What matters it, Dear, though the burdens be sore?In the Valleys of Rest we shall weary no more,And the music of mirth with its solace shall singAll the songs of delight the beatitudes bring!
What matters it, Dear, though the burdens be sore?In the Valleys of Rest we shall weary no more,And the music of mirth with its solace shall singAll the songs of delight the beatitudes bring!
Nevermore shall the days with the sorrows be sadWhere the love-roses bloom and the joy-mornings glad—Where the violets dream through the east and the westOf the beautiful lands in the Valleys of Rest!
Nevermore shall the days with the sorrows be sadWhere the love-roses bloom and the joy-mornings glad—Where the violets dream through the east and the westOf the beautiful lands in the Valleys of Rest!
There the heart from its grief in a moment shall cease,And the soul hush its cries in the cadence of peace,And the life with the laughter of rhapsody blestShall rejoice through the years in the Valleys of Rest.
There the heart from its grief in a moment shall cease,And the soul hush its cries in the cadence of peace,And the life with the laughter of rhapsody blestShall rejoice through the years in the Valleys of Rest.
O, the dear dreams that fled down the deeps of the pastThat await with their welcomes our coming at last;And the lips of our love that our lips never pressedSmiling there for their own in the Valleys of Rest!
O, the dear dreams that fled down the deeps of the pastThat await with their welcomes our coming at last;And the lips of our love that our lips never pressedSmiling there for their own in the Valleys of Rest!
O, the raptures that stay for our glorified feetWhen the joys of the past and the future shall meet,—When the hopes of the years shall return from their questFor the love-crowns of life in the Valleys of Rest!
O, the raptures that stay for our glorified feetWhen the joys of the past and the future shall meet,—When the hopes of the years shall return from their questFor the love-crowns of life in the Valleys of Rest!
Ah, the days, Dear, the days with their griefs and their gleesSail away on swift ships o'er eternity's seas;But at last we shall anchor with Love for our guestOn the Paradise shores by the Valleys of Rest!
Ah, the days, Dear, the days with their griefs and their gleesSail away on swift ships o'er eternity's seas;But at last we shall anchor with Love for our guestOn the Paradise shores by the Valleys of Rest!
They tell a good story over at Guthrie at Judge Burford's expense. Recently, an old Tennessee darkey, charged with stealing chickens, was brought into court for trial. The facts were all against him. He had no attorney, and when the Judge asked him if he wanted an attorney appointed to defend him, he declared that he did not.
"But you are entitled to a lawyer," the court explained, "and you might as well have the benefit of his services!"
"Yoh Honah would jes' a'pint me some ob dese hyah po'ah white trash lawyehs," the old darkey replied, "an' he wouldn't do me no good. Ef it's jes' de same to you, jedge, I'd ruthah depen' on de ignorance ob de couht!"
A phantom I follow forever through all of the shadow and shine,Whose face is fair as the blossom, whose form is as warm as the wine;Whose lips are as sweet as the dewfalls that velvet the mornings of June,And eyes as the deep stars of Autumn that glow in the glories of noon!
A phantom I follow forever through all of the shadow and shine,Whose face is fair as the blossom, whose form is as warm as the wine;Whose lips are as sweet as the dewfalls that velvet the mornings of June,And eyes as the deep stars of Autumn that glow in the glories of noon!
A phantom I follow forever! Yet never on ocean or landHave I heard the sweet voice of her music or leaped at the thrill of her hand,And never, ah, never a greeting she gives that is tender and kind,As I follow through mazes of beauty where flowers in her foot-steps I find!
A phantom I follow forever! Yet never on ocean or landHave I heard the sweet voice of her music or leaped at the thrill of her hand,And never, ah, never a greeting she gives that is tender and kind,As I follow through mazes of beauty where flowers in her foot-steps I find!
A phantom I follow forever! What matter though careless of me,She drifts to the sands of the desert and sails on the wave-tossing sea?With foot never parched by the barrens, with boat never broken by storm,I follow, I follow her passing and clutch at the wraith of her form!
A phantom I follow forever! What matter though careless of me,She drifts to the sands of the desert and sails on the wave-tossing sea?With foot never parched by the barrens, with boat never broken by storm,I follow, I follow her passing and clutch at the wraith of her form!
