The rough way, the hard way,The way that seems so long!Yet still the sweet and happy wayAcross the fields of song!The sad way, the dark way,The way that leads above;And still the bright and golden wayAcross the fields of love!The love way, the song way,The way we gladly go,—The way of blossoms sweet and fairAnd all the dreams we know!
The rough way, the hard way,The way that seems so long!Yet still the sweet and happy wayAcross the fields of song!
The sad way, the dark way,The way that leads above;And still the bright and golden wayAcross the fields of love!
The love way, the song way,The way we gladly go,—The way of blossoms sweet and fairAnd all the dreams we know!
What the world may think of a man is of small consequence either to him or the world; but what he thinks of himself is of infinite and imperishable importance to all the realms of creation.
"Mister Blue-bird! Mister Blue-bird!Don't you think it's rather soonFor the making of your music,And the striking of a tune?""I have heard the lone trees callingAnd the meadows barren long,For the laughter of the loversAnd the raptures of the song!"I have heard the dark buds waiting,And the roses red to beSent the wailing of their wishesIn a message after me!"Never think I come too early!I'm the messenger of spring,And the roses and the liliesNever waken till I sing!"
"Mister Blue-bird! Mister Blue-bird!Don't you think it's rather soonFor the making of your music,And the striking of a tune?""I have heard the lone trees callingAnd the meadows barren long,For the laughter of the loversAnd the raptures of the song!
"I have heard the dark buds waiting,And the roses red to beSent the wailing of their wishesIn a message after me!
"Never think I come too early!I'm the messenger of spring,And the roses and the liliesNever waken till I sing!"
The poor man who never was a country boy, and made cider, milked the cows, ran off and went swimming, kissed the girls at apple-cuttings and husking bees, bred stone-bruises on his heels, stacked hay in a high wind and mowed it away in a hot loft, swallowed quinine in scrapedapple and castor oil in cold coffee, taught the calves to drink and fed them, manipulated the churn-dasher, ate molasses andsulphurand drank sassafras tea in the spring to purify his blood,—that poor man has lived his sinful life in vain!
Good-bye to the shadows!Good-bye to the night!We'll walk in the sunshineAnd laugh in the light;And the roses and lilies of God's holy loveWith their garlands shall crown us for mansions above!
Good-bye to the shadows!Good-bye to the night!We'll walk in the sunshineAnd laugh in the light;And the roses and lilies of God's holy loveWith their garlands shall crown us for mansions above!
The hewers of wood and the drawers of water do but little of the real work of the world. The horse, the ox, the insensate thing of steam and steel, does quite as much and more. But the men who dream,—who put something of brain and heart and soul into the clods and fashion them into things of beauty for mankind,—these lift the burdens off the shoulders of the race and plant a song upon the lips of toil!
Say good-bye to Sorrow,And her ways of night;Song for you will borrowEvery sweet delight.Say good-bye to Sorrow,—Put the rogue to flight;Pleasures come tomorrowWith the blossoms bright.Say good-bye to Sorrow!When she pounds your door,Tell her there's the highwayAnd to call no more!
Say good-bye to Sorrow,And her ways of night;Song for you will borrowEvery sweet delight.
Say good-bye to Sorrow,—Put the rogue to flight;Pleasures come tomorrowWith the blossoms bright.
Say good-bye to Sorrow!When she pounds your door,Tell her there's the highwayAnd to call no more!
The hired hand who needs no boss to keep him busy earns double wages.
Money may buy bread and clothes, but every thing except happiness can be purchased on credit.
The monument and the mausoleum both perish from the world; but the dreamer who created them lives forever in the hearts of his fellow-men, and fashions daily something of their lives.
This the call of the Master, and this is the great Command:"Forward, march, to the shadows!Fare forth to the Slumber Land!There's the crown and the purple!And there is the smile and song,Past the ways of the weary, and over the hills of wrong!"
This the call of the Master, and this is the great Command:"Forward, march, to the shadows!Fare forth to the Slumber Land!There's the crown and the purple!And there is the smile and song,Past the ways of the weary, and over the hills of wrong!"
