V.

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!



The Defeated.

Not he who loses but who fails to fight, In God's long years reaps harvestings of blame; Not he the blind but who destroys the sight Receives the curses of the ages' blame!



See the Side-Show.

When you visit at the circus And behold the steeds bedight, And the hoops and rings and races And the clowns that make delight,— You will miss the happy touches That complete your broadest grin If you see the main performance And 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 performance And 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 spangles All to please the boy in you; But the raptures of your gladness Nothing can completely win, If you see the main performance And don't take the side-show in.

Life is something of a circus: It has half a hundred rings Where its jumbled aggregation Earth's attractions to you brings; But they leave the heart still heavy As it stirs with stress and din, If you see the main performance And don't take the side-show in!



Voting Around.

"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'!"



Little Sermons.

Religion is too often what the other fellow ought to 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.



Love Brings the Song.

What if there's trouble And what if there's wrong? God sends the sunshine And Love brings the song!

What if you stumble When racing it strong? Love will uplift you, For Love brings the song!

Bury your troubles, And life will be long: God sends the sunshine And Love brings the song!



Mistah Cotton.

Mistah Cotton come toh me In 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 catch En 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 shine Wid de rows ob white!

Mistah Cotton, doan't yuh t'ink Yuh 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 spread Dat 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.



Hear the Song.

I

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, There is 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 cheerful And you'll hear the Song!

II.

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 weary As you go along; Climb the path-ways to the hill-tops, And you'll hear the Song!

III.

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 strife And 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!



Caught on the Fly.

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."

When canderdates git after Pa, Set up seegars, an' tell him flat How big a man he is, and Ma How good she cooks, an' all of that, I slip aroun' an' let 'em know I'm something on the homestead, too, Fer onct upon a time or so They'll hand a nickel out fer you!

When they come here, it's mighty fine! Pa stops the team, an' work we quit An' them there fellere stays to dine An' talk the day-lights outen it! They tell us how the gover'ment Is goin' on, an' quote the law An' 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 arm Gits 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 up He sends me out to feed the shoats, An' then they drink with nary cup An' talk about the township votes; An' after they git gone, Pa he Has got a breath that's orful raw; But I tell you it's nuts to me When canderdates git after Pa!



Don't Worry.

O, brother, don't you worry,— Don't you sob or sigh; Just soak yourself with sunshine And let the world go by! What matters all, my brother. The world may do or say? For you and I outlive the sky And it lives but a day!

* * * * *

Keep at work, my brother; Keep at work I say! There's not a cosy corner For lazy ones that play; And as through life you labor And gladly jog along, Just soak yourself with sunshine And fill your heart with song!



Little Sermons.

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."

"The Lord is good to me!" he said, As on his bended knees he knelt Above his meager crust of bread And voiced the gratitude he felt; And from his supplications, he Arose with strength renewed to face The pinchings of his poverty, The sorrows of his humble place.

"The Lord is good to me!" she prayed Above her sleeping babe at rest, While smiles of exaltation played Across her features, care oppressed; And from the crib of anguish where The fever-wasted baby slept She happy slipped away from care And all the anxious tears she wept.

"The Lord is good to me!" he cried 'Mid life's wild wreck as close he grasped The scattered fragments to his side Of millions lost that once he clasped: And with a peace and thankfulness He never knew when Fortune smiled, He put behind him all distress And laughed as lightly as a child.

"The Lord is good to me!" How slight The gifts of God we grateful bless, While countless treasures of delight Escape the praise of thankfulness! Through days of sunshine and of rain, Through nights of griefs and rhapsody, How I forget with high disdain How much the Lord is good to me!



Caught on the Fly.

In these days of beef trust domination, every man is known by the breakfast food he eats.

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.



A Doubtful Voter.

"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!"



Another Vintage.

"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!"



Providence Takes Care of his Own.

"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!"



Forgotten.

He conquered all the foes that bannered wrong; He strove with might and did heroic deeds; Yet nameless he; for to his lofty meeds None wrought the immortality of song.



Give Us More.

No matter how the world may go, How high it heaps our store, For all the joys that banish woe We 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!"



In Yearning Mood.

I.

Turn back, O Time, to where the young years rove And smile with rosy lips and sing through joyous days; The dull feet grow so heavy, and so far the ways They wander from my love!

II.

It was not this world where the dancing feet Kept 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.

III.

It was not this world where our glad lips clung, And close between the long-drawn kisses fondly told Of dreams revealed not and of ecstasies that rolled From glad hearts always young!

IV.

The dream-face beckons yonder,—beckons o'er The 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!

V.

Turn turn, O, Time, and lead with thy hard hands Me like a child back where two young hearts fondly met: A music laughs there always, and beyond the dim eyes wet Love rules her perfect lands!



On the Road to Riches.

"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 do The 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."

When troubles come, my honey, And sorrows dark the sky, We'll seek the cave of faithful love And watch the clouds go by; A refuge safe, my honey, From all the storm and strife, Where joy shall keep the strong heart young Through all the cares of life. Then come with me, my honey; What though the wild winds blow? With hand and heart true love shall keep Us safe through weal and woe! The storm-clouds dark, my honey, May fret the deep blue sky, But love shall keep us smiling still Of bright days by and by!



Be Patient.

Don't you lose your stock of patience When the world seems going wrong; It was here before you found it With its happiness and song; And it's altogether likely That it's pretty sure to stay With its music and its blossoms After you have gone away.

And no matter how you labor Smoothing down the rocky way, On the paths where men shall wander It is likely stones will stay. Here and there the little pebbles You may banish one by one, But the mountains rise forever And your work is never done.

Don't despair! What use to worry When the load you have to leave? Other hands and hearts will follow And the heavy task receive; Do your own part to the limit! Give it all the strength you can, And as sure as God is ruling He will crown you all a Man!

Step by step the world advances Up the long and slippery slope; Step by step it slow upwanders Through the valleys of its hope; Leave the tasks that rise beyond you! Do the little deeds you can, And the millions coming after Shall 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.



To the Light.

I.

