He heard faint calls from the far-off days;He saw faint steps in the lonely ways;He caught faint glimpses by wayside path,As he threaded the shadows dim,And through the years with their peace and wrathIn the quest of the soul for Him!
He heard faint calls from the far-off days;He saw faint steps in the lonely ways;He caught faint glimpses by wayside path,As he threaded the shadows dim,And through the years with their peace and wrathIn the quest of the soul for Him!
Love heals the wound that truth only irritates.
The world offers no standing-room for the lazy man.
Palpitation of the tongue is the most chronic disease known to the race of women.
The swift horse plants the first stake.
It is well enough to be early, but too early is worse than too late.
A quarter section isn't big enough for a potato patch when two men claim it.
It is sixteen years since the race for homes,—it is sixteen years todaySince we on that April morning lined up for the mighty race;And after the strenuous toiling and the griefs that have gone away,The fields are glad with their beauty and the land is a dream of grace.We raced for homes in the desert ways, and we won them fair and square;We built so well as the swift years fled that life was a laughing thing;And the joys that come as the crowns of life, the joys that are sweet and fair,Build close their nests by the brooding eaves where the rose-vines climb and cling.We knew when we entered the strange, new land there were labors of might to do;We knew that Want with his deadly sword stood guard at the desert gate,But far to the swarded prairies and valleys that no one knew,We spurred our steeds on the holy quest for the stars of a mighty state!The Drouth came out of the sere south-west and the corn died low in a day;The copper sun looked out of a sky that burned with a molten fire;While Hope sank deep in the bravest heart, and over the barren wayThe dumb feet trailed in the steps of Want and dead was the old desire.And Famine came with her sunken eyes from the dust of the parching fieldsAnd tapped the door with her bony hands and her fingers gaunt and thin;Ah, Hearts grow faint at the hunger-cry and the arm of the master yieldsWhen all the world is a heap of dust that its creatures wriggle in!
It is sixteen years since the race for homes,—it is sixteen years todaySince we on that April morning lined up for the mighty race;And after the strenuous toiling and the griefs that have gone away,The fields are glad with their beauty and the land is a dream of grace.
We raced for homes in the desert ways, and we won them fair and square;We built so well as the swift years fled that life was a laughing thing;And the joys that come as the crowns of life, the joys that are sweet and fair,Build close their nests by the brooding eaves where the rose-vines climb and cling.
We knew when we entered the strange, new land there were labors of might to do;We knew that Want with his deadly sword stood guard at the desert gate,But far to the swarded prairies and valleys that no one knew,We spurred our steeds on the holy quest for the stars of a mighty state!
The Drouth came out of the sere south-west and the corn died low in a day;The copper sun looked out of a sky that burned with a molten fire;While Hope sank deep in the bravest heart, and over the barren wayThe dumb feet trailed in the steps of Want and dead was the old desire.
And Famine came with her sunken eyes from the dust of the parching fieldsAnd tapped the door with her bony hands and her fingers gaunt and thin;Ah, Hearts grow faint at the hunger-cry and the arm of the master yieldsWhen all the world is a heap of dust that its creatures wriggle in!
But Plenty heard of our want and woe, and gave with a lavish hand,And Love loaned ever her cruise of oil that never of fullness fails;The God of the rains heard all our cries and He watered the thirsty landAnd sent us a patch of turnips instead of a flock of quails!O, years of the strife and struggle! O, years of the wrath and wrong!The hands of toil smote the sleeping fields and they woke with the blooms of light;The homes we wrought are the homes of peace, where life is a tender song,And the pleasures romp through the laughing days and the dreams go down the night!Between the seas of the big, round world there never was such a land!A land that walks in the paths of peace where the stars in their plenty shine;And the fields are fair with the harvests there and the gifts of the toiler's hand,And the fruit hangs red in the orchard trees and the grapes on the purple vine!It is sixteen years since we ran the race, it is sixteen mighty years,And the days have come and gone again, with the gifts that the strong men claim;And after the days of the struggle, the grief and toil and tears,The wilderness smiles in its beauty 'neath the stars of a wondrous fame.