Forth at call of the Master! Still forth for his perfect grace!Sweet the vision of valor, and fair is the loving face!Swift the cradle forgetting, and far from the sob between,March to reign of the rain-bow, and dreams of the years unseen!
Forth at call of the Master! Still forth for his perfect grace!Sweet the vision of valor, and fair is the loving face!Swift the cradle forgetting, and far from the sob between,March to reign of the rain-bow, and dreams of the years unseen!
Rolls the sword in a circle! The whirl and the flash of fire,Burn the years like a cinder and claim for their monstrous hire!Croon of cradle, be silent! And down, thou curtain of doom!Weird as sobs of the midnight the dirge of the wailing tomb!
Rolls the sword in a circle! The whirl and the flash of fire,Burn the years like a cinder and claim for their monstrous hire!Croon of cradle, be silent! And down, thou curtain of doom!Weird as sobs of the midnight the dirge of the wailing tomb!
Brothers, step to the music! Still on with a shout and song!Flags above for the triumphs o'er struggles so lone and long!Croon of cradle and love-song! The ditty and dirge of strife,All are daughters of duty and call to the golden life!
Brothers, step to the music! Still on with a shout and song!Flags above for the triumphs o'er struggles so lone and long!Croon of cradle and love-song! The ditty and dirge of strife,All are daughters of duty and call to the golden life!
See, the purples of even! Lo, Love has a rosy hand!Hate fades dim in the distance and grief is a far-off land!Sweet, 'tis time for the slumber!With croon of the cradle-song,Rest we there in the Father's arms where the little ones belong!
See, the purples of even! Lo, Love has a rosy hand!Hate fades dim in the distance and grief is a far-off land!Sweet, 'tis time for the slumber!With croon of the cradle-song,Rest we there in the Father's arms where the little ones belong!
Dry your eyes, my love, and weBoth shall laugh with rhapsody,Hand in hand through all the daysAnd the world's peculiar ways!What to us unhappinessOf the sad heart's storm and stress?Joy shall hold our hands and twineHeart to heart through storm and shine!
Dry your eyes, my love, and weBoth shall laugh with rhapsody,Hand in hand through all the daysAnd the world's peculiar ways!What to us unhappinessOf the sad heart's storm and stress?Joy shall hold our hands and twineHeart to heart through storm and shine!
In these days of loot and lucreWhen no chap can get enough,And the man that wins the praisesIs the one that gets the stuff;When the fellow with a plentyOf the "long green" at commandIs the one that knocks persimmonsFrom the tall trees of the land,—What for me shall such things matter? There's a glory more divineThan the jingle of the guinea with the baby's hand in mine!O, it's nice enough,—the money,—When the weather's fierce and blueAnd the blankets of its comfortCome and warm the heart of you!But it soon demands the minutesEvery hour and day and week,With the gall of angry despotAnd a most unmeasured cheek;So I'm reconciled to leave it and its tyrannies resignFor the ways of love and laughter with the baby's hand in mine!For the jingle of the dollarsSoon disturbs the dearest dreamsWith the thunders of their madnessAnd the rumble of their schemes,Till the heart and brain are wearyAnd the revel of their roarDrive away the mirth and musicFrom the longings evermore!But the skies above are bluest and the heavens all a-shineWith the faces of the angels when the baby's hand in mine!Mister Midas, take your millionsAnd the glitter of your gold!Life has treasures where the heart isThat have never yet been told!There are sweeter things to cherish,There's song of earth and sky,That are only faintest whispersOf the raptures bye and bye!You have little that I value! Let for me the roses twineWith the laughter of the lovers and the baby's hand in mine!
In these days of loot and lucreWhen no chap can get enough,And the man that wins the praisesIs the one that gets the stuff;When the fellow with a plentyOf the "long green" at commandIs the one that knocks persimmonsFrom the tall trees of the land,—What for me shall such things matter? There's a glory more divineThan the jingle of the guinea with the baby's hand in mine!
O, it's nice enough,—the money,—When the weather's fierce and blueAnd the blankets of its comfortCome and warm the heart of you!But it soon demands the minutesEvery hour and day and week,With the gall of angry despotAnd a most unmeasured cheek;So I'm reconciled to leave it and its tyrannies resignFor the ways of love and laughter with the baby's hand in mine!