To the Light! To the Light! Let us climb to the Star That is swinging above where the benisons are, Till we rest in the meadows where blossom above All the daisies of Peace and the roses of Love!

II.

From the dim and the dusk of the blood-sprinkled years, How the nations have toiled from the valleys of tears,— How the races have groped through the shadows of Wrong To the gladness of Joy and the music of Song!

III.

And the Man with the Race, how he leaps from the woe Of the battle fields dead and the sorrows they know,— How he gathers his tents from the dark of the night Till he finds a sweet home in the gardens of light!

IV.

Oh, the thousands that fell by the mountains and stream Where the men of the past spilt their blood for a dream! How the feet, ever striving, slow stepped from the past Till they found the sweet music of rapture at last!

V.

To the Light! To the Light! Yonder still shines the Star That is waiting for us where the benisons are, And there in the meadows that blossom above We shall gather in peace all the roses of Love!



Little Sermons.

Some people do all they can to make others uncomfortable, and call it their religion.

The love which is so superfine that it can't find a place for its home in this world is entirely too good for a hearty welcome in the next one.

The reason why the preachers don't have larger congregations must be on account of their not wanting to call the sinners but the righteous to repentance, and there is always plenty of room.



In the Light.

Keep in the sunshine, brother! Walk in the golden light; The shadows are over yonder, And there is the night, the Night!

Keep in the sunshine, brother! It gleams on the grayest slope, It smiles with the lips of pleasure, And laughs with the lips of hope.

Keep in the sunshine, brother! It gladdens the world with light; The shadows are over yonder, And there is the night, the Night!



Little Sermons.

However we may measure it, the heart of the world is always greatly bigger than its head.

Love will stir the heart into laughter when all the gold of Ophir only brings a snow-storm to life's roses.

That work is only worthy which adds something to the store of things that contribute multiplied joys to the lives of men.

God loves a mute but kindly tongue six days in the week more than a yawping mouth of prayer on the seventh day.



Wanted to Hide.

"What art thou, miserable creature!" shouted Pluto in a great rage as he beheld a shrinking, cowering form, hiding away in the deepest shadows.

"Pardon me, O, god of the realm of darkness," implored the miserable shade. "I am an ante-election prophecy, and am only trying to hide myself away and be forgotten forever more!"

"Poor thing, go and sin no more!" replied the king of shadows with a great pity in his voice. "Thy punishment is, indeed, deserved!" And he strode away to stir up the animals in another quarter of his dominions.



Little Sermons.

The thankfulness of some people stops in saying grace at the table before meals.

It isn't always the front seats that are occupied by His humblest children, when the collection plate gets busy.

The religion that is so brief as to last only a few hours on Sunday can be at home in a place too warm to cut ice in the great hereafter.



The Sunshine Song.

I.

It's no matter what your sorrows, they will vanish sure and soon If you'll only use your whistle on the sunshine's golden tune; And no matter what the weather nor how the troubles throng, If you practice on the music of the sunshine's happy song.

II.

What's the use to pout and pester when the joy-bells cease to chime? Sweet the daisies fill the meadow and they blossom all the time! Keep your heart heaped up with gladness and a faith that's full and strong. And through all the ways of winter sing the blessed sunshine song!

III.

If the mountain path is steeper than your easy fancies thought, Keep on climbing for the summits and the glories that you sought; And if winter comes and pelts you with the snows that crowd along, Lift your heart and feet together to the sunshine's golden song.

IV.

Over yonder bloom the lilies and the roses and the life; What shall matter all the brambles and the underbrush of strife? Don't you bear the angel carols rising o'er the cries of wrong? Ope your heart and fill to bursting with the sunshine's blessed song!

V.

O, my brother, don't you worry! Up and down this world we go Where the summer brings the blossoms and the winter brings the snow; But it's spring the wide world over as through life we push along If the heart is full of music and we sing the sunshine song!



Little Sermons.

In a glad smile from a clean heart there was never room for evil to find a place to plant a suggestion of wrong doing.

It may be wrong for some folks to dance, but the devil would rather have some people talk about their neighbors a minute than to dance a whole week. They can do so much better job at it.



The Lights of Home.

I.

Heave ho the anchor, laddies! The ocean rolls before; We'll climb the waves undaunted and search the far off shore; We'll breast the angry breakers that on the beaches comb And sail, ah, sail, my hearties, for harbor-lights of home!

II.

'Tis far the ships have drifted across the booming seas; 'Tis far our sails have darkened with toils and agonies; 'Tis far that youth has wandered where life's deep sorrows come But ho, my lads, we're sailing for harbor-lights of home!

III.

Beyond the raging tempest, beyond the waves that roar, There waits the peaceful harbor and lights upon the shore; And when the voyage ceases, beyond the farthest foam We'll anchor there forever 'neath habor-lights of home!

IV

Then weigh the anchor, laddies! The ship of life shall sail Once more to youth's glad mornings and joys that never fail; No matter how the weather, how far the course may roam, There always shines a welcome in harbor-lights of home!



Caught on the Fly.

Life is a great university, but it offers no post-graduate course for its pupils.

Prejudice plays the fool, when mere lack of sense would be the highest wisdom.

Too many people forsake praising God for the pleasures they have in order to pray for trouble they haven't.

However you may shape things up, there is more down fool prejudice about politics than anything else in this world except Mormonism and religion.

One of the strangest things in the economies of this world is that the poor people who need money never have it and the rich people who don't need it have more than they can use.



"When the Campaign Liar Quits."

When the hurrah days are over And the ballots all are cast, There's perchance a tinge of sadness, Over glories that are past; But we have our compensations; For no matter how it flits There's a joy that beats unbounded When the campaign liar quits!

While the red fire and the rockets Fill the skies with rosy glare, There's a kind of inspiration In the shouts and music there; But we pass it up with gladness And contentment on us sits, When the ballots all are counted And the campaign liar quits!

He is trained in facts and figures, He's a prodigy, in sooth; He can tell the smoothest story, But he shies away from truth; So we gladly lose the glory, (It was never worth two bits!) When the ballots all are counted And the campaign liar quits!

