III.

Tune up the Christmas fiddles! The royal raptures flowFrom finger-tips of gladness to happy heel and toe,Till joyous hearts are beating and rosy lips of loveAre sweet as fairy music from the heaven harps above!Then fix your fiddles, fellers! To match the merry soundWe'll dance the Christmas chorus and swing the partners' round!

Tune up the Christmas fiddles!They're lonely with the songTheir bosoms kept so closely in silences so long;The boys and girls are weary with toilsomeness that growsWhere labor drowns the music of melodies she knows;Then fix your fiddles, fellers! Each happy heart shall beatTo glories of the raptures and trippings of the feet!

Tune up the Christmas fiddles!Where royal music rings,Where lips are red with laughter and romping rapture sings,We'll find surcease of sorrow andCare shall die awayWhile the feet shall dance the music of happiness for aye!Then fix your fiddles, fellers! Our sweet-hearts laugh applause,And Love repeats the echoes in a kiss for Santa Claus!

Mistah Trouble, Mistah Trouble!Happy dat yuh met meWhen de pleasuhes all am heah,En de joys beset me!Happy dat de house am fullSo yuh'll hab toh trabble;Mister Trouble, stretch yoh laigsLibely down de grabble!

My Mommer says ef I ain't good,Thet Santa'll stay away,En never bring a top er thingThet boys want Christmas day;En I'm jes' purfic now, I guess,Er purficker then some,En I'm behavin' like a manSo Santa Claus'll come!I hop up out of bed, you know,'Fore Mommer calls me thayre,En dress myse'f en wash my faceEn nicely comb my hair;En then I help my Mommer work,En make a happy home,En please my Popper all I kin,So Santa Claus'll come.I go to school through all the week,En never hookey play,En I'm so good I'm never madeTell after school to stay;En when the Sundays come, you bet,I quit each idle chum,En go to Sunday School ez nice,So Santa Claus'll come!En Mommer says I'm orful good,En teacher says so, too,En call me jes' a angel, allBut havin' wings,—they do!En Popper says thayre at the store'sA dandy big bass drum!You betcher life I'm bein' goodSo Santa Claus'll come!

I hop up out of bed, you know,'Fore Mommer calls me thayre,En dress myse'f en wash my faceEn nicely comb my hair;En then I help my Mommer work,En make a happy home,En please my Popper all I kin,So Santa Claus'll come.

I go to school through all the week,En never hookey play,En I'm so good I'm never madeTell after school to stay;En when the Sundays come, you bet,I quit each idle chum,En go to Sunday School ez nice,So Santa Claus'll come!

En Mommer says I'm orful good,En teacher says so, too,En call me jes' a angel, allBut havin' wings,—they do!En Popper says thayre at the store'sA dandy big bass drum!You betcher life I'm bein' goodSo Santa Claus'll come!

Mister Sorrow came one dayWhen the times were blue,And he said: "My brother, sayCan I stay with you?"And he looked so mighty niceThat I asked him in;Nothing said about the price;'Fraid he'd go agin!Mister Sorrow from that dayHangs around here so!Makes himself at home, to playHe's my friend, you know!When I hint it mighty strongThat he'd better roam,Says he's boarded here so longThat it seems like home!

Mister Sorrow came one dayWhen the times were blue,And he said: "My brother, sayCan I stay with you?"And he looked so mighty niceThat I asked him in;Nothing said about the price;'Fraid he'd go agin!

Mister Sorrow from that dayHangs around here so!Makes himself at home, to playHe's my friend, you know!When I hint it mighty strongThat he'd better roam,Says he's boarded here so longThat it seems like home!

If the Kingdom of Heaven was like a mustard-seed two thousand years ago, it has not changed its appearance any since; it seems so small now-a-days that it is pretty hard to find down here below.

(Explanatory Note:—The press reports state that the women of America are strenuously opposing the statehood bill, and demanding that it provide for Equal Suffrage and Prohibition in the new state.)