For the jingle of the dollarsSoon disturbs the dearest dreamsWith the thunders of their madnessAnd the rumble of their schemes,Till the heart and brain are wearyAnd the revel of their roarDrive away the mirth and musicFrom the longings evermore!But the skies above are bluest and the heavens all a-shineWith the faces of the angels when the baby's hand in mine!
Mister Midas, take your millionsAnd the glitter of your gold!Life has treasures where the heart isThat have never yet been told!There are sweeter things to cherish,There's song of earth and sky,That are only faintest whispersOf the raptures bye and bye!You have little that I value! Let for me the roses twineWith the laughter of the lovers and the baby's hand in mine!
The prophets only dared to preach what other men felt but chose to conceal.
The Devil is only the personification of the evil things which men find in their own souls for conquering.
Courage is so rare in the presence of priest-craft that when it once speaks it fashions creeds for all the centuries.
A Christian hand achieves more blessings than a religious heart.
If virtue were as expensive as vice, we would all be malefactors.
It takes plenty of grit to keep a proper edge on the tools of success.
There is always a hole for the fellow that wants out, if he is dirty enough to crawl or dig.
What matters it if the peaches are killed and the wheat crop proves a failure! The water-melon crop is still ahead of us, and a heaven of joy in every ruddy heart!
Ah, Love is no phantom,Love's never a dream!One hour in her kingdomIs life all supreme!And ever and everThe scepter she swingsFor hearts that are happyWith laughter that sings!And Song is her sisterThat makes for the feetAll the carpets of rosesAnd blossoms so sweet!With hands linked togetherThey wander the ways!How joyous their kissesFor grief-laden days!
Ah, Love is no phantom,Love's never a dream!One hour in her kingdomIs life all supreme!And ever and everThe scepter she swingsFor hearts that are happyWith laughter that sings!
And Song is her sisterThat makes for the feetAll the carpets of rosesAnd blossoms so sweet!
With hands linked togetherThey wander the ways!How joyous their kissesFor grief-laden days!
The race is not to the swift but to the fellow who starts the night before.
Money not only makes the mare go, but it saves you from standing in line at the land-office.
A journey made before the proclamation is issued is a valuable experience and saves much perjury afterwards.
We'll all go to the Promised Land at the time of the big opening; and God grant that we get a filing on a fine claim and no contest.
There is no use in trying to sooner past St. Peter. Have your booth certificate properly signed and ready for inspection or he won't put your name down on the books.
Don't expect to hold down a claim in the New Jerusalem unless you live on it. This thing of using two poles and a hole in the ground for a homestead residence, won't work when you make your final proof.
Clouds are found where the most flowers bloom: only the desert is a land of clear skies.
War may be a gentleman's game, but the Devil usually wins the most stakes before it breaks up.
All the griefs and tears of the world would cease if Love could only have her way for a very little while.
God bless the man who hallowed April First!(Or was it, after all, some saintly woman?)May countless barrels of honors brimming burstAcross the realms he rules so super-human!A wondrous person he in every partWith true affection filling all his heart!For 'tis but proper that one holy dayFrom all the hundreds should be consecrated,While Nature triumphs over Arts' displayAnd Life's dear memories are celebrated:This day is ours! Behold, no master rules!We all are equals in the Realm of Fools!The Cap and Bells to active work awake,All dressed in motley garbs for their appearing,With no disguises for the parts we take,Forgetful of the maskings so endearing;And we, the fools before we posed as men,In common claim our heritage again!E'en every dog, they tell us, has his day,On which fond fortune comes and cheers and blesses;And as the years roll on their endless way,This one and that go by with soft caresses,—How proper, then, that one day from the throngShould unto Us and all the Fools belong!There are no wise men to contest our claim,—This day is ours,—is ours without disputing!Who boasts his wisdom bows his head in shameAnd knows his folly ere it goes to fruiting;The truth we speak! Today we proudly know it,And in the open to each other show it!We meet as equals once for all the year!The wise and foolish shout with kindred laughter;No greater and no smaller fools appear,And Folly flouts the dullard calling after!No tryant reigns! No hoary falsehood wavesImperial scepters over willing slaves!Then doff the fetters and discard the chains!Today is ours and let us be rejoicing!Forget the wise men and their soggy brainsWhile we our native follies now are voicing!We all are fools! Let all the Fools unmask!One great inheritance is all we ask!