So, no matter how it ended! Whether your men lost or mine. We can shake hands all together O'er this recompense divine; For we have a joy that pleases,— That exalts our blessed wits; And we know when all is over That the campaign liar quits!



Thank the Lord for Work.

Never pray for idle hours,— Never try to shrink; But with all your honest powers Thank the Lord for work! Labor brings the pleasures high And the joys that thrive,— Where men laugh and where men cry, Dearest thing alive!

Thank the Lord for strength to toil,— Thank him day by day,— Son of sky or son of soil On life's vagrant way.

With a soul that fearless grows And a good arm strong, Joyously the glad heart goes Up the world of song!



There was a young lady from Beaver Who feared that her fellow would leave her; So she popped to her beau; But he answered her "Neau"! And she called him a heartless deceiver!



"Sing a Song of Sunshine."

Sing a song of sunshine! Life is full of bliss; 'Nother over yonder Just as good as this; When the trouble's over, And the waiting long, We will sing the music Of the sunshine song!



Mighty Lonesome.

"Things am might loneseme erroun' de cabin now," said old Black Mose. "'Lection is ober, en de candahdates am all quit runnin' so suddenly dat nary one ob em's bin hyar fer two whole days, en de chilluns am all outen side-meat!"



Caught on the Fly.

Merit generally wins, but sometimes it is the doped horse in the swift race.

The fellow who starts out to do the greatest good to the greatest number, generally concludes that the greatest number is No. 1.

Amid the thunder and the crash of worlds, the chief question after all is how to get the most bread and butter with the least hard work.



Better Hide Out.

Mockin' bird up yander, Singin' in de trees, Clean fohgit it's wintah, An' de time toh fieeze! Bettah hide out, Mistah, 'Foh yuh stahve to def! Wintah's gwine toh git yuh Foh yub ketch yoh bref!



Though the world of care and the griefs that cry May burden the years with a sob and sigh, Yet with one true heart and a hand that stays There's a rose for the snows of the wintry days!



Caught on the Fly.

A little laughter, a little love and something of tears, and then the curtain falls on the great drama of this life.

No doubt, Adam had many bad habits, but he never walked about with hands in his pockets until after Eve started the first tailor shop.

Some men's consciences are so worthless that if put up and sold to the highest bidder, the auctioneer would have to call off the sale.



Thanksgiving Hymn.

Dear Lord, for all the joyous days Thy loving hands to us have told We thank thee humbly, and we praise Thy wondrous mercies manifold!

We thank thee for thy gifts of love, Thy blessed benisons of good, For all thy mercies born above, And every fond beatitude.

For all the blessings thou hast sent,— For paths that led us far from wrong,— For holy joys and sweet content, We praise thee with our hearts of song.

From thy rich treasuries above Thy freest bounties full have come To swell the laughters of our love Around the happy hearths of home.

The fields have borne abundant store; The roses and the lilies white Have crowned the prairies and the shore With raptures of their love and light.

The orchards bend with fruitage tall, And plenty rules from sea to sea, And at the Harvest Home we call, Dear Lord, in thankfulness to thee!

Through mingled ways of shine and shade Thou hast our foot-steps guided far, And all our pilgrimages made Glad journeys under sun and star.

Our sacrifice, O Lord, we bring! Thou hast sufficed for every need; Bless thou the meager offering Of vagrant heart, imperfect deed!

And be our Keeper through the night, And through the long years of our quest, Till thou shalt welcome to delight And lead us in the ways of rest!



Duly Thankful.

"Lawd, we am mighty thankful foh all dat we hab receibed fum thy bounteefu' han's!" prayed the reverent darkey; "en above all, we am thankful dat de sheriff nebber got erroun' to take de ole mule erway 'foh de cotton crop got tended to!"



"When Pa Puts Up the Stove."

'Long in the fall when it gits cold An' Ma takes on the shakes, Then Ma at Pa will talk an' scold, "The kids'll freeze, my sakes!" Then Pa he ties a aprun on An' mittens double wove, An' we kids know we'll have some fun When Pa puts up the stove!

He grabs the pipe he laid away There in the attic high, An' jumps aroun' jes' lively! Say, My Pa is orful spry! He dumps the soot upon the stairs, An' gits blacked like a cove, An' what he talks ain't sayin' prayers When Pa puts up the stove!

He cuts his fingers some, an' grows All black an' white in turn, An' that bald place his old head knows Gits red ernough to burn; An' when we laugh, he snaps his eyes No matter where we rove,— An' say! Ma gits so mad she cries When Pa puts up the stove!

An' Ma she jaws erround an says He hain't no sense, an' we Hide out behind the barn a-ways To miss the jamboree. I tell ye, fellers, they're a sight! No picnic ever throve Such as we have of love an' light When Pa puts up the stove!



His Platform.

"My opponents are running on various platforms," said the ambitious candidate, "but none of them promise you full relief from the evils that beset you. None of them reach down into your hearts and search out your wants and comprehend the good measures that will bring relief." And he paused for a moment, in order that the full import of his language might sink deep into the hearts of the mighty throng before him. "I favor," he continued, extending his right arm toward heaven in an impressive gesture: "I favor pensions for all the republicans, offices for all the democrats, free passes on the railroads for all the niggers, the whole earth for the socialists and the five oceans of water for the prohibitionists!"

And then the delighted crowd went wild with applause.



The Meal Ticket Man.

(Suggested by John Golobie's recent article, "The Apotheosis of the Meal Ticket Man")

Away with the heroes that litter the past! Tear the crown from the brow of each unworthy pate! We have come to the truth and its virtues at last, And our heroes are modern and quite up to date! Neither warrior nor prelate is praiseworthy now; Neither saint nor philosopher cumbers our plan; Let us gather the laurels and twine o'er the brow In a crown of delight for the Meal-Ticket Man!

Just search through the musty old mists of the years, For the men who have lifted the world to the stars! You will find it was never the sages or seers Who have healed human hearts from their terrible scars; They were those who from one vagrant week to the next In the garret or cellar lived life's little span, And whatever their thought or where ever their text, All the glory belongs to the Meal-Ticket Man.