But Plenty heard of our want and woe, and gave with a lavish hand,And Love loaned ever her cruise of oil that never of fullness fails;The God of the rains heard all our cries and He watered the thirsty landAnd sent us a patch of turnips instead of a flock of quails!
O, years of the strife and struggle! O, years of the wrath and wrong!The hands of toil smote the sleeping fields and they woke with the blooms of light;The homes we wrought are the homes of peace, where life is a tender song,And the pleasures romp through the laughing days and the dreams go down the night!
Between the seas of the big, round world there never was such a land!A land that walks in the paths of peace where the stars in their plenty shine;And the fields are fair with the harvests there and the gifts of the toiler's hand,And the fruit hangs red in the orchard trees and the grapes on the purple vine!
It is sixteen years since we ran the race, it is sixteen mighty years,And the days have come and gone again, with the gifts that the strong men claim;And after the days of the struggle, the grief and toil and tears,The wilderness smiles in its beauty 'neath the stars of a wondrous fame.
The younger a bride, the sooner a grass widow.
Lilies are pretty, but the old fashioned potato sticks closer to the ribs.
A magnate and his money are different propositions to the missionary societies.
When Easter Sunday comes alongI hunt and hunt so hard,And find a nest of rabbit eggsOut yonder in the yard;They're red and yellow, blue and green,All colored every way,And when the rabbits lay their eggsI know it's Easter day.My Mamma cooks a lot of eggsFor little Bud and me,And says for us to eat ourselvesAs full as we can be;And then we go to dress ourselves,And find in every shoe,The rabbits left a pile of eggsAs Easter rabbits do.And Mamma tells us of the ChristWho came to earth and died,And was so good in all he didHe soon got crucified;But when they took him from the CrossAnd buried him away,He came to life and rose againAnd started Easter day.And Mamma has some lilies, too,And glad flowers of the spring,And tells us how the world wakes up,And tells the birds to sing:And I like Easter mighty well,But what is best, I say,Is when you find the rabbit eggsAnd know it's Easter day!
When Easter Sunday comes alongI hunt and hunt so hard,And find a nest of rabbit eggsOut yonder in the yard;They're red and yellow, blue and green,All colored every way,And when the rabbits lay their eggsI know it's Easter day.
My Mamma cooks a lot of eggsFor little Bud and me,And says for us to eat ourselvesAs full as we can be;And then we go to dress ourselves,And find in every shoe,The rabbits left a pile of eggsAs Easter rabbits do.
And Mamma tells us of the ChristWho came to earth and died,And was so good in all he didHe soon got crucified;But when they took him from the CrossAnd buried him away,He came to life and rose againAnd started Easter day.
And Mamma has some lilies, too,And glad flowers of the spring,And tells us how the world wakes up,And tells the birds to sing:And I like Easter mighty well,But what is best, I say,Is when you find the rabbit eggsAnd know it's Easter day!
Faith is a great heart-cleaner.
The godly man never worries over hell-fire.
Good intentions never make the dollars ring in the collection plate.
A man's meanness and woman's frailty make a pair that prayer can't beat when they get together.
The Devil never attends the church of a scolding preacher. He knows that his presence is unnecessary.
If you want a balance in your favor on God's books, see to it that there is no balance against you on the books of men.
At the birth-hour of every soul, there overhangs a divine plan directing its plans and purposes. That plan is holy and immaculate; it has neither spot nor blemish; and as the soul walks out upon the highways of its life, dim whispers and faint intuitions try to teach the road it ought to travel to the stars. Happy the man who understands the story and walks with unerring feet the divine lanes of life and light until the shadows fall again!
