O, the darlin' days of summer when the stars of plenty shineWith the apples in the orchard en the graps upon the vine!When the hedges bud en blossom, en the medders rich en rareBreathe the perfumes of the clovers like an incense everywhayre!En the world seems like yer mother, with the tender hands thet blessAll the restless race of struggle with a heaped-up happiness,En her han'kerchiefs of glory from yer eyes the weepin's wipe,When theroas'in'-earsis plenty en the worter-millons ripe!
O, the darlin' days of summer when the stars of plenty shineWith the apples in the orchard en the graps upon the vine!When the hedges bud en blossom, en the medders rich en rareBreathe the perfumes of the clovers like an incense everywhayre!En the world seems like yer mother, with the tender hands thet blessAll the restless race of struggle with a heaped-up happiness,En her han'kerchiefs of glory from yer eyes the weepin's wipe,When theroas'in'-earsis plenty en the worter-millons ripe!
Don't you fret about the weather'Cause it seems a little hot;You will find it rather sultryOver yonder, like as not!And unless you mend your mannersYou will land without a doubt,Where the brim-stone keeps a blazin'And the fire is never out!
Don't you fret about the weather'Cause it seems a little hot;You will find it rather sultryOver yonder, like as not!And unless you mend your mannersYou will land without a doubt,Where the brim-stone keeps a blazin'And the fire is never out!
"In spite of whut some fellers say, this world never owed anybody a livin' yit!" said Uncle Ezra Mudge, as he whetted his scythe and tried the edge on the broad part of his thumb. "Thet heresy wuz invented fer the lazy cuss thet wuz too ornery to git up in the mornin' and hustle fer grub while the grass wuz wet.
"Some fellers seem ter act on the habit thet the world not only owes 'em a livin' but air willin' fer some body else to do the collectin' fer 'em. Leastways, they never do much hustlin' in thet direction theirselves. En I hev noticed thet when other fellers collect the livin' fer a feller, they giner'ly confisticate the most ov it in commissions!"
There are many that you meet withWho are always full of gloom,Andtheychew the rag forever'Bout the darkness of their doom;But as through the world we journey,There's a joy that none may tellWhen we meet the pleasant peopleWho are "doing pretty well."There are fellows by the dozensWho are always in the skies,And forever capture fortunesOf the most gigantic size;But we stagger from their presenceAnd their glories that repel,For the quiet-spoken personsWho are "doing pretty well."O, it's neither sun nor shadowAll the time from year to year,—And it's neither all of pleasureOr of pain,—the journey here!But whatever clouds may gatherOr what sunshine, for a spellLet us keep a steady temperAnd keep "doing pretty well!"
There are many that you meet withWho are always full of gloom,Andtheychew the rag forever'Bout the darkness of their doom;But as through the world we journey,There's a joy that none may tellWhen we meet the pleasant peopleWho are "doing pretty well."
There are fellows by the dozensWho are always in the skies,And forever capture fortunesOf the most gigantic size;But we stagger from their presenceAnd their glories that repel,For the quiet-spoken personsWho are "doing pretty well."
O, it's neither sun nor shadowAll the time from year to year,—And it's neither all of pleasureOr of pain,—the journey here!But whatever clouds may gatherOr what sunshine, for a spellLet us keep a steady temperAnd keep "doing pretty well!"
Hitch your wagon to a star, if you will, but always stand ready to throw the harness on the mules, also.
The man who masters the world may trust in Providence, but he climbs to greatness on the stepping stones of hard work.
In the economy of farmers entirely up against the crab-grass in the cotton-patch, the mule is mightier than the sword.
What shall it matter though sorrows distress us?God sends the sun and the shadows to bless us!And through all the yearsJoy ever appears,With a little of love and a little of laughterTo fashion this life for a jolly hereafter!
What shall it matter though sorrows distress us?God sends the sun and the shadows to bless us!And through all the yearsJoy ever appears,With a little of love and a little of laughterTo fashion this life for a jolly hereafter!