What matter though seedy his hat and his coat. That his pantaloons bagged and were ragged and frayed? Still the world by its modern, unanimous vote Says it danced to the tune that his chin-music played! At the touch of his hand, at the thrill of his thought, It leaped on the paths where the greater truths ran, And though in the ways that were humble he wrought Yet it crowns him at last—the great Meal-Ticket Man!

Then hail to this hero of shadow and shine! Never doubt he's as great as the greatest in worth, And his greatness surpasses the greatness divine Of the sword and the miter that saddened the earth! From the poverty-ways where his fellows hard toil All the blessings arise that our sorrows shall ban; He's a hero, indeed! He's the king of the soil! Then a song and a crown for the Meal-Ticket Man!



Our Joe's at Home Agin.

Yaas, our Joe he run fer office: Said he'd try his hand a bit; Thet the kentry needed savin' An' he'd tinker some at it; But the 'lection now is over, An' our Joe he didn't win; But we're glad,—me an' his mother,— 'Cause our Joe is home agin!

Joe made quite a race fer sartin'! He's a pollytishun right, An' he's jest a bully feller At a foot-race er a fight; You jest ort ter hear his speeches! How they cheered with mighty din! But the 'lection now is over An' our Joe is home agin!

Spent two months a polly-tickin'; Workin' every day and night; Says its harder work then thrashin'; Beats rail-splittin' out o' sight! But to hear the brass-ban's playin' Nerves him up, he says, like sin; But we're glad,—me an' his mother,— 'Cause our Joe's at home agin!

Course we'd like our Joe elected, But it makes no diff'rence now; If the kentry needed savin' Guess she'll manage it somehow; Fer she's got to do without him, An' we're glad he didn't win; An we'll keep him,—me an' mother,— Sence our Joe's at home agin!



Caught on the Fly.

Nobody has to take a dog and gun and go out to hunt trouble. It generally calls you up by 'phone and says it's coming around for lunch.

"Politics makes strange bed-fellows," no doubt; but the candidate for office seldom goes to bed, and he manages to get along on very little sleep till the returns get in.

It may be doubted whether "the Devil takes care of his own" in every way, but we'll bet our old hat that he never allows them to get hard up for fire-wood in the winter season.



In the Shine.

I

As through the world we wander Through comforts fair and fine, Let's miss the ways of shadow And travel in the shine!

II.

No matter what the weather, Just watch the danger sign; Keep off the roads of shadow And travel in the shine!

III.

The paths run every which way To fool you, brother mine! Pass out of every shadow And travel in the shine!



Nice Doctrine.

"Dat sunshine docterin' am mighty nice to read erbout," said old Black Mose; "but when dese yer blizzahds come en de clouds hang mighty low down, en de snow goes toh sniftin' erroun' de shanty, dat's de time when I want plenty ob back logs en' a hot fiah goin' day an' night!"



Where Bill Was.

"Where is Billy Spudder tonight?" inquired one of the boys the second night after the election as they lounged up to the bar and missed Bill's familiar presence.

"Bill? Why, Bill, you know, was a candidate for constable on the Walkover ticket and got beat so bad they couldn't count the votes," answered another. "And now Bill's at home getting acquainted with his wife again and being introduced to the new baby that appeared since he started his 60 days campaign!"



The Real Question.

"But," argued the republican candidate for office; "the republican party freed the colored people and made them the equals of the white folks. Didn't you ever hear of Abraham Lincoln, who set your people free?"

"Dat's all mighty true, Mistah man," said the hesitating darkey; "but flouah am mighty sca'ce erroun' de cabin en we hain't had no bacon since day befoh yistiddy; en I see a dimmycrat candahdate comin' down de big road a-whuppin' ob his hosses like he hed flouah en hog-meat on behin' en bringin' it all toh me!"



The Sunshine Way.

I.

Wherever your feet may wander, wherever your fancies stray, The paths that you walk are golden, for there is the sunshine way; And roses are there with their beauties that over the path-ways twine, And all of the world is a blossom that smiles in the tender shine!

II.

There's never a murmur of evil, there's never a cry of wrong; The daisies are sweet with laughter the birds are alilt with song; The days dance by in their gladness as sweet as the sweetest wine, Where the swift feet linger in rapture through ways of the golden shine.

III.

What matters if shadows may hover o'er blue hills far and dim? A star on the beautiful summits of the clear horizon's rim! The calls of the happy lovers whose hearts beat swift and strong, As they carol the sunshine music and whistle the sunshine song!

IV.

The pleasures greet ever the seeker that comes to their doors and woos, And life with its sun and its shadow is whatsoever we choose; And like some resplendent mirror it frowns or it smiles as we Weep with the eyes of weeping or smile with the lips of glee!

V.

Then ever and on, my brother, through all of the golden days; Let us echo their music forever and keep in the sunshine ways! And whether we walk with the blossoms or stray where the red leaves fall, There is laughter for all of the sorrows and love for the griefs of all!



Reports indicate that nine newspaper men will be members of the next Oklahoma legislature, and even the names are mentioned. There is no kindness in giving the fact undue publicity. The poor fellows will have hard enough time to live it down, so let us treat them as charitably as the circumstances will permit.



Caught on the Fly.

Love and loud lips soon part company.

Accusation is fruitless. We all have our faults and are satisfied with them or we wouldn't keep them.

If people only did the best they could half of the time, they would be amply prepared for the worst the other half of the time.

Some men's dream of hell is a place where scolding women have the full run of the range and no one dares to talk back when they get busy.

Divorce may be a great evil, but every lawyer knows it is often an effective crow-bar to pry some very good people loose from hell.



Never Worry.

Let us never worry! The flowers little care How much of the weather Is foul or is fair; They blossom at morning; They fade at the noon, And blooming and fading Their beauty dies soon.

Let us never worry! The birds freely sing In autumn's drear weather As blithe as in spring; They chorus their music In joy's happy tune, And singing and singing Their songs vanish soon.