With one true heart and a hand that stays,This world rolls ever the blossom ways,And there as it roams the sweet paths over,The honey bees and the laughing clover!And Love comes by with her lips of song,To hush the cries and the calls of wrong,Till life romps on to a merry measureWith dimpled hands and a heart of pleasure!
With one true heart and a hand that stays,This world rolls ever the blossom ways,And there as it roams the sweet paths over,The honey bees and the laughing clover!
And Love comes by with her lips of song,To hush the cries and the calls of wrong,Till life romps on to a merry measureWith dimpled hands and a heart of pleasure!
The swift horse makes the safe filing.
Getting in line is easy, but it's where you want to get that costs the money.
A mother-in-law may not be a popular member of the family, but your wife's folks will do to visit when the crops fail.
Anent the present divorce agitation, I find in an old paper the following skit which is still in point:
Chapter I.They met in the SpringAnd admired everything.Chapter II.In the Summer she said,"Yes, dear, we will wed!"Chapter III.In the Autumn this pairHad a spat, I declare!Chapter IV.In the winter, of course,They procured a divorce!
Chapter I.They met in the SpringAnd admired everything.
Chapter II.In the Summer she said,"Yes, dear, we will wed!"
Chapter III.In the Autumn this pairHad a spat, I declare!
Chapter IV.In the winter, of course,They procured a divorce!
However it may happen, there are times when the common-place soul rebels at the petty chains of trifles and seeks acquaintance with the infinite. Then it is a companion of the stars, an associate of wind and wave, and all of Nature's immeasurable forces. Happy he whose sanity is so brave and strong as to walk with the blossoms at his feet and the stars above his head.
Usury knows no law in a new country.
It's a poor claim that won't beat Arkansaw.
It takes more than a map and a real-estate sign to make a city.
All signs fail in dry weather,—except those of the money-lenders.
Man, you'd better hurry!Life is mighty swift,Fled before you know itWith the stars adrift!Soak yourself with sunshineAll the blessed day;Yonder come the shadowsAnd the night of gray!
Man, you'd better hurry!Life is mighty swift,Fled before you know itWith the stars adrift!
Soak yourself with sunshineAll the blessed day;Yonder come the shadowsAnd the night of gray!
Old Mister Trouble hides his faceAnd crosses o'er the slope,When Love is laughing on the placeAnd links her hands with Hope.No matter if in darkest nightThrough tangled ways we grope,If Love abides with living lightStill lip to lip with Hope!
Old Mister Trouble hides his faceAnd crosses o'er the slope,When Love is laughing on the placeAnd links her hands with Hope.
No matter if in darkest nightThrough tangled ways we grope,If Love abides with living lightStill lip to lip with Hope!
We travel the rim of the circle; the center is under the feet;Today is the sire of tomorrow, the noon and the night never meet;The mornings come out of the purple to die in the light of the day,And over the dead of the ages the living are up and away!
We travel the rim of the circle; the center is under the feet;Today is the sire of tomorrow, the noon and the night never meet;The mornings come out of the purple to die in the light of the day,And over the dead of the ages the living are up and away!
We travel the rim of the circle! The roses are ruddy and redWhere the blossoms that burst into beauty are sleeping the sleep of the dead;And the trees in the deeps of the forest wave scepters of laughter and lightWhere the monarchs have perished forever and sheathed are the swords of their might.
We travel the rim of the circle! The roses are ruddy and redWhere the blossoms that burst into beauty are sleeping the sleep of the dead;And the trees in the deeps of the forest wave scepters of laughter and lightWhere the monarchs have perished forever and sheathed are the swords of their might.
We travel the rim of the circle! The peoples that struggled and wroughtAre the dust of the ways that we wander, with truths they discovered and taught;And back to the morning we hasten,—the morning when nations were new,—For the Voice of the Master is calling, and still there is labor to do.
We travel the rim of the circle! The peoples that struggled and wroughtAre the dust of the ways that we wander, with truths they discovered and taught;And back to the morning we hasten,—the morning when nations were new,—For the Voice of the Master is calling, and still there is labor to do.