And still I will follow the phantom!Whatever the questing may seemI'll conquer the spoil of her glory and climb to the crown of her dream;And over the deeps of my yearning and over the hills of my hope,She leads and I follow forever, wherever her phantasies grope!
And still I will follow the phantom!Whatever the questing may seemI'll conquer the spoil of her glory and climb to the crown of her dream;And over the deeps of my yearning and over the hills of my hope,She leads and I follow forever, wherever her phantasies grope!
And there at the last I shall find her—the angel that led me afar,—And we shall rejoice in the raptures where all the beatitudes are,And whether the journey be little, or whether the journey be long,I press the red lips of her beauty and leap at the lilt of her song!
And there at the last I shall find her—the angel that led me afar,—And we shall rejoice in the raptures where all the beatitudes are,And whether the journey be little, or whether the journey be long,I press the red lips of her beauty and leap at the lilt of her song!
When Misfortune concludes to pay you a visit, she pushes the door open and walks in without knocking.
Woman's inhumanity to man,—the one she has and the other she wants,—maketh the divorce lawyer fat with ali-money.
Temptation is the dangerous banana-peel on the side-walk of uprightconduct; and even the bare foot sometimes takes a fall-down.
Trouble will doubleIf trouble gets room,But will pine if you leave herAnd die in her gloom;For trouble is lonesomeAnd moans from the startIf you face her with firmnessAnd lock up your heartSorrow will borrowWherever she can,But will leave when you tell herYou're never her man;Don't flirt with the vixen,Don't welcome her face,But exhort her to leave youFor some warmer place.Make Trouble and Sorrow,—The couple that moans—Keep out of your pathwayAnd limp on the stonesJust let them go weepingThrough all of the years;For a man is too busyTo join in their tears.
Trouble will doubleIf trouble gets room,But will pine if you leave herAnd die in her gloom;For trouble is lonesomeAnd moans from the startIf you face her with firmnessAnd lock up your heart
Sorrow will borrowWherever she can,But will leave when you tell herYou're never her man;Don't flirt with the vixen,Don't welcome her face,But exhort her to leave youFor some warmer place.
Make Trouble and Sorrow,—The couple that moans—Keep out of your pathwayAnd limp on the stonesJust let them go weepingThrough all of the years;For a man is too busyTo join in their tears.
When we reach the Land of Forty,And the hot blood cools a jot,There's a mighty sight of changesIn our vision, like as not;And we sober down a littleAs we figure up life's sumWhen we waken in the morningAnd the crow's feet come.When they scratch their little wrinklesRound the corner of the eyesWe begin to chase the creaturesIn a horrified surprise;But they cling with cool persistenceAnd our hearts are stricken dumbFor we know they'll never leave usWhen the crow's feet come.We may tonic and cosmetic,We may take our beauty sleep;We may rub and punch and powderBut the claws go deep and deep;And before we understand itAll our beauty's on the bumFor the years are turning yellowWhen the crow's feet come!But it's all the way of Nature!There's no use to sob or sigh,'Cause the chin takes on a wobbleAnd the wrinkles wrap the eye;If we heap our hearts with gladnessLife with music still shall hum,Though we reach the Land of FortyAnd the crow's feet come!
When we reach the Land of Forty,And the hot blood cools a jot,There's a mighty sight of changesIn our vision, like as not;And we sober down a littleAs we figure up life's sumWhen we waken in the morningAnd the crow's feet come.
When they scratch their little wrinklesRound the corner of the eyesWe begin to chase the creaturesIn a horrified surprise;But they cling with cool persistenceAnd our hearts are stricken dumbFor we know they'll never leave usWhen the crow's feet come.
We may tonic and cosmetic,We may take our beauty sleep;We may rub and punch and powderBut the claws go deep and deep;And before we understand itAll our beauty's on the bumFor the years are turning yellowWhen the crow's feet come!
But it's all the way of Nature!There's no use to sob or sigh,'Cause the chin takes on a wobbleAnd the wrinkles wrap the eye;If we heap our hearts with gladnessLife with music still shall hum,Though we reach the Land of FortyAnd the crow's feet come!
A welcome for Winter! Though summer shall fade,There is joy on the prairies her bounties have made,And the Land of the Sunshine all happiness knowsThrough the days of the shadows and nights of the snows!