Let us never worry! If short is the life, Whether laughing with music Or weeping with strife; 'Tis the shine of the morning,— 'Tis late afternoon; Ah, the night-fall is coming And darkness so soon!



Little Sermons.

Love is the greatest thing in the world, and it carries the world's griefs on its shoulders.

If vice were as safe and inexpensive as virtue, heaven would have few candidates for admission.

I am always nervous when I meet these self-righteous people. I fear they will demand that I make the world over to fix it good enough for them, and when I fail they will blame me with all their troubles.



One Drawback.

"Well, did you have a good time Thanksgiving, Uncle Billy?"

"Splendid, splendid! All the boys an' gals come home an' brung theyr kids along, an' me an' mother felt twenty years er more younger. An' mother an' the gals got up a spankin' dinner an' we had a plenty of raal fine enjoyment. If it hadn't a-been fer one unfortnit thing, it would a-been mighty nigh perfect."

"What was that?"

"The crusts to mother's mince-pies all soaked in the bottom, an' she couldn't eat fer grievin' over it!"



Signs of Winter.

Winter's comin', fellers! Blizzards soon'll blow! Cotton all is gethered,— Money spent, ye know! Ole Thanksgivin's over,— Weather's so and so, Kids a-lookin' Christmas Everywhayre ye go!



Keep Them Alive.

Keep Hope alive! Though failure comes Adown life's varied stream, Behold, joy beats her mighty drums And brave men toil and dream!

Keep Faith alive! Though evil strays Across the paths you tread, Yet Goodness blesses all your ways,— The living and the dead!

Keep Love alive! Though burdens press And crush with anguish sore, Sweet Love shall crown with happiness The sad heart evermore!



Little Sermons.

Nothing takes a man down so much as to contrast what he is with what he meant to be.

Some people are so sure they are going to miss hell in the hereafter that they proceed to make as much as possible while in this world.

We don't know what Satan's steady occupation is, but if all reports are true he must saw lots of wood in order to keep up the fires in his settlement all the year 'round.



The Christmas Fiddles.

I.

Tune up the Christmas fiddles! There's happiness about, And willing fingers waiting to coax the music out! There's music in the valley, there's music on the plain, And music in the measures of happy sun and rain; Then fix your fiddles, fellers! The music fond and sweet Is waiting,—waiting ever,—the music of the feet!

II.

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

III.

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

IV.

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 and Care shall die away While 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 me When de pleasuhes all am heah, En de joys beset me! Happy dat de house am full So yuh'll hab toh trabble; Mister Trouble, stretch yoh laigs Libely down de grabble!



So Santa Claus'll Come.

My Mommer says ef I ain't good, Thet Santa'll stay away, En never bring a top er thing Thet boys want Christmas day; En I'm jes' purfic now, I guess, Er purficker then some, En I'm behavin' like a man So Santa Claus'll come!

I hop up out of bed, you know, 'Fore Mommer calls me thayre, En dress myse'f en wash my face En 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 made Tell 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, all But havin' wings,—they do! En Popper says thayre at the store's A dandy big bass drum! You betcher life I'm bein' good So Santa Claus'll come!



Mister Sorrow.

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

Mister Sorrow from that day Hangs around here so! Makes himself at home, to play He's my friend, you know! When I hint it mighty strong That he'd better roam, Says he's boarded here so long That 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.



The Women and the Bill.

(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 to knocking on the Statehood Bill!

Don't the last of you remember how we whooped it up with might Through 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 are knocking on the Statehood Bill!

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 schemes Just 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 are knocking on the Statehood Bill!

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 great As 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 are knocking on the Statehood Bill!

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 us From 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 keep knocking on the Statehood Bill!



A Hard Winter Ahead.

"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!"



The Charity Ball.

Rich man foh de pooh man dance One night in de yeah; Pooh man foh de rich man prance All times, do yuh heah? Pooh man play de violin While de rich man swing; Pooh man squeeze de fiddle in When he wants toh sing! Mistah rich man, hab yoh fun Makin' 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!



Little Sermons.

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.

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 about With 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 bad All 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 powers Of 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 glee For 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 years To the glad-hearted Santa Claus boy!



Caught on the Fly.

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.



"'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 heavy As you bear them with your might? Love will lift the bending burdens, And 'twill all come right!

Do you feel the hate and malice Of 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!



Good-bye to Trouble.

O, it's good-bye, Mister Trouble! There's a joy the angels know, With the mistletoe above us And 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!



Caught on the Fly.

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.



Too Much Prosperity.

"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.



Little Sermons.

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!



To the Lonesome Fiddle.

You needn't look so lonesome, Mr. Fiddle, hanging there With 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 coming And the dancing of the feet.

You needn't look so lonesome! In your happy soul abound All 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 meet With the mistletoe above us And the coming of the feet!

You needn't look so lonesome! I can see you laughing there To the tune of "Old Dan Tucker" as you drop the loads of care, And the melodies immortal drive the troubles all away As 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 partners To the tripping of the feet.

O, you needn't look so lonesome! All the good times you shall feel As 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 trouble In 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 Don't Come."

If Santa Claus forgets to come, I don't know what I'll do; I 'spect I'll get as bad as some An' cry a little, too; I wrote an' told him plain as day What he should buy an' bring; An' if he don't, I'll always say That he's a mean old thing!

I want a drum to pound all day Fer 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 do If 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' say The place to leave the stuff! I'll jump in bed at candle-light, An' act both deaf an' dumb! But 'twill be awful here tonight If Santa Claus don't come!

Of course, he may not have to spare Jes' 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 do If Santa Claus don't come!



The Call of the Fiddle.

Don't you hear the fiddle, fellers? It is singing to the bow All the glory of the music Underneath the mistletoe!

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

Don't you hear the fiddle, fellers? It is calling us to know Joys that circle to the music Underneath 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.



A Queer Dream.

"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!"



The Same Old Gifts.

"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 a pair 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 Greatest Gift.