It was years and years in coming, but it hove in sight at last,And we hoped our cares were over and our disappointments past;It was fought for on the hustings, in the platforms was declared,And with all the big campaigners it has every honor shared;And we thought we surely had it where no evil hands could kill,Till the women went toknockingon theStatehoodBill!Don't the last of you remember how we whooped it up with mightThrough the speeches of the daytime and orations of the night;How resolved and re-resolved, and then resolved again,That our people were the people, and our men the very men?And we shouted out the story of our deeds with honest will;—But the women now areknockingon theStatehoodBill!Don't you now recall distinctly how we speechified till hoarse,Trying to convince the people what was just the proper course?How much time and toil we lavished in the beauty of our schemesJust to save the state from danger to the dearness of our dreams!But, alas! we see the finish! And alas! for manly skill!For the women all areknockingon theStatehoodBill!We have seen the new star rising from the territorial seas,We have seen it mount the zenith where the old flag split the breeze;And we boasted of our glories in rejoicings grand and greatAs we thought we raced for honors in the new-created state!Vanished now the dreams of sal'ry and the offices to fill,For the women all areknockingon theStatehoodBill!O, the grave and mighty Senate! Mr. Beveridge mighty too!We can understand your pickle and we know just what you'll do;There is only one escaping, only one to ransom usFrom the rumpus we have kicked up and the madness of the muss:Give the women all they ask for! We were chumps to treat them ill.—We're undone if they keepknockingon theStatehoodBill!

Don't the last of you remember how we whooped it up with mightThrough the speeches of the daytime and orations of the night;How resolved and re-resolved, and then resolved again,That our people were the people, and our men the very men?And we shouted out the story of our deeds with honest will;—But the women now areknockingon theStatehoodBill!

Don't you now recall distinctly how we speechified till hoarse,Trying to convince the people what was just the proper course?How much time and toil we lavished in the beauty of our schemesJust to save the state from danger to the dearness of our dreams!But, alas! we see the finish! And alas! for manly skill!For the women all areknockingon theStatehoodBill!

We have seen the new star rising from the territorial seas,We have seen it mount the zenith where the old flag split the breeze;And we boasted of our glories in rejoicings grand and greatAs we thought we raced for honors in the new-created state!Vanished now the dreams of sal'ry and the offices to fill,For the women all areknockingon theStatehoodBill!

O, the grave and mighty Senate! Mr. Beveridge mighty too!We can understand your pickle and we know just what you'll do;There is only one escaping, only one to ransom usFrom the rumpus we have kicked up and the madness of the muss:Give the women all they ask for! We were chumps to treat them ill.—We're undone if they keepknockingon theStatehoodBill!

"Yessuh, we am lookin' foh de hahdest wintah dis yeah dar hez bin foh a long time; but ef de neighbohs keeps on erraisin' chickens en de possums doan't git too scahse, I belieb we kin pull thew toh grass widout a-sellin' ob de houn' pup!"

Rich man foh de pooh man danceOne night in de yeah;Pooh man foh de rich man pranceAll times, do yuh heah?Pooh man play de violinWhile de rich man swing;Pooh man squeeze de fiddle inWhen he wants toh sing!Mistah rich man, hab yoh funMakin' grub foh us;Min' dat stohy ez yuh run'Bout ole Lazaruss!Guess yuh'll dance some ober dah,Jes' ez like ez not;Swing dem pahtnehs fas' en fah'Foh de fiah git hot!

The man who can't live right in this world can't expect to get the chance in the next.

There may be more devotion in tears than in laughter, but I'll tie up with the latter and take the risk.

No one except Christ ever called the devil Satan to his face; and then they went up into the high mountain and into a private place where no one else could hear the muss.

The Santa Claus boy is the latest thing out;He's the rage of the season, they say,And wherever you wander, you'll find him aboutWith his beautiful, dutiful way;He's as spick and as span as a dandified man.And his look is a heavenly joy;And however he does it, whatever his plan,We know he's the Santa Claus boy!He jumps out of bed in the morning himself,And he never lies still for the rest;He dresses in haste with the skill of an elf,And he washes and combs with the best;He does up the chores while his small sister snores,And his whistle no longer annoys;He's the pride of the house and the king of out-doors,—This wonderful Santa Claus boy!He hastens to school with a heart full of glees,And he never turns truant to play:His lessons he learns with the greatest of ease,—He recites in a beautiful way;And the teacher's so glad that the boy who was badAll his failings has learned to destroy;And she smiles with delight as she breaks up her gad,At the change in the Santa Claus boy!When the Sabbath day comes with its Sunday School hours,He is never once absent or late;And the verses he speaks beat the memory powersOf the sages exalted and great;But he dreams of a Tree, full of presents to be,And with treasures that know not alloy;And the vision he sees fills his bosom with gleeFor the Sunday School Santa Claus boy!Ah, well, this old codger laid up on the shelf,In the rubbish piled high on life's ways,Knows how it all is,—he has been there himself,—He has romped through the Santa Claus days;Whatever appears, whether laughter or tears,Let a song every moment employ,As the world tosses gifts through the beautiful yearsTo the glad-hearted Santa Claus boy!