We travel the rim of the circle, yet wider and wider it grows,Yet farther and farther it reaches till Love conquers all of her foes,And Faith to the far journey beckons, and Truth with her promises sweetSounds the call of the masterful ages and hurries the march of the feet.
We travel the rim of the circle, yet wider and wider it grows,Yet farther and farther it reaches till Love conquers all of her foes,And Faith to the far journey beckons, and Truth with her promises sweetSounds the call of the masterful ages and hurries the march of the feet.
We travel the rim of the circle! Its path is a way of delight;The morning brings ever the noon-day and conquers the shadows of night;And whether we walk it a little, or whether we wander it far,Still widens the rim of the circle, and yonder the sun and the star!
We travel the rim of the circle! Its path is a way of delight;The morning brings ever the noon-day and conquers the shadows of night;And whether we walk it a little, or whether we wander it far,Still widens the rim of the circle, and yonder the sun and the star!
When Willie first began the game,He saw but little in it,And often wondered how he cameTo let himself begin it;But soon he learned the ball to hitA mighty blow elastic,And shouted at the rise of itWith yells enthusiastic.He talked so much of hits and runs,Of strikes and fouls and bases,That we, the poor admiring ones,Could hardly hold our faces;His boasting never found an end,His bat was always ready,And every day he had to spendSome hours in practice steady.He never seemed prepared for meals,—The game held him completely;He kept so busy making "steals."And running home so neatly;And if a "home run" batted he,We could forget it never;His talk would all about it beForever and forever!Sometimes I think that Willie's gameIs like the game life's playing:At first we wonder how we cameAround here to be staying;And then we find the game is worthThe stakes that humans stagger,And anxious are to win the earthWith "home run" or "three-bagger."We practice up from day to dayTo gain applause and prizes,And fool the precious hours awayWith toilsome exercises;Yet 'tis worth while whate'er the strife,Whatever you are doing,To play your best the game of lifeAnd keep the prize pursuing.
When Willie first began the game,He saw but little in it,And often wondered how he cameTo let himself begin it;But soon he learned the ball to hitA mighty blow elastic,And shouted at the rise of itWith yells enthusiastic.
He talked so much of hits and runs,Of strikes and fouls and bases,That we, the poor admiring ones,Could hardly hold our faces;His boasting never found an end,His bat was always ready,And every day he had to spendSome hours in practice steady.
He never seemed prepared for meals,—The game held him completely;He kept so busy making "steals."And running home so neatly;And if a "home run" batted he,We could forget it never;His talk would all about it beForever and forever!
Sometimes I think that Willie's gameIs like the game life's playing:At first we wonder how we cameAround here to be staying;And then we find the game is worthThe stakes that humans stagger,And anxious are to win the earthWith "home run" or "three-bagger."
We practice up from day to dayTo gain applause and prizes,And fool the precious hours awayWith toilsome exercises;Yet 'tis worth while whate'er the strife,Whatever you are doing,To play your best the game of lifeAnd keep the prize pursuing.
Love pardons where the law condemns.
It's a poor religion that joins the church for popularity.
Both God and the Devil know that neither of them can depend on the hypocrite.
A cup of cold water bestowed in mercy has more christian qualities than millions of dollars given for the astonishment of men.
Out with the May-time blossoms!How sweet is the May-time song,Far from the griefs and sorrows and all of the cries of wrong!
Out with the May-time blossoms!How sweet is the May-time song,Far from the griefs and sorrows and all of the cries of wrong!
Out with the May-time blossoms, where the pleasures dance the light,And Love is a laughing fairy that kisses the lilies white!
Out with the May-time blossoms, where the pleasures dance the light,And Love is a laughing fairy that kisses the lilies white!
Out with the May-time blossoms, where the mocking-bird is king,And the songs of the thrush in chorus with all of the laughters ring!