The Wise Men in the desert bare, Heart-hungry in their need, Behold a Star, and forth they fare Wherever 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.



For the New Year.

I.

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 night Love exalts the lilies white, And the hours of wrath and wrong Leap with laughters of her song.

II.

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

III.

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

IV.

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



Finally.

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



If We Were Wise.

"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.



Life.

A little day through which we play In 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.



Sighs and Songs.

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

What's the use to shiver When the blizzards blow? Yonder blazes August Hotter than you know!

Hope is ever ringing All the bells she brings; Keep a life of laughter And a heart that sings.

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



Caught on the Fly.

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.



The Third House.

Yes, they say the Legislature Soon will come along and sit, And for sixty days of wonder We'll behold the likes of it; But with all the mighty glory That around it waves its wings, Don't forget who does the voting Nor the chaps who pull the strings!

There's the grave and mighty Senate Full of statesmen wise and great, With profound deliberations Ere they choose to legislate: But with all their stores of wisdom They are slow at doing things, For they only do the voting While the Third House pulls the strings.

There's the House, a wondrous body, Full of patriotic souls, Each with ideas that would hurry Up the world as on it rolls; But before they get in action Sober wisdom caution brings, And they only do the voting While the Third House pulls the strings!

O, my dear, deluded people! When the statesmen cure your ills, Look around before you honor Those who pass the proper bills! To the fellows you elected There is little glory clings, For they only do the voting While 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 statesmen How to legislate with care; There you'll find the brain and virtue That afar the evil flings: While the others do the voting These delight to pull the strings!



Play Ball.

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.



Sing a Little.

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 store While your heart is bright with sunshine and you sing a little more!



Remembered by Santa Claus.

"Well, what did Santa Claus bring you?" inquired Neighbor Jones of Neighbor 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.



Evil Prophets.

The doleful prophets sadly say That the world is going wrong; But out yonder blooms the May With its flowers and song.

The moaning brothers come and say That the world is as dark as night; But out yonder shines the day With its laughing light.

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



A New Year's Resolution.

I'm a New Year's Resolution: I'm as good as good can be, And the world will lose its follies If '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 white Where the fortunes of the future Men and nations come to write; You have met my kith and kindred As you struggled in the strife, And you gave them love and praises All 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 goodness Soon will prove the death of me; But you'll honor me while living, And if I should pass away You will bury me in blossoms In 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 slaughter For a good intention's sake!



Little Sermons.

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.



A Hard World.

"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.



A Quartette of Don'ts.

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.



It Died Young.

"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."



To the Love Lands!

O, my Heart, the days are weary with the burdens that we know: Hand in hand we'll haste and hurry to the Love Lands long ago!

Let us stroll as happy lovers down the roaring ways of men Till the lilies of contentment blossom sweetly once again.

It was there we wove our Daydream, it was there the Promise sung, For the world from us was hidden and our little lives were young.

There were happy lanes of laughter that our childish rambles knew, Where the roses gave their glories in a ruddy crown for you.

Let us wander through the deserts and the dusty ways they know To the green fields and the meadows of the Love Lands long ago!

On the road, perchance, we'll gather some of sweetness and of song, As we thread the dim aisles fearful and the pathways lorn and long.

You remember how we pledged us all the glories of renown,— Pledged the gold of Ind and Ophir and the greatness of the crown.

You remember how we pledged us in the fancies of our youth, We would run the quest forever for the Holy Grail of Truth!

You remember how we pledged us we would banish want and woe, As we laughed and sang the love-song in the Love Lands long ago!

What if we have failed to keep it? Hard the struggle, fierce the throng, And the shoutings of the rabble drown the glory of the song!

What if we have failed to keep it? All the maddened mobs of hate Hurl the stones of mirth and malice where Truth opes her timid gate!

Shall we sorrow at the wreckage that is heaped along the shore Where the waters gnaw unceasing and endeavor sails no more!

Shall we sorrow that the laughters, left the shadows of the way, And the cares of life unlifting fringed the rosy skies with gray?

Shall we sorrow without comfort for the dreams that fled in tears,— For the hopes forlorn and shattered on the shores of other years?

We have lost the glare and glamor of the dreams we dreamed of old, But the Wise of earth have brought us of their frankincense and gold.

We have lost the green of May-time, but the autumn gardens red Hang with all the fruited wisdom for the blossoms that are dead!

We have lost our foolish boasting,—we are cleansed of evil pride, And we face the past and future with their vistas wild and wide!

Still, my Heart, the days are heavy! Wisdom weights and wearies so! Let us run away together to the Love Lands long ago!



Caught on the Fly.

Beauty is not always skin-deep. Sometimes it is put on with a rag.

If you don't want Trouble to bring her dogs and hunt all over your place for game, you should tack up warning signs over every fence-post on the premises.

Lots of money is said to bring lots of trouble. But, Lord, our shoulders are mighty broad and we always did think we would like to have experiences of that kind.



Trudge Along.

Trudge along, my brother, Through the snows! Over yonder wait the summer And the rose.

Trudge along, my brother, Trudge along! Over yonder wait the angels And the song!



A Fine Job.

"Ah done tole yuh, Mose, howsomevah de people conflastahgate, dese heah legislachuh pohsishuns am sho'ly de bes' places in all de wide woahld dat a cullahed man ebber had in de wintah time when de wood am skeerce en de snow flyin' high!"

"How come, Rastus?"

"Why, yuh fool niggah yuh, doan't yuh see dat Ah git foh dollahs a day jes' toh open en shut de dooah befoh en aftah de Sanatohs when dey come in en go out foh erbout two houahs a day, en den sot down by de hot fiah all de res' ob de time while anothah niggah shubbles in de coal whut anothah niggah totes in at de same good price!"



A True Hero.

He wore no crown, he had no sword, He sat him in no throne of state; He shed no blood, he spent no hoard, And therefore was not great; Yet to his tomb the nations throng: His heart was love, he sang a song!



When Trouble comes to your front gate and hears you whistling in the back-yard it scares him so bad that he never stops running till he crosses the divide into the next settlement.