"I want ter say," remarked Uncle Ezra Mudge as he began his Sunday shaving and stropped his razor on his thumb-nail, "I want ter say thet eddication is a big thing, but there air some things it can't do. One of 'em is ter give brains ter a fool. No school wuz ever yit found thet could change a wooden head ter flesh en blood; en the pore teachers air bein' continua'ly pestered ter death with idiotic payrents a-tryin' to have 'em stuff brains in their kids which the good Lord dident give any to. You kin plant jimson weeds in the garden, en tend 'em and water 'em, en nuss 'em the hull season through, en you'll hev only a leetle bigger crop of jimson seed at the wind-up. En it's jest thet way when brainless cubs air sent off ter collidge!" And the old man wiped his face with a hot towel and went on with his shaving.
There are many pleasant things in this world, but it is the job that allows us to get up when we please in the morning that makes life one grand sweet song.
Beyond the narrow years Thou sendest me,Flecked with their sun and shadow, tears and wrong,Grant me this glory, Father, this to see,—A world made happy in a world made strong!
Beyond the narrow years Thou sendest me,Flecked with their sun and shadow, tears and wrong,Grant me this glory, Father, this to see,—A world made happy in a world made strong!
"Them millionairs kin hev all the money they want en all the fun they kin git outen it," said Uncle Ezra Mudge as he drew on his blue denim wampus and whistled for the hounds, "but I kin git more ra'al fun en pure enjoyment outen a three hour 'coon-hunt with ole Lead then they git outen all theyr tom-foolin' aroun' with awty-mobeels en yats en summer ree-sorts en sea-side foolishness. It takes mighty leetle money ter make a man happy thet loves his work, en all the millions they kin pile up in front of him wouldn't buy a single beller from ole Lead on a hot trail! Come on, Lead!" And the old man strode away through the clearing with all a boy's enthusiasm for the hunt.
Away in the dim and the dusk of the yearsLies the Little Boy Land of the Soul,Where the days are alight with the love that endearsAnd the lullabies tenderly roll;Where the cares never come with their burdens of woeTo the gates of the kingdom of day,And the joys are supreme as the little feet goThrough the glorified path ways of play.
Away in the dim and the dusk of the yearsLies the Little Boy Land of the Soul,Where the days are alight with the love that endearsAnd the lullabies tenderly roll;Where the cares never come with their burdens of woeTo the gates of the kingdom of day,And the joys are supreme as the little feet goThrough the glorified path ways of play.
There are beautiful curls in the realms over there;There are cheeks that are rosy and glad;There are eyes full of glee, never clouded by care,Never shadowed by tears that are sad;There are toys for the wishing,—tops, marbles and strings,—There are ponies no hand may control;And the moments go by on their wonderful wingsIn the Little Boy Land of the Soul.
There are beautiful curls in the realms over there;There are cheeks that are rosy and glad;There are eyes full of glee, never clouded by care,Never shadowed by tears that are sad;There are toys for the wishing,—tops, marbles and strings,—There are ponies no hand may control;And the moments go by on their wonderful wingsIn the Little Boy Land of the Soul.
There are mother's fond kisses, enraptured with love;There are joys never sullied with stain;There are dreams brighter far than the dreams born above,And the raptures that banish all pain;And the world is so good that it cannot be true,And its paths lead to Heart's happy goal,While the joys of content every longing imbueIn the Little Boy Land of the Soul.
There are mother's fond kisses, enraptured with love;There are joys never sullied with stain;There are dreams brighter far than the dreams born above,And the raptures that banish all pain;And the world is so good that it cannot be true,And its paths lead to Heart's happy goal,While the joys of content every longing imbueIn the Little Boy Land of the Soul.
O, Little Boy Land! How afar into wrongFrom the vales of your virtues I roam!How far, since the croon of her lullaby songI have wandered from mother and home!But here is a heart that can never forgetWhere the joys of our kingdom's yet roll,And I see through the mists of the eyes that are wetAll the Little Boy Land of the Soul.