When the Sabbath day comes with its Sunday School hours,He is never once absent or late;And the verses he speaks beat the memory powersOf the sages exalted and great;But he dreams of a Tree, full of presents to be,And with treasures that know not alloy;And the vision he sees fills his bosom with gleeFor the Sunday School Santa Claus boy!

Ah, well, this old codger laid up on the shelf,In the rubbish piled high on life's ways,Knows how it all is,—he has been there himself,—He has romped through the Santa Claus days;Whatever appears, whether laughter or tears,Let a song every moment employ,As the world tosses gifts through the beautiful yearsTo the glad-hearted Santa Claus boy!

Young woman, learn to cook. No man wants his home turned into an experiment station for biscuit making.

In these last days, a man is known by the patent medicine promoter to whom he sends his testimonial photograph.

The man who gets stooped shoulders from carrying other people's heavy burdens went to the wrong school in his youth.

Religion is a mighty good thing, but it never pays the rent bill; and the Christianity of warm clothes and wholesome food beats its balance on the record books of the angels.

O, brother, don't you worry,When the sorrow brings the night!It is never long till morning,And 'twill all come right.Do the loads seem hard and heavyAs you bear them with your might?Love will lift the bending burdens,And 'twill all come right!Do you feel the hate and maliceOf the foolish ones that fight?They will find your heart is worthy,And 'twill all come right!Do your duty to the utmost!Then the foes shall vanish quite;Let the world howl on with censure,—It will all come right!God awaits us over yonder,Where his lilies blossom white;In his love the griefs shall perish,And 'twill all come right!

O, brother, don't you worry,When the sorrow brings the night!It is never long till morning,And 'twill all come right.

Do the loads seem hard and heavyAs you bear them with your might?Love will lift the bending burdens,And 'twill all come right!

Do you feel the hate and maliceOf the foolish ones that fight?They will find your heart is worthy,And 'twill all come right!

Do your duty to the utmost!Then the foes shall vanish quite;Let the world howl on with censure,—It will all come right!

God awaits us over yonder,Where his lilies blossom white;In his love the griefs shall perish,And 'twill all come right!

The happy days when the mistletoe makes raptures for young hearts and loving lips will soon come 'round again. Heaven grant us all to be young and confiding enough for all the love and joy and the glad music of the Christmas times!

O, it's good-bye, Mister Trouble!There's a joy the angels know,With the mistletoe above usAnd our sweet-hearts here below!Then play the fiddle, Mister!Love and laughter are in sight;And swing your partners, fellers,Till the dawning of the light!O, its good-bye, Mister Trouble!For the fiddle says, "Be gay!"There's the mistletoe up yonder,And we kiss the griefs away!

O, it's good-bye, Mister Trouble!There's a joy the angels know,With the mistletoe above usAnd our sweet-hearts here below!

Then play the fiddle, Mister!Love and laughter are in sight;And swing your partners, fellers,Till the dawning of the light!

O, its good-bye, Mister Trouble!For the fiddle says, "Be gay!"There's the mistletoe up yonder,And we kiss the griefs away!

All things are forgiven to the woman who holds her tongue.

The greatest vice of the women is gossip, and the greatest folly of the men is greed.

If some people get to heaven, no one will be more surprised at the achievement than themselves.

Troubles have walked the highways of human life since the morning stars sang together; and yet when we meet them on the dusty roads we travel, we pretend astonishment and annoy high heaven with our cries.

"Dis heah big cotton crap am a great calam'ty toh de cullud folks," said old Black Mose dejectedly.

"How is that, Uncle?" inquired the astonished white man.

"So many ob 'em hab sabed up emuff money toh buy tall hats en long—tailed coats dat de conf'rences will all be jam-full ob cullud preachehs befoh spring, en de cotton-fiel's'll miss some mighty good han's nex' season, shuah!" was the reply.