A welcome for Winter! Though summer shall fade,There is joy on the prairies her bounties have made,And the Land of the Sunshine all happiness knowsThrough the days of the shadows and nights of the snows!
A welcome for Winter! What matters the coldWhich the harvest has warmed with the russet and gold?All the valleys of plenty shall laugh through the whiteOf the snow-laden day and the storm-ridden night.
A welcome for Winter! What matters the coldWhich the harvest has warmed with the russet and gold?All the valleys of plenty shall laugh through the whiteOf the snow-laden day and the storm-ridden night.
A welcome for Winter! Though June, rosy-red,Has plucked all her blossoms and frightened far fled,There are hives with their honeys and granaries sweet,And the fiddles of music with spring for the feet!
A welcome for Winter! Though June, rosy-red,Has plucked all her blossoms and frightened far fled,There are hives with their honeys and granaries sweet,And the fiddles of music with spring for the feet!
A welcome for Winter! If far from the daysAll the lilies have gone from the violet ways,There is joy that will dance o'er the meadows and sing,Where the carols of plenty their blessedness bring.
A welcome for Winter! If far from the daysAll the lilies have gone from the violet ways,There is joy that will dance o'er the meadows and sing,Where the carols of plenty their blessedness bring.
Then, ho, for the Winter! There's love on the hills,There is laughter and peace by the ice-covered rills,And the hearts shall rejoice in the songs that ariseIn the raptures that roll under storm-laden skies!
Then, ho, for the Winter! There's love on the hills,There is laughter and peace by the ice-covered rills,And the hearts shall rejoice in the songs that ariseIn the raptures that roll under storm-laden skies!
Some people act on an idea that work is so sacred they fear to touch it least they profane its divine nature.
Opportunity is a beautiful bird, but so shy that it feeds on the wing and never alights long enough for a common man to pluck its plumage.
Every man has within him the essentials of exalted greatness; but mostof us are so enmeshed in small follies that the greatness cannot break through.
"I've lived off en on in this land of Trouble fer mor'n seventy years," said Uncle Ezra Mudge, as he adjusted a shingle-nail in place of a missing button for a suspender hold. "En I never yit got a chance ter shake han's with him. I hev hearn tell thet he is a mighty big feller, but my observation is thet when you onct git up close to whayre he's a-stayin', he shrivels up so under a brave look frum honest eyes thet you hev ter git a maggifyin' glass ter diskiver the kind ov an animile he actu'lly is!"
When Willie goes to school, it seemsThe house has lost its light,And silence like a shadow dreamsOf sunshine out of sight;The place assumes a somber air,And lonely musings ruleThe moments slowly passing thereWhen Willie goes to school.We hustle him from bed, and tellTo quickly wash and comb,His breakfast eat, and gather wellThe books he carried home;We brush his coat and fix his tie,And with him fuss and fool,And kiss him as he hurries byWhen Willie goes to school.And all day long we anxious waitTo hear his foot-steps fast,Make music sweet there at the gateWhen he comes home at last!The lonely heart with rapture fillsAnd life's hot warrings cool,And all the home with laughter thrillsWhen Willie comes from school!Ah, World, the school that young hearts seek!We know full well that youWill keep him long at tasks that speakOf books and ferule, too!God grant that in the far-off yearsHe finds no dunce's stool,Whereon to weep with foolish tearsWhen Willie goes to school!
When Willie goes to school, it seemsThe house has lost its light,And silence like a shadow dreamsOf sunshine out of sight;The place assumes a somber air,And lonely musings ruleThe moments slowly passing thereWhen Willie goes to school.
We hustle him from bed, and tellTo quickly wash and comb,His breakfast eat, and gather wellThe books he carried home;We brush his coat and fix his tie,And with him fuss and fool,And kiss him as he hurries byWhen Willie goes to school.
And all day long we anxious waitTo hear his foot-steps fast,Make music sweet there at the gateWhen he comes home at last!The lonely heart with rapture fillsAnd life's hot warrings cool,And all the home with laughter thrillsWhen Willie comes from school!
Ah, World, the school that young hearts seek!We know full well that youWill keep him long at tasks that speakOf books and ferule, too!God grant that in the far-off yearsHe finds no dunce's stool,Whereon to weep with foolish tearsWhen Willie goes to school!