O, Little Boy Land! How afar into wrongFrom the vales of your virtues I roam!How far, since the croon of her lullaby songI have wandered from mother and home!But here is a heart that can never forgetWhere the joys of our kingdom's yet roll,And I see through the mists of the eyes that are wetAll the Little Boy Land of the Soul.
Faith and hope count a hundred, while idleness and discouragement are getting ready to figure.
There are many different motives concealed in the various compartments of man's being, but Vanity holds the key that unlocks them all.
"The feller thet is so wibbly-wobbly thet he can't trust his own idees," said Uncle Ezra Mudge as he stopped in the midst of his wood-chopping and leaned up against a log to rest, "is the kind of a feller who never amounts ter shucks in a cow pen. It takes a man who hez kep' hisself in sich a condition thet he knows jist whut he kin depend on when the firin' begins, who allus wins in the bayonet charge. En it don't pay to fool aroun' huntin' up other people's idees before you strike hard licks. Ef you do, the chances air your wood'll be scarce when the cold days blow aroun'!" And the old man spat on his hardened palms and went on with his labor.
"It sho'ly costs like ebryti'ng to move in de bes' socieety at Saint Looey!" said a newly arrived Guthrie coon to an old resident. "It jes' erbout takes all de money yuh kin make to keep up wid de pace ob de high flyahs in dat ole town. So I jes' come down heah whar a pooah coon kin hab a good time en save some ob de coin on foh dollahs a week, en git in de bes' culled socieety foh an ole banjo in de week days en two bits in de collection hat on de Sunday mohnin's!"
Not he whose craven soul rejects the fightAnd flees abjectly from the booming strifeAchieves the summits of his greatest mightUpon the blood-red battle-fields of life.Be strong to dare! And if the conflict's lost,Men boast the fight when misers count the cost!
Not he whose craven soul rejects the fightAnd flees abjectly from the booming strifeAchieves the summits of his greatest mightUpon the blood-red battle-fields of life.Be strong to dare! And if the conflict's lost,Men boast the fight when misers count the cost!
When Mister Money comes to town,The waiting thousands throngThe crowded highways up and downTo see him pass along;They cheer him as he passes by,They clap with loud acclaim,And shout applauses to the skyAt mention of his name.They push and jostle with delightNo matter what the day;They follow him through all the nightTo hear what he may say;They leave old friends divinely sweetTo chase this new one down,And fall devoutly at his feetWhen Money comes to town.Forgotten all the scenes of yore,—The joys of other years;The perfect bliss that went beforeAnd gladdened toils and tears;Behold! The old things pass away,And new ones come to crownThe dazzling glories of the dayWhen Money comes to town.O, Mister Money! What's your rush!Why do you hurry so!Entangled up in all the crush,I can't get next, you know!Just come and camp with me and mine!You'll never see us frown;To have you with us will be fineWhene'er you come to town!
When Mister Money comes to town,The waiting thousands throngThe crowded highways up and downTo see him pass along;They cheer him as he passes by,They clap with loud acclaim,And shout applauses to the skyAt mention of his name.
They push and jostle with delightNo matter what the day;They follow him through all the nightTo hear what he may say;They leave old friends divinely sweetTo chase this new one down,And fall devoutly at his feetWhen Money comes to town.
Forgotten all the scenes of yore,—The joys of other years;The perfect bliss that went beforeAnd gladdened toils and tears;Behold! The old things pass away,And new ones come to crownThe dazzling glories of the dayWhen Money comes to town.
O, Mister Money! What's your rush!Why do you hurry so!Entangled up in all the crush,I can't get next, you know!Just come and camp with me and mine!You'll never see us frown;To have you with us will be fineWhene'er you come to town!
When a man barters his honor for money, he never gets a chance to rue back.
Running this big world must be quite a job, but every man who talks politics thinks himself capable of bossing the whole works.
The next crop that needs looking up in the quotations is the length of the pole required for the persimmons about election day.
Roas'in' eahs dar on de stalk,—Millons 'tween de rows;Eb'ry t'ing a-makin' talkGin de crop ob woes;Hebben come en settles downOn de millon vine;Dis heah dahkey's shuah in townFeelin' mos'ly fine!
