Jones got snake-bit every time his clothes rubbed him, and hollered for whiskey; and in order to save any, we had to undress Bill and put him under guard for the general welfare."