Out with the May-time blossoms, where the mocking-bird is king,And the songs of the thrush in chorus with all of the laughters ring!
Out with the May-time blossoms!For the lilies lead the way,And the roses blush their greetings and Love is the Queen of May!
Out with the May-time blossoms!For the lilies lead the way,And the roses blush their greetings and Love is the Queen of May!
And the breezes whisper "Welcome" and sweet is the vale and stream!And life with the rose and lily is only a lover's dream!
And the breezes whisper "Welcome" and sweet is the vale and stream!And life with the rose and lily is only a lover's dream!
Out with the May-time blossoms!Let youth and her fancies play,For Love is the light of the lily andLove is the rose's way!
Out with the May-time blossoms!Let youth and her fancies play,For Love is the light of the lily andLove is the rose's way!
Even a dead lie has a poisonous sting.
Social stars are not all of the first magnitude.
Grit in men and granite in stone are similar qualities.
Good opinions are valuable only as they come from good people.
Love never yet held poison to the lips or pouredvitriolin a wound.
He only is truly rich who carries the sufficiencies of life within his soul.
The musician who would be praised by the ravens must learn to croak in their serenades.
Before great men can grow, the proper raw material must be provided. Pearls can't be made from putty.
I am rich in the treasures of earth,In the deeds that the fathers have done,And for me from the moment of birthAll the gifts of the stars and the sun!At my feet have the multitudes castWhat the ages have conquered and wrought,—All the wonders of present and past,All the truths that the sages have taught.I'm the heir of the sea and the sky,Of the storm andthe sunand the star,And the morning of time toils for meTill I cross o'er the outermost bar.Every truth that the teachers attained,Every vision the dreamers have knownEvery thought the philosophers gained,Is forever and ever my own.I'm the heir of the land and the sea!'Twas for me that they finished their quest;For they toiled the slow cycles for meAnd they wrought that my days may be blest!
I am rich in the treasures of earth,In the deeds that the fathers have done,And for me from the moment of birthAll the gifts of the stars and the sun!
At my feet have the multitudes castWhat the ages have conquered and wrought,—All the wonders of present and past,All the truths that the sages have taught.
I'm the heir of the sea and the sky,Of the storm andthe sunand the star,And the morning of time toils for meTill I cross o'er the outermost bar.
Every truth that the teachers attained,Every vision the dreamers have knownEvery thought the philosophers gained,Is forever and ever my own.
I'm the heir of the land and the sea!'Twas for me that they finished their quest;For they toiled the slow cycles for meAnd they wrought that my days may be blest!
"This world is full of trouble,And of sorrows, too, my boy!"But Love is here with laughterAnd she dwells along with Joy!"This life is full of grieving,Every pleasure to destroy!"But Love is here with gladnessAnd she fills the days with Joy!"This path is full of darknessAnd the gloomy ways annoy!"But Love lights all her candlesAnd unveils the stars of Joy!O, this world and all that's in it,—Life and every tiny toy!Love is all we crave or care for,—Love who links her hands with Joy!
"This world is full of trouble,And of sorrows, too, my boy!"But Love is here with laughterAnd she dwells along with Joy!
"This life is full of grieving,Every pleasure to destroy!"But Love is here with gladnessAnd she fills the days with Joy!
"This path is full of darknessAnd the gloomy ways annoy!"But Love lights all her candlesAnd unveils the stars of Joy!
O, this world and all that's in it,—Life and every tiny toy!Love is all we crave or care for,—Love who links her hands with Joy!
Over the hills that riseStill pursue the quest,Seeking in the shadowsFor the best,—the best!And beyond the summits gleamAll the glories of the dream!
Over the hills that riseStill pursue the quest,Seeking in the shadowsFor the best,—the best!And beyond the summits gleamAll the glories of the dream!