God bless the man who hallowed April First!(Or was it, after all, some saintly woman?)May countless barrels of honors brimming burstAcross the realms he rules so super-human!A wondrous person he in every partWith true affection filling all his heart!
For 'tis but proper that one holy dayFrom all the hundreds should be consecrated,While Nature triumphs over Arts' displayAnd Life's dear memories are celebrated:This day is ours! Behold, no master rules!We all are equals in the Realm of Fools!
The Cap and Bells to active work awake,All dressed in motley garbs for their appearing,With no disguises for the parts we take,Forgetful of the maskings so endearing;And we, the fools before we posed as men,In common claim our heritage again!
E'en every dog, they tell us, has his day,On which fond fortune comes and cheers and blesses;And as the years roll on their endless way,This one and that go by with soft caresses,—How proper, then, that one day from the throngShould unto Us and all the Fools belong!
There are no wise men to contest our claim,—This day is ours,—is ours without disputing!Who boasts his wisdom bows his head in shameAnd knows his folly ere it goes to fruiting;The truth we speak! Today we proudly know it,And in the open to each other show it!We meet as equals once for all the year!The wise and foolish shout with kindred laughter;No greater and no smaller fools appear,And Folly flouts the dullard calling after!No tryant reigns! No hoary falsehood wavesImperial scepters over willing slaves!
Then doff the fetters and discard the chains!Today is ours and let us be rejoicing!Forget the wise men and their soggy brainsWhile we our native follies now are voicing!We all are fools! Let all the Fools unmask!One great inheritance is all we ask!
Some men throw a dollar in the contribution box and immediately figure compound interest on it at two per cent per month.
A cloud of white in the orchardAnd blossoms fair in the sun,When love comes by in the morningAnd sings till the day is done!A cloud of white in the orchard!O, branches hung with the bloomAt touch of her fairy fingersAnd breath of her sweet perfume!A cloud of white in the orchardAnd skies with their deeps of blue,And songs of the purple morningThat come at the thoughts of you!A cloud of white in the orchard,Where Love and her feet has run,Where you came by in the morningAnd stayed till the set of sun!O, cloud of white in the orchardAnd days with the skies of blue!And songs that were sweet with laughterAnd sang with the lips of you!The white is there in the orchard,The blossoms break as of yore,But silent the song and the laughterFor you will return no more!
A cloud of white in the orchardAnd blossoms fair in the sun,When love comes by in the morningAnd sings till the day is done!
A cloud of white in the orchard!O, branches hung with the bloomAt touch of her fairy fingersAnd breath of her sweet perfume!
A cloud of white in the orchardAnd skies with their deeps of blue,And songs of the purple morningThat come at the thoughts of you!
A cloud of white in the orchard,Where Love and her feet has run,Where you came by in the morningAnd stayed till the set of sun!
O, cloud of white in the orchardAnd days with the skies of blue!And songs that were sweet with laughterAnd sang with the lips of you!
The white is there in the orchard,The blossoms break as of yore,But silent the song and the laughterFor you will return no more!
Sunshine or shadow,Righteousness or wrong,Here we pluck a blossom,There we sing a song;Whether morn or even,Whether noon or night,Stars are there above usWith their love and light!Sunshine or shadow!Through the changing years,There is love and laughter,There is toil and tears!But the stars above usBlossom in the blue,And the days are singingThrough the lips of you!
Sunshine or shadow,Righteousness or wrong,Here we pluck a blossom,There we sing a song;Whether morn or even,Whether noon or night,Stars are there above usWith their love and light!
Sunshine or shadow!Through the changing years,There is love and laughter,There is toil and tears!But the stars above usBlossom in the blue,And the days are singingThrough the lips of you!
The great souls of human history have come from the deserts and the waste places of the earth to wield the sword and to hold the scepter, to sing the great song andprophesyof holiness and peace. Solitude is the true mother of dauntless men, and from her divine ministrations they walk forth to lead and conquer and make new epochs in the history of the race.