Little Sermons.

Taking it all up and down, this world is a pretty good place. Only so many of us never get up or down!

Lord, we don't ask to see a thousand miles ahead. All we want is light enough to keep out of the holes two feet ahead when the Devil gets after us.

Some folks are always boasting of how many miles they keep ahead of the Devil, but I'm always thankful when I just manage to keep out of his reach when he's grabbing at me.



Never Mind the Hills.

What matter the hills above us? What matter the dismal road? We're climbing to those that love us And crossing to their abode; And over the mountains we'll crown our quest With beautiful blossoms of all that's best!



He Voted "Graft".

He was quite a famous statesman From a district where the folk Were so honest that their honor Had become a standing joke; But this man that represented Such a people, such a craft, Always shouted for "retrenchment," While he always voted "graft."

He was quite a famous "poser," And he had the nimble art Of deluding men to thinking That he owned an honest heart; He was always hinting "boodle," At which hints the lobby laughed For they knew he talked "retrenchment," But he always voted "graft!"

He was frequent in the papers With a lengthy interview 'Bout the "welfare of the people," And the "octopi" he knew; And he made long-winded speeches As he raked things fore and aft, But he only talked "retrenchment," While he always voted "graft!"

O, the dear, deluded people, Hear this Sermon from the Mount: When a Bill is up for passage It is only votes that count; And you'd better watch the fellow On the legislative raft Who forever talks "retrenchment," And then casts a vote for "graft!"



Caught on the Fly.

The worst thing about failure is that it makes so many good people most unhappy.

The man who never laughs at all is as great a trial to his friends as is the one who laughs too much.

No beauty of Nature, either of heart or flower or fruit, was ever grown without the lavish use of sunshine for its development.



Joy is Here.

What to us is Trouble? Joy is here today; Care is but a bubble Bursting with the May.

Onward we are drifting; What if skies are gray? All the clouds are lifting,— Joy is here today!

Harbors over yonder; Billows die away; There we all shall anchor,— Joy for aye and aye!



Something Left.

There's joy in Oklahoma! Let's go it good and strong; There's sunshine on the prairies, The land is glad with song; What though the cotton tumbled,— What if the wheat was short? We've corn for hog and hominy Of every blessed sort!



Charity not only covers a multitude of sins, but she also tucks the quilts in around the feet and gets up in the middle of the night to see if the blanket is on straight.



Not Afraid.

"Aren't you afraid some of these lobbyists will persuade you by their eloquence into supporting some bad measure?" asked a friend of a member of the legislature.

"Not a bit of it, sir, not a bit of it! Just let them try it as often as they wish!" answered the confident statesman. "Just let me get at them one by one, privately, in a dark room with their pockets bulging with the eloquent long-green, and when they get away their pockets will be so dumb that they will be in no condition to make arguments again until they call on their employers for a new supply of oratory!"



A Blazing Future.

What's the use of getting blue When the joys are so amazing? This life's sunshine through and through And the other life is blazing!



I have often noticed that the dog which uses up all his spare time in growling generally looks mighty hungry and seldom trees any game.



The Legislative Pass.

I'm a Legislative Pass: I'm a wonder now displayed In a large and growing class Marching out on dress parade; I am issued "on request" From a statesman full of might, And I'll never know a rest Till adjournment is in sight.

I'm a Legislative Pass: I am given free as air, And I reach from shortest grass To the farthest every where; I am happy in the fame That around me fondly flits, Just to keep the statesmen tame Till the Legislature quits.

I'm a Legislative Pass: I have wondrous work to do, And I use the mighty mass Of my glories daily, too; I'm considered pretty nice By the hundreds of my friends, That I carry without price Till the Legislature ends.

I'm a Legislative Pass: I'm the master of the state, While the people think, alas! They are something wise and great; Treat me kindly every day, As I summon dear delight Down the legislative way Till adjournment is in sight.

I'm a Legislative Pass: Fly with me,—there's no expense,— From the weary ways of gas And the halls of eloquence; Let us travel far and fast! Soon we'll journey nevermore! For I know my day is past When the Legislature's o'er!



Little Sermons.

The dog that believes in you is more inspiration than the tawny lion that distrusts you.

It was all right for the Christ to say, "Get thee behind me, Satan," but I'd rather keep him on in front where I can watch his tricks.

The man of most exemplary habits never finds congenial spirits to herd with. The marvel is not that Christ was crucified, but that he was allowed to live till he was thirty-three years old.



At Rest.

Fold the hands and let him rest! He shall sorrow nevermore; Grief has done her worst and best, But his grief is o'er!

What to him the dangers dark,— Terrors of the waveless stream? God shall guide the helpless barque Through the shadowed dream!

He has fought with storm and strife, He has conquered, all alone; He has plucked the rose of life For his very own.

Farewell to the world of sighs! He has laid the burden down; Here each grief and sorrow dies, And he claims the crown!



Caught on the Fly.

Fate is blamed with all the failures for which laziness is responsible.

The world may owe you a living, but you'll never be able to collect it till you foreclose the mortgage by hard hustling.

However late some people get up in the morning, they always have plenty of time to spare for other people's business before bedtime.



With a Song.

No matter what the weeping, No matter what the wrong, Just toss a kiss to trouble And soothe him with a song.

When all the world is winter And storms unceasing throng, Just clasp your hands with sunshine And warm them up with song.

When fortune flies the window And leaves you lonely long, Still hum the happy music And sing it out in song.

The summer time is coming,— Is coming good and strong! A welcome for the roses, A greeting full of song!

O, life is filled with shadows, And sorrow still is strong; But walk the ways with laughter And climb the hills with song!



Live your own life so happily to yourself that neither men, women or devils can swerve you one degree from the divine light shining upon your direct pathway to the stars.



De Hant!

I.

De Hant he come en hollah f'um de honey-locus' tree: "Ah'd thank yuh, Mistah Niggah, foh dat money yuh owe me!" But Ah gib Mis' Sal a banjo, en a silky scarf toh Chloe, En de cotton's sho'ly squandah'd en dat's all dis niggah know!