Roas'in' eahs dar on de stalk,—Millons 'tween de rows;Eb'ry t'ing a-makin' talkGin de crop ob woes;Hebben come en settles downOn de millon vine;Dis heah dahkey's shuah in townFeelin' mos'ly fine!
Little feet that weary soDown the dusty roads,Pebbled are the paths you goWith your heavy loads,—When the restless hours are o'erAnd you cease to weep,Little limbs shall ache no moreIn the arms of sleep.Little feet that weary soOn their journey long,You shall lose the hurts you knowIn the smiles of song!All the lullabies of light,All the smiles of play,Romp across the darks of nightInto brighest day.Little feet that weary so!Come and let me takeAll the heart-aches of your woeFor your baby's sake!Cuddle on my lap, and fleeFrom the world's distress;Let us run away and beWhere the fairies bless!
Little feet that weary soDown the dusty roads,Pebbled are the paths you goWith your heavy loads,—When the restless hours are o'erAnd you cease to weep,Little limbs shall ache no moreIn the arms of sleep.
Little feet that weary soOn their journey long,You shall lose the hurts you knowIn the smiles of song!All the lullabies of light,All the smiles of play,Romp across the darks of nightInto brighest day.
Little feet that weary so!Come and let me takeAll the heart-aches of your woeFor your baby's sake!Cuddle on my lap, and fleeFrom the world's distress;Let us run away and beWhere the fairies bless!
The fellow that "soldiers" too much in the hay-field generally soldiers too little in the battle-field of life.
The smile is a lightning-express train that carries you fast and far, while the frown is only a wheel-barrow that you have to push along.
In the battle of life, nothing is gained by deserting your guns to the enemy. Stand by them till the ammunition is gone, whether they are popguns or flint-locks.
If you ever feel inclined to blame a man for making mistakes, just look in the glass and behold the manner of man he is.
The Sunday School is undoubtedly a good place for a boy, but as a corrective measure it cannot be compared to an apple tree limb and a handy wood-shed.
The folks who sit on the back-steps and worry about the future never catch any smiles from the present as she passes the front gate.
Love gave me a Dream in the years that have fledFrom the glorified joys of her beautiful home,And over the world of the living and deadIt has followed foreverwhereverI roam;And over the mountains and through the black nightIt has guided my feet with its wonderful light.
Love gave me a Dream in the years that have fledFrom the glorified joys of her beautiful home,And over the world of the living and deadIt has followed foreverwhereverI roam;And over the mountains and through the black nightIt has guided my feet with its wonderful light.
It has joyed at the triumphs that came with renown,And its rapture surpassed what the multitudes knew;It has grieved at the failure that lost me the crown,With a faithful devotion unknown to but few;Through Despair's heavy shadow and Hope's holy gleam,How my lips still were kissed by the lips of the Dream!
It has joyed at the triumphs that came with renown,And its rapture surpassed what the multitudes knew;It has grieved at the failure that lost me the crown,With a faithful devotion unknown to but few;Through Despair's heavy shadow and Hope's holy gleam,How my lips still were kissed by the lips of the Dream!
It has wept with my sorrow,—the sorrow that fellWhere the heart battled hard with the merciless foe;It has laughed with my laughter when fortune was wellAnd the blossoms of triumph were blooming below;And far through the black and the bright of each yearIt has followed my feet till it followed me here.
It has wept with my sorrow,—the sorrow that fellWhere the heart battled hard with the merciless foe;It has laughed with my laughter when fortune was wellAnd the blossoms of triumph were blooming below;And far through the black and the bright of each yearIt has followed my feet till it followed me here.
O, the Dream that has lived through the years of the lost,That with constancy shares all the paths I have trod,Never leave me alone till the harbor is crossedAnd I stand in the power and the presence of God;And on through the ages no glory shall seemHalf so sweet as the love of my Dream,—of my Dream!