Never mind the brooding shadows,Nor how dark they seem!Sweeter are the laughing meadowsThan the dreams we dream.Never mind the waves that severAs we sail the stream;Lo, the harbor's brighter everThan the dreams we dream!Never mind the griefs that wanderWhere no stars may beam;There's a heaven fairer yonderThan the dreams we dream!Never mind the Sword or Miter,—Hard or holy theme;Brother mine, the world is brighterThan the dreams we dream!Still the dream and still the dreaming,Through the tangled scheme;But the stars of love are gleamingBrighter than the Dream!
Never mind the brooding shadows,Nor how dark they seem!Sweeter are the laughing meadowsThan the dreams we dream.
Never mind the waves that severAs we sail the stream;Lo, the harbor's brighter everThan the dreams we dream!
Never mind the griefs that wanderWhere no stars may beam;There's a heaven fairer yonderThan the dreams we dream!
Never mind the Sword or Miter,—Hard or holy theme;Brother mine, the world is brighterThan the dreams we dream!
Still the dream and still the dreaming,Through the tangled scheme;But the stars of love are gleamingBrighter than the Dream!
The cup that runs over is the one that we neglect to empty.
Those who would lie down in green pastures must not sow too many weeds and wild oats.
It's howdy, Mister Summah!Ah's glad toh see yoh face;Ah hope yuh'll lak de kentryEn visit all de place!It's howdy, Mistah Summah!We'll happy be, Ah knows,Wid shiny watah-melonsEh-crowdin' in de rows!So howdy, Mistah Summah!Ah's glad yuh back ehgin;We'll ten' de craps tohgetheh,En roll de melons in!
It's howdy, Mister Summah!Ah's glad toh see yoh face;Ah hope yuh'll lak de kentryEn visit all de place!
It's howdy, Mistah Summah!We'll happy be, Ah knows,Wid shiny watah-melonsEh-crowdin' in de rows!
So howdy, Mistah Summah!Ah's glad yuh back ehgin;We'll ten' de craps tohgetheh,En roll de melons in!
Fast people demand a religion trained to their own pace.
Whatever may be thought of the teachings of conventional theology and its peculiar dogmas, it is undeniable that a moral and an upright manner of living secures the highest happiness for the human family. If death is only a passage-way to eternal sleep, still a goodly life is worth the living for the little years of this world only.
Every man's horse is the fleetest, in the contest records.
Fortune favors the first man on the ground,—if he sets his stake and stays with it.
Statehood and "manana" are putting up a fierce contest to become exact synonyms.
"Ah had a happy dream the otheh night, Boss; jes' de happies' one I evah had in all my life!"
"How was that, Rastus?"
"Well, suh, Ah dreamed dat Ah wuz in a field of water-melons jes' eh-eatin' widout eitheh knife or spoon, en de juice a drippin' offen my chin in a reg'lah stream!"
The black way and the bright way,And still we trudge along,With sunshine o'er each path-wayAnd life a summer song.The tear-drop and the heart-ache,And still we tread the years,With Love enough for gladnessAnd Joy enough for tears!
The black way and the bright way,And still we trudge along,With sunshine o'er each path-wayAnd life a summer song.
The tear-drop and the heart-ache,And still we tread the years,With Love enough for gladnessAnd Joy enough for tears!
When envy enters a man's heart, the devil never gives him any more attention.
The devil needs no mortgage on the Pharisee. He already owns him in fee simple.
When a man comes to believe he is better than his neighbors, it is high time he were hunting the mourner's bench.
Say good-bye to grief and sorrow,Leave them in a high disdain;All the raptures come tomorrowAt the turning of the lane!What if over you the shadowsAnd the nights of cold and rain?Yonder smile the laughing meadowsAt the turning of the lane!Still the rose and still the raptureWoven through the tangled skein,And the joys we still shall captureAt the turning of the lane.All the rain-bows arch their storyBright above the hill and plain;If we wait, we'll see the gloryAt the turning of the lane!
Say good-bye to grief and sorrow,Leave them in a high disdain;All the raptures come tomorrowAt the turning of the lane!