What though the valleys wander in shadows manifold?'Tis morning on the hill-tops and all the skies are gold,And on the purple summits the raptures of the blestAre crooning their evangels and singing songs of rest!
What though the valleys wander in shadows manifold?'Tis morning on the hill-tops and all the skies are gold,And on the purple summits the raptures of the blestAre crooning their evangels and singing songs of rest!
'Tis morning on the hill-tops? The darkness at the feetShall blossom at the dawning with all the roses sweet,And every grief we gather and every tear we knowShall vanish into gladness as up the paths we go.
'Tis morning on the hill-tops? The darkness at the feetShall blossom at the dawning with all the roses sweet,And every grief we gather and every tear we knowShall vanish into gladness as up the paths we go.
'Tis morning on the hill-tops! The glories of His loveWith life and light supernal are waiting there above,And up the slopes of shadow our weary feet shall climbTo kiss the smiles of rapture beyond the tears of time.
'Tis morning on the hill-tops! The glories of His loveWith life and light supernal are waiting there above,And up the slopes of shadow our weary feet shall climbTo kiss the smiles of rapture beyond the tears of time.
'Tis morning on the hill-tops! What matters sob or sin?The Master waits our coming and welcomes us within;And there beyond the shadows where gladness reigns alwayWe'll meet the hosts of morning, and dwell with them for aye.
'Tis morning on the hill-tops! What matters sob or sin?The Master waits our coming and welcomes us within;And there beyond the shadows where gladness reigns alwayWe'll meet the hosts of morning, and dwell with them for aye.
O, Morning on the Hill-tops! The dim eyes look to you,Beyond the darkened valleys and all the griefs they knew,And to the sunshine waiting in realms of rhapsody,The paths lead on and upward to where you wait for me!
O, Morning on the Hill-tops! The dim eyes look to you,Beyond the darkened valleys and all the griefs they knew,And to the sunshine waiting in realms of rhapsody,The paths lead on and upward to where you wait for me!
Not he who loses but who fails to fight,In God's long years reapsharvestingsof blame;Not he the blind but who destroys the sightReceives the curses of the ages' blame!
Not he who loses but who fails to fight,In God's long years reapsharvestingsof blame;Not he the blind but who destroys the sightReceives the curses of the ages' blame!
When you visit at the circusAnd behold the steeds bedight,And the hoops and rings and racesAnd the clowns that make delight,—You will miss the happy touchesThat complete your broadest grinIf you see the main performanceAnd don't take the side-show in.
When you visit at the circusAnd behold the steeds bedight,And the hoops and rings and racesAnd the clowns that make delight,—You will miss the happy touchesThat complete your broadest grinIf you see the main performanceAnd don't take the side-show in.
There'll be high and lofty tumbles,There'll be acrobatic feats,There'll be leaps and bounds and twistings,That will lift you from your seats;But with all the glare and glitter,You'll but know the fun begin,If you see the main performanceAnd don't take the side-show in.There'll be elephants and lions.There'll be bears and tigers, too;There'll be clowns in robes and spanglesAll to please the boy in you;But the raptures of your gladnessNothing can completely win,If you see the main performanceAnd don't take the side-show in.Life is something of a circus:It has half a hundred ringsWhere its jumbled aggregationEarth's attractions to you brings;But they leave the heart still heavyAs it stirs with stress and din,If you see the main performanceAnd don't take the side-show in!
There'll be high and lofty tumbles,There'll be acrobatic feats,There'll be leaps and bounds and twistings,That will lift you from your seats;But with all the glare and glitter,You'll but know the fun begin,If you see the main performanceAnd don't take the side-show in.
There'll be elephants and lions.There'll be bears and tigers, too;There'll be clowns in robes and spanglesAll to please the boy in you;But the raptures of your gladnessNothing can completely win,If you see the main performanceAnd don't take the side-show in.
Life is something of a circus:It has half a hundred ringsWhere its jumbled aggregationEarth's attractions to you brings;But they leave the heart still heavyAs it stirs with stress and din,If you see the main performanceAnd don't take the side-show in!
"Well, Sam, how's cotton-picking getting along?" asked a white man of his colored neighbor.