Don't go too much on the sensibilities. Feelings are a mighty poor regulator when it comes to determining the necessity for hard work.

The days of the gray hairs and wrinkled brows utter few petitions to the merry god of all the happy Christmas eves; but if they asked of Santa Claus the supremest gift in all the world of men, they would implore him for one more Christmas as happy and as innocent as smiled upon them in the days of childhood long ago!

You needn't look so lonesome, Mr. Fiddle, hanging thereWith the pretty girls about you and the pleasures every where;For I know your heart is heaven with its music angel sweet,And it all will go to singing at the coming of the feet!Then don't you look so lonesome!The happy days we'll meet;For the Christmas times are comingAnd the dancing of the feet.You needn't look so lonesome! In your happy soul aboundAll the airs of royal rapture that the golden cycles found,And the willing fingers waiting are staying close about,Just to pick your heart to pieces and to coax the music out!Then don't you look so lonesome!The laughing lips shall meetWith the mistletoe above usAnd the coming of the feet!You needn't look so lonesome! I can see you laughing thereTo the tune of "Old Dan Tucker" as you drop the loads of care,And the melodies immortal drive the troubles all awayAs you spill the tender music of "My Darling Nellie Gray."Then don't you look so lonesome!All your dreams will come complete,And Love will swing his partnersTo the tripping of the feet.O, you needn't look so lonesome! All the good times you shall feelAs you shout the mighty chorus of the "Old Virginia Reel,"And Love shall join the music with the raptures that abound,As we heel-and-toe-it lively and we "swing the ladies 'round!"Then don't you look so lonesome!Love and happiness shall meet,And we'll shout good-bye to troubleIn the shuffle of the feet!

Then don't you look so lonesome!The happy days we'll meet;For the Christmas times are comingAnd the dancing of the feet.

You needn't look so lonesome! In your happy soul aboundAll the airs of royal rapture that the golden cycles found,And the willing fingers waiting are staying close about,Just to pick your heart to pieces and to coax the music out!

Then don't you look so lonesome!The laughing lips shall meetWith the mistletoe above usAnd the coming of the feet!

You needn't look so lonesome! I can see you laughing thereTo the tune of "Old Dan Tucker" as you drop the loads of care,And the melodies immortal drive the troubles all awayAs you spill the tender music of "My Darling Nellie Gray."

Then don't you look so lonesome!All your dreams will come complete,And Love will swing his partnersTo the tripping of the feet.

O, you needn't look so lonesome! All the good times you shall feelAs you shout the mighty chorus of the "Old Virginia Reel,"And Love shall join the music with the raptures that abound,As we heel-and-toe-it lively and we "swing the ladies 'round!"

Then don't you look so lonesome!Love and happiness shall meet,And we'll shout good-bye to troubleIn the shuffle of the feet!

Let the boy eat! The grocery-man is a less expensive guest than the doctor, and mush and milk are more palatable than medicine.

If Santa Claus forgets to come,I don't know what I'll do;I 'spect I'll get as bad as someAn' cry a little, too;I wrote an' told him plain as dayWhat he should buy an' bring;An' if he don't, I'll always sayThat he's a mean old thing!I want a drum to pound all dayFer ev'ry passin' crowd;A punchin'-bag an' foot-ball,—say,An' gun that shoots out loud;I'd like to have a pony, too,An' big dog fer a chum;Dear me, I don't know what I'll doIf Santa Claus don't come!I'll hang my stockin's anyway!They won't hold half enough,But I'll jes' write a note, an' sayThe place to leave the stuff!I'll jump in bed at candle-light,An' act both deaf an' dumb!But 'twill be awful here tonightIf Santa Claus don't come!Of course, he may not have to spareJes' ev'ry thing I lack,An' yet I hope he'll leave me there'Bout all a boy can pack;But If he'll come an' bring a few,I'll not be very glum;But oh! I don't know what I'll doIf Santa Claus don't come!

I want a drum to pound all dayFer ev'ry passin' crowd;A punchin'-bag an' foot-ball,—say,An' gun that shoots out loud;I'd like to have a pony, too,An' big dog fer a chum;Dear me, I don't know what I'll doIf Santa Claus don't come!