What if over you the shadowsAnd the nights of cold and rain?Yonder smile the laughing meadowsAt the turning of the lane!
Still the rose and still the raptureWoven through the tangled skein,And the joys we still shall captureAt the turning of the lane.
All the rain-bows arch their storyBright above the hill and plain;If we wait, we'll see the gloryAt the turning of the lane!
As sure as the red years die, dear, as sure as the red years die,The day and the hour will come, dear, to whisper a last good-bye.When Love shall unloose the hand-clasp and under the heaping claysShall hide in the shadows dark, dear, the dreams of the by-gone days!
As sure as the red years die, dear, as sure as the red years die,The day and the hour will come, dear, to whisper a last good-bye.When Love shall unloose the hand-clasp and under the heaping claysShall hide in the shadows dark, dear, the dreams of the by-gone days!
Whatever the paths we wander, they lead to the ways that part!One goes to the realm of shadows, one waits with a lonely heart;And tears that we weep together shall come at the cry of prayerAnd flow in a flood of grieving at pangs of the parting there.
Whatever the paths we wander, they lead to the ways that part!One goes to the realm of shadows, one waits with a lonely heart;And tears that we weep together shall come at the cry of prayerAnd flow in a flood of grieving at pangs of the parting there.
The roses will bloom as red, dear, through all of the laughing land;The lilies will grow as white, dear, but neither will understand;For what is the rose and lily to hearts that murmur and moan,With eyes that were bright all dim, dear, and one of us here alone!
The roses will bloom as red, dear, through all of the laughing land;The lilies will grow as white, dear, but neither will understand;For what is the rose and lily to hearts that murmur and moan,With eyes that were bright all dim, dear, and one of us here alone!
Ah, one that is left shall murmur and ask of the bud and bloom,And question the awful silence and mourn at the gates of gloom;And call through the nights of darkness and sit at the doors of woe,And never an answer at all, dear, from lips that it used to know!
Ah, one that is left shall murmur and ask of the bud and bloom,And question the awful silence and mourn at the gates of gloom;And call through the nights of darkness and sit at the doors of woe,And never an answer at all, dear, from lips that it used to know!
And one at the darkened window and door of the heart's old home.Shall wait with an unspoke welcome for one that shall never come;And one at the gate stand watching as there in the years before,While the latch of the gate is silent and one shall return no more!
And one at the darkened window and door of the heart's old home.Shall wait with an unspoke welcome for one that shall never come;And one at the gate stand watching as there in the years before,While the latch of the gate is silent and one shall return no more!
Whichever it be that goes, dear, whichever it be that stays,The lily and rose shall bloom, dear, through all of the lonely days;And all that we lived so bravely and all that we loved so longShall dwell with the one that stays, dear, and lighten the lips with song.
Whichever it be that goes, dear, whichever it be that stays,The lily and rose shall bloom, dear, through all of the lonely days;And all that we lived so bravely and all that we loved so longShall dwell with the one that stays, dear, and lighten the lips with song.
Enough that the joys were many, that Love was a sun and star!Enough that we knew the raptures as tired feet wandered far!Enough that the years were happy and sweet was the golden lightThat came at the first "Good Morning" and stayed till the last "Good Night!"
Enough that the joys were many, that Love was a sun and star!Enough that we knew the raptures as tired feet wandered far!Enough that the years were happy and sweet was the golden lightThat came at the first "Good Morning" and stayed till the last "Good Night!"
What matters the tempest,The storm and the night?Up yonder is glowingThe rainbow of light:And o'er the red path-ways to glory we goThe feet of our faith in their happiness know!
What matters the tempest,The storm and the night?Up yonder is glowingThe rainbow of light:And o'er the red path-ways to glory we goThe feet of our faith in their happiness know!