"Hain't doin' any cotton-pickin' yit," replied Sam. "'Lection time's a-comin' an' I'm jes' a-votin' erroun' tell the candahdates quit runnin'!"
Religion is too often what the other fellowoughtto practice.
Good never bears any fruit for you, except when cultivated in your own heart.
The devil always has a patent medicine recommended to cure trouble and increase pleasure.
Examine the looks of your conscience. It may be only prejudice that has placed its hand-baggage in the wrong room.
We are always glad to gather the harvest, which is abundant for the whole world, but are willing to leave the weed-pulling to the other fellow.
What if there's troubleAnd what if there's wrong?God sends the sunshineAnd Love brings the song!What if you stumbleWhen racing it strong?Love will uplift you,For Love brings the song!Bury your troubles,And life will be long:God sends the sunshineAnd Love brings the song!
What if there's troubleAnd what if there's wrong?God sends the sunshineAnd Love brings the song!
What if you stumbleWhen racing it strong?Love will uplift you,For Love brings the song!
Bury your troubles,And life will be long:God sends the sunshineAnd Love brings the song!
Mistah Cotton come toh meIn de young spring-time,En he say, say he toh me,"Sambo, bet yuh dime,Dat you'll never pick dat patch!Dat I'll fool yuh crap,Fer de weeds'll make a catchEn de bolls'll drap!"Den I chase him up en down,En I take his bet;Chop dat cotton clar toh town;How dis niggah sweat!En I plow him sho'ly fine,—Wo'k him day en night,En de fust t'ing, how he shineWid de rows ob white!Mistah Cotton, doan't yuh t'inkYuh kin fool me now;I'll dis pick yuh quick es wink,—Lemme show yuh how!Pile yuh in de wagon-bed,Sell yuh, ting a ling!How de silvah-dallahs spreadDat sweet song dey sing!
Mistah Cotton come toh meIn de young spring-time,En he say, say he toh me,"Sambo, bet yuh dime,Dat you'll never pick dat patch!Dat I'll fool yuh crap,Fer de weeds'll make a catchEn de bolls'll drap!"
Den I chase him up en down,En I take his bet;Chop dat cotton clar toh town;How dis niggah sweat!En I plow him sho'ly fine,—Wo'k him day en night,En de fust t'ing, how he shineWid de rows ob white!
Mistah Cotton, doan't yuh t'inkYuh kin fool me now;I'll dis pick yuh quick es wink,—Lemme show yuh how!Pile yuh in de wagon-bed,Sell yuh, ting a ling!How de silvah-dallahs spreadDat sweet song dey sing!
Don't use a telescope to discover your neighbor's faults. Even the sun has a few spots, but it would be a cold day for you without the glory of his shine.
There are dark and gloomy corners full of sorrow, like as not,But the world is glad with music and it carols everywhere;And if now and then a shadow dwells upon a little spot,Thereis sunshine on the meadows and the wide ways laugh at care.O, my children! Don't you worry,As you go along;Let your life be glad and cheerfulAnd you'll hear the Song!
There are dark and gloomy corners full of sorrow, like as not,But the world is glad with music and it carols everywhere;And if now and then a shadow dwells upon a little spot,Thereis sunshine on the meadows and the wide ways laugh at care.
O, my children! Don't you worry,As you go along;Let your life be glad and cheerfulAnd you'll hear the Song!
As we wander down the valleys where the griefs of life assail,We will find a few obstructions that are heaping in the road;But with feet that never weary and with hearts that never quail,We shall mount the glory-summits to the Summer-lands' abode.O, my children! Don't you wearyAs you go along;Climb the path-ways to the hill-tops,And you'll hear the Song!
As we wander down the valleys where the griefs of life assail,We will find a few obstructions that are heaping in the road;But with feet that never weary and with hearts that never quail,We shall mount the glory-summits to the Summer-lands' abode.
O, my children! Don't you wearyAs you go along;Climb the path-ways to the hill-tops,And you'll hear the Song!
You will bend beneath the burdens as you meet the toils of life,And your arms will ache a little as you labor down the way;But the rest of God's perfection waits beyond the bitter strifeAnd He crowns the souls that struggle with His Everlasting Day!O, my children! Don't you murmur,As you go along;Look above to God's Anointed,And you'll hear the Song!