I'll hang my stockin's anyway!They won't hold half enough,But I'll jes' write a note, an' sayThe place to leave the stuff!I'll jump in bed at candle-light,An' act both deaf an' dumb!But 'twill be awful here tonightIf Santa Claus don't come!

Of course, he may not have to spareJes' ev'ry thing I lack,An' yet I hope he'll leave me there'Bout all a boy can pack;But If he'll come an' bring a few,I'll not be very glum;But oh! I don't know what I'll doIf Santa Claus don't come!

Don't you hear the fiddle, fellers?It is singing to the bowAll the glory of the musicUnderneath the mistletoe!Then good-bye, Mister Sorrow!For the cares have run away;Love and music both are shoutingAnd we answer them "Hooray!"Don't you hear the fiddle, fellers?It is calling us to knowJoys that circle to the musicUnderneath the mistletoe.Then good-bye, Mister Sorrow,Good-bye for many a day!Love's lips are smiling at us,And our hearts respond "Hooray!"

Don't you hear the fiddle, fellers?It is singing to the bowAll the glory of the musicUnderneath the mistletoe!

Then good-bye, Mister Sorrow!For the cares have run away;Love and music both are shoutingAnd we answer them "Hooray!"

Don't you hear the fiddle, fellers?It is calling us to knowJoys that circle to the musicUnderneath the mistletoe.

Then good-bye, Mister Sorrow,Good-bye for many a day!Love's lips are smiling at us,And our hearts respond "Hooray!"

I have often thought it very appropriate that good resolutions come after instead of before the Christmas days. The heart is then in much better mood to give them pleasant welcome.

"Ah done had a queeah dream las' night!" said Sambo.

"How was that? Tell us about it," said the interested white listener.

"Ah dreamed I wuz in hebben on Crissmuss eve, en de angels all had a Crissmuss tree en ole St. Petah played de Santa Claus, en de angels all got new French hawps in dey stockin's; en dey couldn't play 'em at all en de white angels all wanted fiddles en de black angels all wanted banjoes; en dey wuz a-havin' a awful time up dar, shuah!"

"Well, how did it come out?"

"Ah dunno how it come out! Jes' ez dey wus a'pintin' a ahbitratoh, my boy Jim sot up a howl foh 'possum en woke me up!"

"What do you expect for Christmas, Major?" inquired the hospitable store-keeper as the gray-haired Major hobbled in with his crutch and rested his rheumatic leg on a sack of coffee.

"The same as usual, sir, the same as usual! My wife always works me apair of slippers two sizes too small, each one of the girls gives me a neck-tie I can't wear because of its color, and each of the boys a new-fangled revolver I can't shoot and have to turn over to them. Only my old army friend in Kentucky knows me well enough to know what I can use."

"What is that?" inquired the amiable store-keeper.

"Four gallons of mountain-dew fresh from the still, bless God! And I always get away with it in plenty of time for good resolutions on New Year's day!" replied the valiant Major, smiling and smacking his lips.

The Wise Men in the desert bare,Heart-hungry in their need,Behold a Star, and forth they fareWherever it may lead;And find at last, full reconciled,God's greatest gift,—a little child!

The ballot may be more powerful than the bullet, but sometimes the gun contains the wrong load.

Through all this New Year's varied walks and ways,Let us like kings Truth's royal raiment wear,And whatsoe'er the burdens of the days,With brave hearts bear;For amid the starless nightLove exalts the lilies white,And the hours of wrath and wrongLeap with laughters of her song.

Wherever fate may lead the vagrant feet,Let us hail Duty as Life's holy guest,And in the shock of battle bravely meetFoes breast to breast;For unto the timid fieldsLove her staunchest courage yields,And her martial music thrillsTo the summits of the hills.

Whatever fortune crowns imperfect deed,Let us keep Hope our comrade evermore,Nor fear to follow where her banners leadOn sea and shore;For despite the tears of men,Love shall sing her songs again,And beyond the wintry snowsBlooms the redness of her rose.

With Truth about us and with Duty near,With Hope beside and Love along the way,Life climbs the hills and all the darkness hereGrows bright with day;For each fond beatitudeCrowns the dreams of greater good,And the stars of living lightLead the footsteps through the night!

Finally, brethren, finally,We are marching to the sky,And all this earthly musicTunes us up for bye and bye!