O, the Dream that has lived through the years of the lost,That with constancy shares all the paths I have trod,Never leave me alone till the harbor is crossedAnd I stand in the power and the presence of God;And on through the ages no glory shall seemHalf so sweet as the love of my Dream,—of my Dream!
"With all your talk about necessary house-hold implements," said Sooner Dave, "none of 'em is in it with the frying pan,—just the common, ordinary, every-day frying pan, that you chuck under your buck-board or tie to your saddle-horn. These parlor ornaments, side-boards,new-fangledstoves, potato-mashers, coffee-strainers and all the everlasting tribe of culinary jim-cracks have to turn out of the trail for the frying pan and give it the right of way.
"With the frying pan for his companion, the civilized idiot is at home any where,—prairie or woods, creek bank or deer-lick or prairie-chicken trysting place. With a frying pan and some bacon fat, home is never far away, and a full meal is so near that heaven comes close to the hungry man. It has fought more battles, made more forced marches and won more victories than Napoleon. It has surveyed lands, bunched cattle and soonered claims. It has done all the pioneering for the frontiers-man. In this one divine utensil, the wanderer fries his meat, bakes his flap-jacks and brews his coffee; and as they all come steaming fromits exalted circumference of life-sustaining food, what chafing-dish or modern steam-cooker was ever waited on by such a willing appetite?
"When I die," continued Sooner Dave, "I want a frying pan chiseled on my tomb-stone; for it has been the sole companion of the truest happiness I have known in this world. And if over in the next world there is a chance to choose one's crown after the style and finish the wearer may desire, I am going to take my faithful old frying pan along and wear it for a few thousand years just to show the angels how much a man can appreciate good things!"
What matters bog or bramble of delay,—The mountain slope or shore of ocean reeds?Pursue thy goal! Thy feet shall find the wayUnerringly where thy One Vision leads!
What matters bog or bramble of delay,—The mountain slope or shore of ocean reeds?Pursue thy goal! Thy feet shall find the wayUnerringly where thy One Vision leads!
To the world! To the world! Let us carol its song,Let us conquer its grief and the wrath of its wrong,Till the lilt of its laughter shall sweeten the sodWith the joys of the skies and the gladness of God!
To the world! To the world! Let us carol its song,Let us conquer its grief and the wrath of its wrong,Till the lilt of its laughter shall sweeten the sodWith the joys of the skies and the gladness of God!
To the world! To the world! Where the gleam hides the gloomAnd the lilies of love on the battle-fields bloom,—Where the light of the longing lies low on the stream,And the soul seeks the crown of his dream,—of his dream!
To the world! To the world! Where the gleam hides the gloomAnd the lilies of love on the battle-fields bloom,—Where the light of the longing lies low on the stream,And the soul seeks the crown of his dream,—of his dream!
To the world! To the world! To the world that we knowWith its sunlights of love anditsshadows of woe,—To the world lifted up, lifted far to His face,And the mercy that dwells in His bountiful grace!
To the world! To the world! To the world that we knowWith its sunlights of love anditsshadows of woe,—To the world lifted up, lifted far to His face,And the mercy that dwells in His bountiful grace!
To the world! To the world! It has beautiful yearsWith the pleasurers of peace and the turmoil of tears,And wherever the feet wander fainting or farEvery day is a sun, every night is a star!
To the world! To the world! It has beautiful yearsWith the pleasurers of peace and the turmoil of tears,And wherever the feet wander fainting or farEvery day is a sun, every night is a star!
To the world! O, the world! Ah, the fruits of its soilFrom the gardens of love drive the terrors of toil,And the sins that embitter us leave us and thenWe shall stand in His presence perfected of men!
To the world! O, the world! Ah, the fruits of its soilFrom the gardens of love drive the terrors of toil,And the sins that embitter us leave us and thenWe shall stand in His presence perfected of men!