You will bend beneath the burdens as you meet the toils of life,And your arms will ache a little as you labor down the way;But the rest of God's perfection waits beyond the bitter strifeAnd He crowns the souls that struggle with His Everlasting Day!
O, my children! Don't you murmur,As you go along;Look above to God's Anointed,And you'll hear the Song!
When Love leaves life, Laughter packs up her things and gets ready to move.
When Hope dies in the heart, all its poor relations refuse to remain for the funeral services.
The people who are all the time trying to manage other people should remember that though Providence created Man in His own image, it has been unable to manage him ever since.
When canderdates git after Pa,Set up seegars, an' tell him flatHow big a man he is, and MaHow good she cooks, an' all of that,I slip aroun' an' let 'em knowI'm something on the homestead, too,Fer onct upon a time or soThey'll hand a nickel out fer you!When they come here, it's mighty fine!Pa stops the team, an' work we quitAn' them there fellere stays to dineAn' talk the day-lights outen it!They tell us how the gover'mentIs goin' on, an' quote the lawAn' tell their choice fer president,When canderdates git after Pa!An' then they'll brag about his farm;How fine his hogs an' hosses air;How slick his cattle, till my armGits tired at all the jollies there!An' then they tell Ma she's a peach,A honey-lulu without flaw,A angel fur beyond their reach,When canderdates git after Pa.
When canderdates git after Pa,Set up seegars, an' tell him flatHow big a man he is, and MaHow good she cooks, an' all of that,I slip aroun' an' let 'em knowI'm something on the homestead, too,Fer onct upon a time or soThey'll hand a nickel out fer you!
When they come here, it's mighty fine!Pa stops the team, an' work we quitAn' them there fellere stays to dineAn' talk the day-lights outen it!They tell us how the gover'mentIs goin' on, an' quote the lawAn' tell their choice fer president,When canderdates git after Pa!
An' then they'll brag about his farm;How fine his hogs an' hosses air;How slick his cattle, till my armGits tired at all the jollies there!An' then they tell Ma she's a peach,A honey-lulu without flaw,A angel fur beyond their reach,When canderdates git after Pa.
When after dinner they hitch upHe sends me out to feed the shoats,An' then they drink with nary cupAn' talk about the township votes;An' after they git gone, Pa heHas got a breath that's orful raw;But I tell you it's nuts to meWhen canderdates git after Pa!
When after dinner they hitch upHe sends me out to feed the shoats,An' then they drink with nary cupAn' talk about the township votes;An' after they git gone, Pa heHas got a breath that's orful raw;But I tell you it's nuts to meWhen canderdates git after Pa!
O, brother, don't you worry,—Don't you sob or sigh;Just soak yourself with sunshineAnd let the world go by!What matters all, my brother.The world may do or say?For you and I outlive the skyAnd it lives but a day!Keep at work, my brother;Keep at work I say!There's not a cosy cornerFor lazy ones that play;And as through life you laborAnd gladly jog along,Just soak yourself with sunshineAnd fill your heart with song!
O, brother, don't you worry,—Don't you sob or sigh;Just soak yourself with sunshineAnd let the world go by!What matters all, my brother.The world may do or say?For you and I outlive the skyAnd it lives but a day!
Keep at work, my brother;Keep at work I say!There's not a cosy cornerFor lazy ones that play;And as through life you laborAnd gladly jog along,Just soak yourself with sunshineAnd fill your heart with song!
If Heaven is too far away for you to reach out and shake hands with it, there is something wrong with your conduct.
If this life isn't worth living well, how do you expect to take one with you into another world that will be worth any more?
While you are praying for the unregenerate sinners of this world, don't forget to put in a word now and then for your own personal benefit.
"The Lord is good to me!" he said,As on his bended knees he kneltAbove his meager crust of breadAnd voiced the gratitude he felt;And from his supplications, heArose with strength renewed to faceThe pinchings of his poverty,The sorrows of his humble place."The Lord is good to me!" she prayedAbove her sleeping babe at rest,While smiles of exaltation playedAcross her features, care oppressed;And from the crib of anguish whereThe fever-wasted baby sleptShe happy slipped away from careAnd all the anxious tears she wept."The Lord is good to me!" he cried'Mid life's wild wreck as close he graspedThe scattered fragments to his sideOf millions lost that once he clasped:And with a peace and thankfulnessHe never knew when Fortune smiled,He put behind him all distressAnd laughed as lightly as a child."The Lord is good to me!" How slightThe gifts of God we grateful bless,While countless treasures of delightEscape the praise of thankfulness!Through days of sunshine and of rain,Through nights of griefs and rhapsody,How I forget with high disdainHow much the Lord is good to me!