Day-dreams and night-dreams,—All the dreams you will;Black dreams and bright dreamsUp and down the hill!What if nights are gloomy?What if days are sad?Life is always bloomyWith the roses glad!Day-dreams and night-dreams,—All the dreams you will;Love is there with kissesThrough the good and ill!Love is there with musicAnd her heart so true,And amid the shadowsStill the eyes of you!
Day-dreams and night-dreams,—All the dreams you will;Black dreams and bright dreamsUp and down the hill!What if nights are gloomy?What if days are sad?Life is always bloomyWith the roses glad!
Day-dreams and night-dreams,—All the dreams you will;Love is there with kissesThrough the good and ill!Love is there with musicAnd her heart so true,And amid the shadowsStill the eyes of you!
Back-bone is the chief ingredient in the hash mixture of greatness.
There may be plenty of room at the top, but it's a mighty cold place to spend the winter.
Love never has time to spare from joy while she demands or listens to explanations of a fault.
"Let the meeting be in order!" said the chairman, looking wise;(And a mountain lion was he of the most enormous size!)"There is business of importance to consider; for they sayThat a danger swift and sudden on a special comes this way;I can feel it in my whiskers, and I hear it in the air:Mister Teddy's gone a-huntin' and is loaded up for bear!"Then old Bruin rose: "This Terror has no pets among the brutes,And the first thing in his path-way is the first thing that he shoots!Even cotton-tails" (The rabbits in their burrows flattened out!)"Have no promises of safety when he wanders hereabout;From the grizzly to the chip-munk it is well to have a care;Mister Teddy's gone a-huntin' and he's loaded up for bear!"Then up rose the wolf in wisdom: "I am sure that Bruin's right,And this Mister Man with Big Teeth slaughters every thing in sight!Why, they say he wears a slicker and sleeps close beside his nagOn the pommel of his saddle in a mammoth sleeping-bag!We must watch him mighty careful or a common fate we share;—Mister Teddy's on a huntin' trip and loaded up for bear!""Mister Chairman!" Said the Old Deer with broad antlers great and strong,"I have roamed the woods and prairies and endured the dangers long,I've escaped the hunter's rifle, I've survived the winter's coldAnd the summer's heat undaunted, with a courage brave and bold;But my coward legs now tremble, even I the panic share:Mister Teddy's on a-huntin' trip and loaded up for bear!""Mister Chairman!" cried the Woodchuck in a voice, defiant, shrill,"By what right does Mister Big Teeth come to slaughter us and kill?Is not he our chosen ruler, sworn to keep the law intact,And to serve his faithful subjects with his every thought and act?Let us fight if he would slay us! Turn about is only fair,When he comes around a-huntin' and is loaded up for bear!""Treason! Treason!" cried the rabbits; "Treason! Treason!" shouted they;"If he wants to come and hunt us, he must have his bloody way!It would be the direst folly for the timid, helpless onesTo combat the deadly bullets of his thunder-spitting guns!There's a better way to foil him,—'tis a way beyond compare,When our Teddy's on a-huntin' trip and loaded up for bear!""Resolved by all the animals through all the South and West,When Mister Roosevelt comes along we'll take a quiet rest!We'll stay at home delightedly and all his dogs and gunsWill never find us where we dwell with wives and little ones!Every rabbit in his burrow and each lion to his lair,When this Teddy comes a-huntin' and all loaded up for bear!"They voted "aye" unanimous; and fast and far they hiedO'er dale and desert, wood and plain, each to his ingle-side!They hid themselves so closely that no hunter cared to roamWhere these the timid subjects each had fashioned him a home!They were too wise for Teddy and they still life's blessings share,Though Teddy went a-huntin' them all loaded up for bear!
"Let the meeting be in order!" said the chairman, looking wise;(And a mountain lion was he of the most enormous size!)"There is business of importance to consider; for they sayThat a danger swift and sudden on a special comes this way;I can feel it in my whiskers, and I hear it in the air:Mister Teddy's gone a-huntin' and is loaded up for bear!"