Yondah stan's de gospel stationWhar de railroad runs awayFoh de house ob many mansionsOber at de judgment day!Bettah git a move on, sinnah!Doan't yuh let yoh folks detain!Hurry up an' git yuh ticketFoh de glory train!It's on time an' sho'lly comin'Wid on measu'hed powah,Wid the ingine flames a-spoutin'Moah dan fohty miles an houah!Doan't yuh stan' dar jes' a-foolin'!Wid dejudgmenton yoh brain!Hurry up an git yoh ticketFoh de glory train!Preachah say yuh have ter hurry,'Case de kyars go whizzin' by,—Ef yuh want ter check yoh baggageFoh de mansions high;Bid farewell ter ebery pleasuah,An' de bad wo'ld's burnin' pain;Hurry up an' git yoh ticketFoh de glory train!
Yondah stan's de gospel stationWhar de railroad runs awayFoh de house ob many mansionsOber at de judgment day!Bettah git a move on, sinnah!Doan't yuh let yoh folks detain!Hurry up an' git yuh ticketFoh de glory train!
It's on time an' sho'lly comin'Wid on measu'hed powah,Wid the ingine flames a-spoutin'Moah dan fohty miles an houah!Doan't yuh stan' dar jes' a-foolin'!Wid dejudgmenton yoh brain!Hurry up an git yoh ticketFoh de glory train!
Preachah say yuh have ter hurry,'Case de kyars go whizzin' by,—Ef yuh want ter check yoh baggageFoh de mansions high;Bid farewell ter ebery pleasuah,An' de bad wo'ld's burnin' pain;Hurry up an' git yoh ticketFoh de glory train!
There are many dainties that hold attractions for the epicure, but in the strenuous times of campaign struggles they all give way to "pie."
The bright day, the bright day,The shadows smiling through,—The bright day, the bright dayWhere Love looks up at you!The bright day, the bright day!The sorrows fade from view;The white day, the light day,The child heart always knew!The bright day, the bright day!The sun is golden there;The sad clouds are glad cloudsAnd gone is every care.The sky life, the high life,Is waiting at the shore;The bright day, the bright day,Shining evermore!
The bright day, the bright day,The shadows smiling through,—The bright day, the bright dayWhere Love looks up at you!The bright day, the bright day!The sorrows fade from view;The white day, the light day,The child heart always knew!The bright day, the bright day!The sun is golden there;The sad clouds are glad cloudsAnd gone is every care.The sky life, the high life,Is waiting at the shore;The bright day, the bright day,Shining evermore!
The wonder of it all is how a fool can ever have any money to be parted from.
When the efficient man appears, there is no juggling with occasion or ceremonious tradition. The instinct of helpless selfishness clothes him on the spot with robe and crown.
Shoot arrows at the sun, if you will; but before you proceed to unloadyour quiver in that direction, set aside a sufficient reserve fund to discharge squarely at beef-steak and potatoes.
"I heered tell," said Uncle Ezra Mudge, "thet one of them-air brass-collared fellers down at St. Looey thinks he hez a baboon thet is the connectin' link betwixt men en monkeys. I seed the same thing over toLumpkinsvillethe last time I wuz thar. I guess thet feller must hev gone down thar en caught it en put it in a cage. It wuz in some respects much like a human. It walked on two legs en wore clothes, shoes, a shirt en a hat like a man. It wuz erbout the size ov a fourteen-yar ole boy, en it kep' on smokin' cigerretts all the time. A feller tole me thar it 'ud smoke six boxes ov 'em a day. I don't see whut's the use ov goin' clar to St. Looey to see a thing like thet, when they keep plenty ov 'em as near as Lumpkinsville! Stan'nin' right out on the main streets, too, en not chargin' a-cent to look at it all ye want to!"
If you have the "good resolution habit" swear off on that and do business.
The man who has a good appetite needn't worry the Lord with any troubles.
If faith without works is dead, that of the average loafer must be worse than an Egyptian mummy.
The brother with the best lungs may pray the loudest, but that gives him no insurance of a cool place over yonder.
Pretty good world,If you know how to use it,Pretty good lifeIf you never abuse it;Jog along, brother,Through pleasure and sorrow;All will be lovelyWith sunshine tomorrow!