"If we were wise," said the social philosopher, "civilization would be of a different metal. But we are not all of us wise, and therefore we build court-houses and churches and sanitariums, and lawyers, doctors and preachers become necessary, all being the inventions of our lack of wisdom." And the man knew, for he had just been through the alimony court, turned out of church, and was on his way to a winter resort for the tinkering of his health.

A little day through which we playIn spite of wish and warning;A little love along the way,And then good-night,—till morning!

Pluck thou now the Good Resolution from the topmost bough of the sublime tree of righteous will; and preserve it as the apple of gold in the silver pictures of the life that has no ending.

Don't begin your sighingWhen you see the snows;Yonder blooms the lily;Yonder burns the rose!What's the use to shiverWhen the blizzards blow?Yonder blazes AugustHotter than you know!Hope is ever ringingAll the bells she brings;Keep a life of laughterAnd a heart that sings.Good-bye to the trouble!Farewell to the wrong!Man forgets the sorrowWhen he sings a song!

Don't begin your sighingWhen you see the snows;Yonder blooms the lily;Yonder burns the rose!

What's the use to shiverWhen the blizzards blow?Yonder blazes AugustHotter than you know!

Hope is ever ringingAll the bells she brings;Keep a life of laughterAnd a heart that sings.

Good-bye to the trouble!Farewell to the wrong!Man forgets the sorrowWhen he sings a song!

The cart of imperfect deeds travels with more speed than the palace car of good intentions.

If the pew would practice only one day in the week what the pulpit preaches on Sunday, the Devil would put out all the fires in his settlement and join the angels before Saturday night.

Yes, they say the LegislatureSoon will come along and sit,And for sixty days of wonderWe'll behold the likes of it;But with all the mighty gloryThat around it waves its wings,Don't forget who does the votingNor the chaps who pull the strings!There's the grave and mighty SenateFull of statesmen wise and great,With profound deliberationsEre they choose to legislate:But with all their stores of wisdomThey are slow at doing things,For they only do the votingWhile the Third House pulls the strings.There's the House, a wondrous body,Full of patriotic souls,Each with ideas that would hurryUp the world as on it rolls;But before they get in actionSober wisdom caution brings,And they only do the votingWhile the Third House pulls the strings!O, my dear, deluded people!When the statesmen cure your ills,Look around before you honorThose who pass the proper bills!To the fellows you electedThere is little glory clings,For they only do the votingWhile the Third House pulls the strings!To the Third House bring your laurels!There you'll find the wisdom rare,Free to tell the verdant statesmenHow to legislate with care;There you'll find the brain and virtueThat afar the evil flings:While the others do the votingThese delight to pull the strings!

There's the grave and mighty SenateFull of statesmen wise and great,With profound deliberationsEre they choose to legislate:But with all their stores of wisdomThey are slow at doing things,For they only do the votingWhile the Third House pulls the strings.

There's the House, a wondrous body,Full of patriotic souls,Each with ideas that would hurryUp the world as on it rolls;But before they get in actionSober wisdom caution brings,And they only do the votingWhile the Third House pulls the strings!O, my dear, deluded people!When the statesmen cure your ills,Look around before you honorThose who pass the proper bills!To the fellows you electedThere is little glory clings,For they only do the votingWhile the Third House pulls the strings!

To the Third House bring your laurels!There you'll find the wisdom rare,Free to tell the verdant statesmenHow to legislate with care;There you'll find the brain and virtueThat afar the evil flings:While the others do the votingThese delight to pull the strings!

In the great orchestra of life, if you can't play the first violin, beat the drum; if you can't beat the drum, pound the triangle; and if you can't contribute anything at all to the music, get in step with it and do the best job of marching in the army of the hopeful-hearted.

When the times are sad with sorrow,Sing a little;Things will brighten up tomorrow,Sing a little;And when all the world is gloomy and the storms around you roar,Then stuff your heart with gladness and just sing a little more!When you meet the bleak Decembers,Sing a little;There's a June each heart remembers,Sing a little;And if winter comes and lingers as he never did before,Think of all the summer blossoms and then sing a little more!If the cares of life oppress you,Sing a little;Joy will gladly come and bless you,Sing a little;And the Love that never wavers shall reward with happy storeWhile your heart is bright with sunshine and you sing a little more!