"The Lord is good to me!" he said,As on his bended knees he kneltAbove his meager crust of breadAnd voiced the gratitude he felt;And from his supplications, heArose with strength renewed to faceThe pinchings of his poverty,The sorrows of his humble place.
"The Lord is good to me!" she prayedAbove her sleeping babe at rest,While smiles of exaltation playedAcross her features, care oppressed;And from the crib of anguish whereThe fever-wasted baby sleptShe happy slipped away from careAnd all the anxious tears she wept."The Lord is good to me!" he cried'Mid life's wild wreck as close he graspedThe scattered fragments to his sideOf millions lost that once he clasped:And with a peace and thankfulnessHe never knew when Fortune smiled,He put behind him all distressAnd laughed as lightly as a child.
"The Lord is good to me!" How slightThe gifts of God we grateful bless,While countless treasures of delightEscape the praise of thankfulness!Through days of sunshine and of rain,Through nights of griefs and rhapsody,How I forget with high disdainHow much the Lord is good to me!
In these days of beef trust domination, every man is known by the breakfast food heeats.
The charity that covers a multitude of sins generally runs mighty short of blankets in the winter time.
Fishing poles are now out of date, but the candidates are bidding mighty lively for the pole that is long enough to reach the persimmon.
"Well, Jimmy, how's your Pa getting along with his corn-shucking and cotton picking?" inquired Bill Smith of his neighbor's son, which neighbor was noted for his industry and thrifty habits.
"Pap's gittin' erlong fine with 'em," answered the boy. "Ye see there's five county tickets in the field a-runnin' this year, an' pap's a doubtful voter; an' whenever a candidate comes, pap jes' goes erlong shuckin' corn or pickin' cotton, an' the candidate helps him fer the sake of comp'ny. We've got all our corn shucked, en ef we hev no bad weather, there won't be cotton enough left to pick by 'lection day to lint yer whiskers with!"
"It is more of the Spirit of '76 that we need!" shouted the campaign orator.
"I haven't any of the spirits of '76," broke in a bystander in the audience. "But I've a quart of 'white mule' here in my pocket as fine as was ever brewed, if that will relieve your wants any!"
"De Lawd am pow'ful good to de culled fokes," said a negro philosopher speaking from his dusky meditations. "No soonah am de wohtah-millions gone de way ob all de yarth dan de pahsimmons git ripe ernuff toh make de possum fat, bress de Lawd!"
He conquered all the foes that bannered wrong;He strove with might and did heroic deeds;Yet nameless he; for to his lofty meedsNone wrought the immortality of song.
He conquered all the foes that bannered wrong;He strove with might and did heroic deeds;Yet nameless he; for to his lofty meedsNone wrought the immortality of song.
No matter how the world may go,How high it heaps our store,For all the joys that banish woeWe always wish for more!And from the cares that fume and fret,We cry as e'er before:"We thank thee, Lord, for what we get,But give us more,—still more!"
No matter how the world may go,How high it heaps our store,For all the joys that banish woeWe always wish for more!
And from the cares that fume and fret,We cry as e'er before:"We thank thee, Lord, for what we get,But give us more,—still more!"
Turn back, O Time, to where the young years roveAnd smile with rosy lips and sing through joyous days;The dull feet grow so heavy, and so far the waysThey wander from my love!
Turn back, O Time, to where the young years roveAnd smile with rosy lips and sing through joyous days;The dull feet grow so heavy, and so far the waysThey wander from my love!
It was not this world where the dancing feetKept pace with joy and leaped through lanes of perfect hours;It was that far-off world that sang with birds and flowers,And all the raptures sweet.
It was not this world where the dancing feetKept pace with joy and leaped through lanes of perfect hours;It was that far-off world that sang with birds and flowers,And all the raptures sweet.