Pretty good world,If you know how to use it,Pretty good lifeIf you never abuse it;Jog along, brother,Through pleasure and sorrow;All will be lovelyWith sunshine tomorrow!
There are many patent ways to keep young these days, but we have observed that they all fail after a woman passes forty-five.
Don't estimate your engine power too high. Many a man with a $5,000 education is too small for a 30-cent job.
We sat and talked of other days,—two old and wrinkled men,—Beyond the dreams of boyish hours and all we fancied then,—And as we talked our hearts grew warm, and down the noiseless nightWe romped again with golden feet and hearts of pure delight.
We sat and talked of other days,—two old and wrinkled men,—Beyond the dreams of boyish hours and all we fancied then,—And as we talked our hearts grew warm, and down the noiseless nightWe romped again with golden feet and hearts of pure delight.
The dreams we dreamed when life was young and all the world was newCame back again from vanished ways with raptures smiling through,And all the high resolves of heart and all the deeds of handReturned equipped with robe and crown and showed the Promised Land!
The dreams we dreamed when life was young and all the world was newCame back again from vanished ways with raptures smiling through,And all the high resolves of heart and all the deeds of handReturned equipped with robe and crown and showed the Promised Land!
We sat and talked of other days,—the days that went away,—Of child-hood's dreamy hours of joy and child-hood's heart of play;And as we talked of other days, forgetting weal or woe,The boys and girls came back again across the Long Ago.
We sat and talked of other days,—the days that went away,—Of child-hood's dreamy hours of joy and child-hood's heart of play;And as we talked of other days, forgetting weal or woe,The boys and girls came back again across the Long Ago.
We knew this life of men and things with all its griefs and gleesIs not a dream of pleasures sweet or lilt of lullabies;And yet despite the shadows deep that o'er the sunshine fall,'Tis always worth the living and its songs are all in all.
We knew this life of men and things with all its griefs and gleesIs not a dream of pleasures sweet or lilt of lullabies;And yet despite the shadows deep that o'er the sunshine fall,'Tis always worth the living and its songs are all in all.
We sat and talked of other days! O, days that died unfelt,Where innocence was crowned with love and all thevirtuesdwelt;And in our hearts we sadly knew, whate'er the sages say,That Heaven romps with us no more since those days went away!
We sat and talked of other days! O, days that died unfelt,Where innocence was crowned with love and all thevirtuesdwelt;And in our hearts we sadly knew, whate'er the sages say,That Heaven romps with us no more since those days went away!
Finding fault is not hard work, but it is a great waste of valuable time.
"Food for thought" is a popular and necessary brand, but the hungry man entirely overlooks it on the bill of fare.
If you would have a soft berth in this world, you must first run the full-feathered goose down and then do the plucking by your own main strength.
Don't sing of a bright worldThat waits "over there,"But warble of this worldAnd banish your care;Beyond the dark valleySweet heaven may be,But the world is all rightAnd it's all here for me!It has a few shadowsAnd something of tears,But they only make brighterThe beautiful years;And this world is so jollyWhatever may grieveThat I'm not in a hurryTo pull up and leave!
Don't sing of a bright worldThat waits "over there,"But warble of this worldAnd banish your care;Beyond the dark valleySweet heaven may be,But the world is all rightAnd it's all here for me!It has a few shadowsAnd something of tears,But they only make brighterThe beautiful years;And this world is so jollyWhatever may grieveThat I'm not in a hurryTo pull up and leave!
"I've noticed," said Uncle Ezra Mudge, "thet many en many a time it ain't knowin' how to git up thet makes a success of a man so much ez knowin' how to git down. Sooner er later a tumble comes rollin' along fer the best of fellers, en before he knows what's a-comin' he's clear down at the bottom of the pile. The feller thet kin git up a-laffin' under sich peculierr sarcumstances is the feller thet wins out en is ontop when Gabriel goes to tootin' of his horn; but the feller thet mopes aroun' en talks erbout whut he hez bin instid of tellin' whut he's a-goin' ter be is kivered over in the scrap-heap, world without end, ferever en ever, Amen!" And the old man knocked the ashes from his Missouri meerschaum and ambled into the kitchen where the long green hung.