Then old Bruin rose: "This Terror has no pets among the brutes,And the first thing in his path-way is the first thing that he shoots!Even cotton-tails" (The rabbits in their burrows flattened out!)"Have no promises of safety when he wanders hereabout;From the grizzly to the chip-munk it is well to have a care;Mister Teddy's gone a-huntin' and he's loaded up for bear!"
Then up rose the wolf in wisdom: "I am sure that Bruin's right,And this Mister Man with Big Teeth slaughters every thing in sight!Why, they say he wears a slicker and sleeps close beside his nagOn the pommel of his saddle in a mammoth sleeping-bag!We must watch him mighty careful or a common fate we share;—Mister Teddy's on a huntin' trip and loaded up for bear!"
"Mister Chairman!" Said the Old Deer with broad antlers great and strong,"I have roamed the woods and prairies and endured the dangers long,I've escaped the hunter's rifle, I've survived the winter's coldAnd the summer's heat undaunted, with a courage brave and bold;But my coward legs now tremble, even I the panic share:Mister Teddy's on a-huntin' trip and loaded up for bear!"
"Mister Chairman!" cried the Woodchuck in a voice, defiant, shrill,"By what right does Mister Big Teeth come to slaughter us and kill?Is not he our chosen ruler, sworn to keep the law intact,And to serve his faithful subjects with his every thought and act?Let us fight if he would slay us! Turn about is only fair,When he comes around a-huntin' and is loaded up for bear!"
"Treason! Treason!" cried the rabbits; "Treason! Treason!" shouted they;"If he wants to come and hunt us, he must have his bloody way!It would be the direst folly for the timid, helpless onesTo combat the deadly bullets of his thunder-spitting guns!There's a better way to foil him,—'tis a way beyond compare,When our Teddy's on a-huntin' trip and loaded up for bear!"
"Resolved by all the animals through all the South and West,When Mister Roosevelt comes along we'll take a quiet rest!We'll stay at home delightedly and all his dogs and gunsWill never find us where we dwell with wives and little ones!Every rabbit in his burrow and each lion to his lair,When this Teddy comes a-huntin' and all loaded up for bear!"
They voted "aye" unanimous; and fast and far they hiedO'er dale and desert, wood and plain, each to his ingle-side!They hid themselves so closely that no hunter cared to roamWhere these the timid subjects each had fashioned him a home!They were too wise for Teddy and they still life's blessings share,Though Teddy went a-huntin' them all loaded up for bear!
Blood tells when it comes to annuities and allotments.
God made the country, but it never fruited till the boomer boomed it.
The greatest heroes of the world are not those extolled in song or glorified with monuments and statues. They are the undiscovered ones who in tears and darkness lived their uttermost for the accomplishments of lofty purposes and failed utterly just before the triumph came.
All town-sites look alike on the map.
A claim in the run is worth two in the lottery.
One contest beats a fire, and two are worse than a ship-wreck.
A stake on a home-stead is more valuable than a palace on an Indian allotment.
As smoke to the eyes and vinegar to the teeth, so is a contest to the poor man seeking a home.
Eloquent sermons never saved a sin-sick soul.
Hate would narrow heaven to a one man's closet.
Charity is the first lesson in the school of righteousness.
The religion that feeds only the heart can never hope to save hungry souls.
If you shake hands with sin as you leave it, you will find it at the station to meet you when the train stops.
The budding treesPerfume the breezeWith breath of blossomed mysteries,And soft winds playBy grassy wayThrough every laughing April day!Suns rosy riseThrough turquoise skies,And life looks out through tender eyes;While cloudlets liftThrough rent and rift,Where floating islands drive and drift.Clear waters singFrom stream and spring,With music in their murmuring,And where they drip,With thirsty sipA lonely violet lifts its lip.The balmy croonsOf tender tunesSing through the drowsy afternoons,And faint perfumesOf bursting bloomsHaunt all the aisles of dying glooms!And dreams ariseOf perfect skiesAnd all the worlds of prophets wise,And tender handsWhose fond commandsLead fast and far through Love's sweet lands.And bending lowWe fondly knowThe love-songs of the Long Ago,So sweet and fairWith raptures rare,And lips of welcome waiting there.O, fields afar,Whose echoes areSoft whispers flung from sun and star,Still faint and dimI hear your hymnAcross the wide horizon's rim!