When you meet the bleak Decembers,Sing a little;There's a June each heart remembers,Sing a little;And if winter comes and lingers as he never did before,Think of all the summer blossoms and then sing a little more!

If the cares of life oppress you,Sing a little;Joy will gladly come and bless you,Sing a little;And the Love that never wavers shall reward with happy storeWhile your heart is bright with sunshine and you sing a little more!

"Well, what did Santa Claus bring you?" inquired Neighbor Jones ofNeighbor Smith on Christmas morning.

"Why, my wife got me a new silk dress and fur boa, my daughter bestowed a fine pair of No. 6 kid gloves, and each of my sons contributed a pair of skates and a sled. There is nothing like having Santa Claus remember you well, is there?" answered Neighbor Smith.

They had both been there so often that they went off behind the barn and took something to bring the sunshine in.

The doleful prophets sadly sayThat the world is going wrong;But out yonder blooms the MayWith its flowers and song.The moaning brothers come and sayThat the world is as dark as night;But out yonder shines the dayWith its laughing light.O, brothers, don't you worry so!Let us bravely march along;The roses blossom where we goAcross the fields of song!

The doleful prophets sadly sayThat the world is going wrong;But out yonder blooms the MayWith its flowers and song.

The moaning brothers come and sayThat the world is as dark as night;But out yonder shines the dayWith its laughing light.

O, brothers, don't you worry so!Let us bravely march along;The roses blossom where we goAcross the fields of song!

I'm a New Year's Resolution:I'm as good as good can be,And the world will lose its folliesIf 'twill only follow me!I was sired by good intentions,I was nursed with loving care,Fully armed, like great Minerva,From my birth to do and dare.I'm a New Year's Resolution:You can see me robed in whiteWhere the fortunes of the futureMen and nations come to write;You have met my kith and kindredAs you struggled in the strife,And you gave them love and praisesAll along the ways of life.I'm a New Year's Resolution:I'm as good as good can be,And the fates predict my goodnessSoon will prove the death of me;But you'll honor me while living,And if I should pass awayYou will bury me in blossomsIn remembrance of today.I'm a New Year's Resolution:Treat me kindly as you can;For I'm growing weak each moment,Starved to death by cruel man;Soon I'll sleep among my fathers,—What a countless host they make!Who in childhood went to slaughterFor a good intention's sake!

I'm a New Year's Resolution:You can see me robed in whiteWhere the fortunes of the futureMen and nations come to write;You have met my kith and kindredAs you struggled in the strife,And you gave them love and praisesAll along the ways of life.

I'm a New Year's Resolution:I'm as good as good can be,And the fates predict my goodnessSoon will prove the death of me;But you'll honor me while living,And if I should pass awayYou will bury me in blossomsIn remembrance of today.

I'm a New Year's Resolution:Treat me kindly as you can;For I'm growing weak each moment,Starved to death by cruel man;Soon I'll sleep among my fathers,—What a countless host they make!Who in childhood went to slaughterFor a good intention's sake!

One lapse from sunshine makes the whole world sin.

If you want to pluck nose-gays, you must wander in the sunshine to find the flowers.

The Devil would rather tackle a a good man in a discouraged mood than a hardened criminal with Hope singing in his heart.

"Ah done tole yuh, Mose, howebber yuh fix it up, dat dis hyar am a mighty hahd wohld we lib in?" said one colored brother to another.

"How am dat, Sambo?"

"Why, we am allus habin' ouah troubles. No soonah am de Santa Claus bills paid, den de legislachuh come erlong en stay foh sixty whole days!" and he shook his head and refused to be comforted.

Don't sleep too much. Remember what happened to Adam when he tried an experiment of that kind.

Don't talk too mean about the Devil. There is no telling how soon he may have the chance to roast you to a turn.

Don't neglect your privileges, brethren. There is more opportunity to get through the eye of a needle in the collection baskets than in the sermon.

Don't worry any about the dead. The good Lord will take care of them, and they don't cause him half as much sitting up at nights as the living do, and he always knows where to find them when the curfew blows.

"Did you make a Good Resolution, Sandy?" inquired the inquisitive neighbor.

"Yes, but it didn't live long."

"Why, how's that?"

"Well, the good die young, you know, and when I went home that night I found it had crossed the river when I wasn't watching."

Back to Index Next