God give us change! The days are longWith labors hard that make us weary,And o'er the gladness of each songThere floats a cadence somewhat dreary;We'd like to loaf awhile, for—say—Some five or ten sweet years, or twenty,And chase the dull cares all away;God give us change and give us plenty!God give us change! The dull days flowWith quietude that palls a little;Just anything to make it goAnd heat the steam up in the kettle;No matter how the fortunes kindIn dull monotony prove pleasant,We'd rather mix things up and findA stirring scramble of the present!We do not ask for all the giftsTo fall upon us in a tumble;A very few where life's boat driftsWill keep us happy through the jumble;We only ask the mirth of men,—Where'er we be we'll always love it,And if the big bills vanish, thenGod give us change and plenty of it!
God give us change! The days are longWith labors hard that make us weary,And o'er the gladness of each songThere floats a cadence somewhat dreary;We'd like to loaf awhile, for—say—Some five or ten sweet years, or twenty,And chase the dull cares all away;God give us change and give us plenty!God give us change! The dull days flowWith quietude that palls a little;Just anything to make it goAnd heat the steam up in the kettle;No matter how the fortunes kindIn dull monotony prove pleasant,We'd rather mix things up and findA stirring scramble of the present!We do not ask for all the giftsTo fall upon us in a tumble;A very few where life's boat driftsWill keep us happy through the jumble;We only ask the mirth of men,—Where'er we be we'll always love it,And if the big bills vanish, thenGod give us change and plenty of it!
The "Sooners" may have their faults, but as a general propositions they are to be preferred to the "laters." Every good thing that has blest mankind since Adam had his celebrated adventure with green goods in the Garden of Eden, has been discovered, invented, dug out or dug up, by a "sooner." He has always been a dare-devil whose courage was so prominent as to attract the envy and malice of every "later" that whittled dry-goods boxes into splinters and used his time to cuss "the government." God bless the whole "sooner" tribe, say I, from Adam down to General Kuroki!
The home lights! The home lights!How they blaze and burnThrough the darkness of the shadowsEverywhere we turn!What if stormy weather gatherOn the hills we roam,We shall refuge find foreverIn the lights of home!
The home lights! The home lights!How they blaze and burnThrough the darkness of the shadowsEverywhere we turn!What if stormy weather gatherOn the hills we roam,We shall refuge find foreverIn the lights of home!
In the mighty game of life,Stand pat!Don't be moved by storm or strife,Stand pat!Keep within your heart a song,And the days will not be long,Till you conquer every wrong,—Stand pat, stand pat!Don't be bluffed by this or that,—Stand pat!Half the howls are chitter-chat,—Stand pat!When you hold the ruling handYou are always in command,And you'll surely beat the band.—Stand pat, stand pat!There's no need to draw or fill,Stand pat!Play your cards to make a kill,Stand pat!If there's one that wants to raise,Back your last chip while he playsTill the chump no longer stays,—Stand pat, stand pat!There's a stack of reds and blues,Stand pat!For the chap that knows their use,Stand pat!When the game is o'er and wonAre the stakes that urged us on,God will cash our chips at dawn,—Stand pat, stand pat!
In the mighty game of life,Stand pat!Don't be moved by storm or strife,Stand pat!Keep within your heart a song,And the days will not be long,Till you conquer every wrong,—Stand pat, stand pat!Don't be bluffed by this or that,—Stand pat!Half the howls are chitter-chat,—Stand pat!When you hold the ruling handYou are always in command,And you'll surely beat the band.—Stand pat, stand pat!There's no need to draw or fill,Stand pat!Play your cards to make a kill,Stand pat!If there's one that wants to raise,Back your last chip while he playsTill the chump no longer stays,—Stand pat, stand pat!There's a stack of reds and blues,Stand pat!For the chap that knows their use,Stand pat!When the game is o'er and wonAre the stakes that urged us on,God will cash our chips at dawn,—Stand pat, stand pat!