It was not this world where our glad lips clung,And close between the long-drawn kisses fondly toldOf dreams revealed not and of ecstasies that rolledFrom glad hearts always young!
It was not this world where our glad lips clung,And close between the long-drawn kisses fondly toldOf dreams revealed not and of ecstasies that rolledFrom glad hearts always young!
The dream-face beckons yonder,—beckons o'erThe long years fled afar and lapse of longing days,Who leaned against my bosom in the love-wreathed ways.Then fled, and came no more!
The dream-face beckons yonder,—beckons o'erThe long years fled afar and lapse of longing days,Who leaned against my bosom in the love-wreathed ways.Then fled, and came no more!
Turn turn, O, Time, and lead with thy hard handsMe like a child back where two young hearts fondly met:A music laughs there always, and beyond the dim eyes wetLove rules her perfect lands!
Turn turn, O, Time, and lead with thy hard handsMe like a child back where two young hearts fondly met:A music laughs there always, and beyond the dim eyes wetLove rules her perfect lands!
"What are you foolin' with now, John?" Asked the inquisitive neighbor of John who was always inventing something that he thought would bring him fame and fortune.
"I'm on the right track at last," replied John gleefully. "I'm inventin' a pole that will knock the persimmons, an' if I can only make it work, I'll be a millionaire in fourteen minutes, selling out to the candidates that are running for office this year!"
A little life in which to doThe little deeds that rise before;A little love, a song or two,And then the little life is o'er!
A little life in which to doThe little deeds that rise before;A little love, a song or two,And then the little life is o'er!
When troubles come, my honey,And sorrows dark the sky,We'll seek the cave of faithful loveAnd watch the clouds go by;A refuge safe, my honey,From all the storm and strife,Where joy shall keep the strong heart youngThrough all the cares of life.Then come with me, my honey;What though the wild winds blow?With hand and heart true love shall keepUs safe through weal and woe!The storm-clouds dark, my honey,May fret the deep blue sky,But love shall keep us smiling stillOf bright days by and by!
When troubles come, my honey,And sorrows dark the sky,We'll seek the cave of faithful loveAnd watch the clouds go by;A refuge safe, my honey,From all the storm and strife,Where joy shall keep the strong heart youngThrough all the cares of life.Then come with me, my honey;What though the wild winds blow?With hand and heart true love shall keepUs safe through weal and woe!The storm-clouds dark, my honey,May fret the deep blue sky,But love shall keep us smiling stillOf bright days by and by!
Don't you lose your stock of patienceWhen the world seems going wrong;It was here before you found itWith its happiness and song;And it's altogether likelyThat it's pretty sure to stayWith its music and its blossomsAfter you have gone away.And no matter how you laborSmoothing down the rocky way,On the paths where men shall wanderIt is likely stones will stay.Here and there the little pebblesYou may banish one by one,But the mountains rise foreverAnd your work is never done.Don't despair! What use to worryWhen the load you have to leave?Other hands and hearts will followAnd the heavy task receive;Do your own part to the limit!Give it all the strength you can,And as sure as God is rulingHe will crown you all a Man!Step by step the world advancesUp the long and slippery slope;Step by step it slow upwandersThrough the valleys of its hope;Leave the tasks that rise beyond you!Do the little deeds you can,And the millions coming afterShall complete what you began!
Don't you lose your stock of patienceWhen the world seems going wrong;It was here before you found itWith its happiness and song;And it's altogether likelyThat it's pretty sure to stayWith its music and its blossomsAfter you have gone away.And no matter how you laborSmoothing down the rocky way,On the paths where men shall wanderIt is likely stones will stay.Here and there the little pebblesYou may banish one by one,But the mountains rise foreverAnd your work is never done.
Don't despair! What use to worryWhen the load you have to leave?Other hands and hearts will followAnd the heavy task receive;Do your own part to the limit!Give it all the strength you can,And as sure as God is rulingHe will crown you all a Man!
Step by step the world advancesUp the long and slippery slope;Step by step it slow upwandersThrough the valleys of its hope;Leave the tasks that rise beyond you!Do the little deeds you can,And the millions coming afterShall complete what you began!
The Good Book tells us that the Master went about doing good while he stayed in the world, and so we are not surprised when it tells about his welcome to the glory-land.