Success in its true sense is a personal and subjective matter, after all. Many have commanded armies and sat upon the purple thrones of the world with tear-stained cheeks and the unhappiest of hearts. Unless life has brought happiness to the one who spends it royally, failure of the most ignominious kind has been its dark achievement.
The gate to a cow pasture has rusty hinges.
A horse's swiftness is not determined by the saddle he sports.
The hoe and the branding-iron can't dwell as friends in the same settlement.
Don't you go to grievin'At the cry of grief;If you'll try to whistleYou will find relief!Mockin'-bird up yonder.Robin down below,An' the world a-singin'All the song's they know!
Don't you go to grievin'At the cry of grief;If you'll try to whistleYou will find relief!
Mockin'-bird up yonder.Robin down below,An' the world a-singin'All the song's they know!
A rose is only a rose after all, however sweet and beautiful it may be. And a weed is no worse than a weed, however noxious or deadly its exhalations. Neither can reach into the realm of the other or invade the world of its supremacy. Stick to the world in which you are born, and throw nobouquetsat the impossible or the unattainable.
Hand in hand to the dawn, dear,We go to the gates of day.Where the sweet light beckons on, dear,And the roses line the way;And whether the clouds are heavyOr whether the skies are blue,A song on the lips of love, dear,And a light in the eyes of you!Hand in hand to the dawn, dear,We go through the happy years,Where the feet of the joys have gone, dear,And the smile of the gold appears;And whether the fates are friendlyAnd whether the blossoms few,The touch of the hand is brave, dear,And a song in the heart of you!Hand in hand to the dawn, dear,We travel the dusty road,With the bruise of the battle's brawn, dear,And the weight of the labor's load;But whether we lose or conquer,And whether the rose or rue,A song on the paths we go, dear,And a smile on the face of you!
Hand in hand to the dawn, dear,We go to the gates of day.Where the sweet light beckons on, dear,And the roses line the way;And whether the clouds are heavyOr whether the skies are blue,A song on the lips of love, dear,And a light in the eyes of you!
Hand in hand to the dawn, dear,We go through the happy years,Where the feet of the joys have gone, dear,And the smile of the gold appears;And whether the fates are friendlyAnd whether the blossoms few,The touch of the hand is brave, dear,And a song in the heart of you!
Hand in hand to the dawn, dear,We travel the dusty road,With the bruise of the battle's brawn, dear,And the weight of the labor's load;But whether we lose or conquer,And whether the rose or rue,A song on the paths we go, dear,And a smile on the face of you!
Hand in hand to the dawn, dearWe go to the gates of day,Where the sweet light beckons on, dear,And the roses line the way;And whether the clouds are heavy,Or whether the skies are blue,A song on the lips of love, dear,And a light in the eyes of you!
Hand in hand to the dawn, dearWe go to the gates of day,Where the sweet light beckons on, dear,And the roses line the way;And whether the clouds are heavy,Or whether the skies are blue,A song on the lips of love, dear,And a light in the eyes of you!
A man is what he is, not what he heaps around him.
When life passes into the rocking-chair existence, it has no energies for combat.
To have one friend who believes in you is more than to be a favorite of extreme good fortune.
Untempted virtue is frequently only undeveloped vice.
When a man's religion brings a long face, he simply got fooled in the article he found.
So many people think heaven must be up yonder because they have never tried to find it here below.
You sang to me, Dear, in the morns far away,When the birds of the spring sang the matins of May,And the songs that you sang to me then were as sweetAs the whispers the daisies lisped low at your feet.
You sang to me, Dear, in the morns far away,When the birds of the spring sang the matins of May,And the songs that you sang to me then were as sweetAs the whispers the daisies lisped low at your feet.
You sang to me, Dear, in the noons far away,When the fairies of joy sang the love-songs of May,And the touch of your hand was as tender and trueAs the longings of love in the dear heart of you!
You sang to me, Dear, in the noons far away,When the fairies of joy sang the love-songs of May,And the touch of your hand was as tender and trueAs the longings of love in the dear heart of you!