The budding treesPerfume the breezeWith breath of blossomed mysteries,And soft winds playBy grassy wayThrough every laughing April day!
Suns rosy riseThrough turquoise skies,And life looks out through tender eyes;While cloudlets liftThrough rent and rift,Where floating islands drive and drift.
Clear waters singFrom stream and spring,With music in their murmuring,And where they drip,With thirsty sipA lonely violet lifts its lip.
The balmy croonsOf tender tunesSing through the drowsy afternoons,And faint perfumesOf bursting bloomsHaunt all the aisles of dying glooms!
And dreams ariseOf perfect skiesAnd all the worlds of prophets wise,And tender handsWhose fond commandsLead fast and far through Love's sweet lands.
And bending lowWe fondly knowThe love-songs of the Long Ago,So sweet and fairWith raptures rare,And lips of welcome waiting there.
O, fields afar,Whose echoes areSoft whispers flung from sun and star,Still faint and dimI hear your hymnAcross the wide horizon's rim!
Drowning men were never rescued by eloquent preachers who stand on the shore and shout at them how to swim.
The church that brings shadows to this world hangs no sunshine o'er the portals of the next.
The noblest ambition of good men is to pluck the thorns from among the roses of upright living.
(John D. Rockefeller has recently offered the Congregational Missionary Society $100,000; after much discussion, they have decided to take the money.)
It must be very tryingWhen the wicked millionairesDesire to trade the pulpitsDirty dollars for their prayers;But I miss the shame, you see,And am happy as can be,For John D.Rockyfeller heHain't a-throwin' any of his awful coin at me!Of course, if some rich sinnerShould attempt to subsidize,I certainly would see, sir,If I dared accept the prize;But I worry none, you see,And my fancies all are free,For John D.Rockyfeller heHain't expressed a notion to be subsidizin' me!But I—I have the promise,—You may spread the joyous news—I get whatever millionsThat the churches may refuse;But I know still poor I'll beAnd from dirty dollars free,For John D.Rockyfeller heWill never have occasion to pass on the coin to me!
It must be very tryingWhen the wicked millionairesDesire to trade the pulpitsDirty dollars for their prayers;But I miss the shame, you see,And am happy as can be,For John D.Rockyfeller heHain't a-throwin' any of his awful coin at me!Of course, if some rich sinnerShould attempt to subsidize,I certainly would see, sir,If I dared accept the prize;But I worry none, you see,And my fancies all are free,For John D.Rockyfeller heHain't expressed a notion to be subsidizin' me!
But I—I have the promise,—You may spread the joyous news—I get whatever millionsThat the churches may refuse;But I know still poor I'll beAnd from dirty dollars free,For John D.Rockyfeller heWill never have occasion to pass on the coin to me!
It's all too lonely for speech,Too drear for a swift remark;I only grope till I faintly reachYour finger-tips in the dark.But there in the darkness nearWhere the shadows clutch and cling,Above the plash of the bitter tear,A song and the lips that sing!
It's all too lonely for speech,Too drear for a swift remark;I only grope till I faintly reachYour finger-tips in the dark.
But there in the darkness nearWhere the shadows clutch and cling,Above the plash of the bitter tear,A song and the lips that sing!
Poor cooks make rich undertakers.
Self confidence is the sharpest weapon in life's fierce battles.
It is our own infirmities that lead us to suspect infirmities in our fellows.
Because it is hard for a rich man to enter the kingdom may account for the wives of so many owning all the property.
They tell us that the good old playWe call the game of life,Is fair no more, and every dayLeads on to more of strife;The cards are marked, the hands are stuffed,The players bunco feel,And graft has all the goodness bluffedTill Teddy squares the deal!The gamblers who have won the stakesBy shady ways of wrongWill find of dough their biggest cakesAnd sing another song;The loaded dice so used of yore,The marks that help the steal,Will disappear forever moreWhen Teddy squares the deal.Then honest men will have a chanceTo play an even game,And thrift and virtue swift advanceTo happiness and fame;No more will robbers ply their trade,Nor shout the tin-horn's spiel;The world will call a spade a spadeWhen Teddy squares the deal!
They tell us that the good old playWe call the game of life,Is fair no more, and every dayLeads on to more of strife;The cards are marked, the hands are stuffed,The players bunco feel,And graft has all the goodness bluffedTill Teddy squares the deal!
The gamblers who have won the stakesBy shady ways of wrongWill find of dough their biggest cakesAnd sing another song;The loaded dice so used of yore,The marks that help the steal,Will disappear forever moreWhen Teddy squares the deal.
Then honest men will have a chanceTo play an even game,And thrift and virtue swift advanceTo happiness and fame;No more will robbers ply their trade,Nor shout the tin-horn's spiel;The world will call a spade a spadeWhen Teddy squares the deal!
He'll slay the "bear", he'll rope the "bull,"He'll make the brokers stare;He'll fill the jails with robbers full,And teach them to beware;He'll fill the rich man full of painsAndmillionairesshall reel,While poor men prosper in their gains,When Teddy squares the deal.I think that life will be worth whileWhen force and fraud no moreConfederate with smirk and smileTo grab the people's store;Get in the game! The laws will ceaseTo help the robbers steal,And all the land will live in peaceWhen Teddy squares the deal!
He'll slay the "bear", he'll rope the "bull,"He'll make the brokers stare;He'll fill the jails with robbers full,And teach them to beware;He'll fill the rich man full of painsAndmillionairesshall reel,While poor men prosper in their gains,When Teddy squares the deal.
I think that life will be worth whileWhen force and fraud no moreConfederate with smirk and smileTo grab the people's store;Get in the game! The laws will ceaseTo help the robbers steal,And all the land will live in peaceWhen Teddy squares the deal!
When Sorrow stops and hails you,Your pleasures to destroy,Just tell him, "Something ails you!I've got a date with Joy!""The roads are good for travel,—You'd better go away;Just hit the flying gravel,For Joy is here today!"
When Sorrow stops and hails you,Your pleasures to destroy,Just tell him, "Something ails you!I've got a date with Joy!"
"The roads are good for travel,—You'd better go away;Just hit the flying gravel,For Joy is here today!"
The Gods of Life to the Man-Child creptTheywhispered low as the Man-Child slept,—The God of Love and the God of Hate,And the God of the Glories Three;And smiles and frowns wove the Man-Child's fateIn a crown that was sad to see!
The Gods of Life to the Man-Child creptTheywhispered low as the Man-Child slept,—The God of Love and the God of Hate,And the God of the Glories Three;And smiles and frowns wove the Man-Child's fateIn a crown that was sad to see!
"Come worship me!" said the God of Love,"And life shall equal the realms above;My cheeks are ruddy and white in turn,—And my lips are as red as wine,And Grief ne'er comes where the pleasures burnAnd the joys that are slaves of mine!"
"Come worship me!" said the God of Love,"And life shall equal the realms above;My cheeks are ruddy and white in turn,—And my lips are as red as wine,And Grief ne'er comes where the pleasures burnAnd the joys that are slaves of mine!"
"Come worship me!" said the God of Hate;"Revenge is sweetest of faith and fate!To conquer foes that revile and leerWith the scorn of the fiends of hell,Is work that brings to the soul good cheerAnd is worthy of doing well!"
"Come worship me!" said the God of Hate;"Revenge is sweetest of faith and fate!To conquer foes that revile and leerWith the scorn of the fiends of hell,Is work that brings to the soul good cheerAnd is worthy of doing well!"
"There is no worship like that of me!"Cried long the God of the Glories Three;"I have no love and I have no hate,But the Power and Wealth and Fame;The crowns I hold are the crowns of stateAnd of gold and the world's acclaim!"
"There is no worship like that of me!"Cried long the God of the Glories Three;"I have no love and I have no hate,But the Power and Wealth and Fame;The crowns I hold are the crowns of stateAnd of gold and the world's acclaim!"
The Man-Child woke from the world old dream,And launched his boat on the tossing stream;A God he sought that was none of these,But a greater and sweeter far,And question made of the rain and breeze,And the blossom and blazing star!
The Man-Child woke from the world old dream,And launched his boat on the tossing stream;A God he sought that was none of these,But a greater and sweeter far,And question made of the rain and breeze,And the blossom and blazing star!