II.

De Hant he come en hollah f'um de bahn's ole gable deep: "Whah's dat New Yaar Resolution dat Ah gib you-all toh keep?" But Ah kep' it en Ah kep' it, twel ole Satan come erlong, En dat New Yaar Resolution got a move on mighty strong!

III.

De Hant he come en hollah right above de cabin doo': "What yuh done wif all dem good t'ings dat Ah tole yuh 'bout befo?" En Ah dassent answeh nothin'! En de ole Hant stay en stay! When dis niggah wuzzent lookin', all dem good things run away!



Caught on the Fly.

When Hope comes on the scene, Trouble has urgent business over in the next settlement.

Don't wait to plant a flower for your neighbor until it has to blossom beside his tomb-stone.

Growling at the weather may give the tongue plenty of exercise, but it never buys meat and potatoes or swells the bank account.

Be confident. No coward heart ever won an important battle, and the battle-field of life is the one that demands the fullest courage.



Little Sermons.

Be thankful as long as there is a buttered side to your bread; and when the butter runs out, thank God for the bread!

Charity covers the sins all right, but many a poor sinner gets mighty short of blankets in the cold winter times of folly.

One heart of love and two glad lips of song have lifted many a mediocre soul up the slopes of happiness to the bright, eternal morning.



That New Year Resolution.

Dat New Yaar Resolution He come to me en say: "Ah likes de looks ob dis heah place,— Ah hope yuh'll lemme stay!"

O, listen, listen, bruddehs! Ah axed de angel in; Ole Satan come en raised a row, Ah tuhned him out again!

Dat New Yaar Resolution, He scrumpshus company; But dat fust day Ah's satisfied He all too good foh me!

O, listen, listen, bruddehs! A'll nebbeh tole yuh why, But when ole Satan come erlong Ah knowed it hed toh die!

Dat New Yaar Resolution! Ah hollahed toh him: "Say! Dis house am mighty crowded; Ah wush yuh'd go erway!"

O, listen, listen, bruddehs! Ah choke him in de th'oat; En when ole Satan come erlong, He wrop him in his coat!



"Said Governor Tom."

Said Governor Tom to the law-making boys: "You are green at the bus'ness, I know; It is well that you move rather slow; If you'll let me advise, You'll be worthy and wise, And the people secure in their joys,—" Said Governor Tom to the boys.

Said Governor Tom to the law-making boys: "I will warn you of dangers that lurk In the ways of your dangerous work; If the lobbies entice, You should take my advice, And turn a deaf ear to their noise,—" Said Governor Tom to the boys.

Said Governor Tom to the law-making boys: "In the passing of measures immense Is involved quite a lot of expense, And the armies that stand When there's peace in the land Are the most unproductive of toys,—" Said Governor Tom to the boys.

Said Governor Tom to the law-making boys: "It is well to remember the wills Of the people who settle the bills, And the anger that lurks In the hosts at the works Is a matter that greatly annoys,—" Said Governor Tom to the boys!

The boys heard the message, each sentiment seized, And then went ahead and did just as they pleased; And no one would know From the way that they go, From the money they spend and the peace they destroy, What the Governor said to each law-making boy!



Caught on the Fly.

If some people couldn't worry, or make others worry, they'd never have a moment of happiness.

Don't go gunning for happiness. When you are least expecting it she squats at your feet and hops out to meet you.



Little Sermons.

If there wasn't a Devil, some people would have nobody but themselves to blame their sins on.

When we link hands with pleasure for a few minutes, we forget all the wisdom Trouble has taught us through the years.

Some people like to move about so much, that if they bought a ticket for heaven they'd insist on getting a round-trip in order to be on the safe side.

If the golden streets could be dug up and carried off to the smelter, there'd be whole battalions of people lined up before daylight with grubbing-hoes on their shoulders waiting to stake off claims.



Mister Ground Hog.

Ole Mistah Groun'-hog rouse hisse'f Fum dat long nap he take; He say: "Ah 'spec' Ah'd bettah move,— It's gittin' late, my sake!"

So he jes' rub his ole eyes wide, En dress up foh a stroll; He wax his whiskehs up, en den He crawl out ob his hole!

Up yondah shine de big red sun, Eh-blazin' in the sky, En at his side his shaddeh walk,— So Mistah Groun'-hog fly!

He skeehed so bad he tuhn him 'roun' En say, "Ah wake too soon; Ah'll jes' go home en take a nap 'Twel Sunday aftehnoon!"

So Mistah Groun'-hog run en run En crawl his deep hole in, Toh snooze ehway foh six moah weeks 'Foh he wakes up ehgin!



When Trouble Came.

Ole Trouble come toh ouah house One stohmy day en say, "De road am hahd toh trabble,— Ah hope you'll lemme stay!"

He staht toh hang his hat up, En pull his ober-coat: Ah box him oh de eah-muffs En choke him in de tho'at!

Ah say, "Ole Mistah Trouble, Ah'm pleased so much toh say Dis house am mighty crowded,— You-all jes' go ehway!"

Ah take my happy fiddle Up dah beside my hat,— Ah play him Ole Dan Tuckeh, En what you t'ink ob dat!



Wanted a Bill or Two.

"Where are you going, Rastus?" inquired the reporter of an old negro at the depot.

"Ah's gwine obah toh Guthrie whah dem legislachuh men am passin' dem bills!" was the reply. "Ah's done libed hyah long ernuff, anyhow, en ef Ah git obah whah de bills am a passin' dey may pass a few whah my pockets stay, sho'!"



Whenever you find a man who has made an ignoble failure of managing himself properly, you'll always find one who thinks he could give the Lord pointers on running the universe.



Look out for Trouble.

When yuh see ole Mistah Trouble Jumpin' high ehlong yoh way, Jes' twis' yoh lips toh puckah, En whistle night en day! He'll nevah stop a minute Toh tell yuh how-de-doo, But take ehcrost de kentry En jump de fences, too!

Doan' spen' yoh time eh-gazin' Up yondah at de sky: It shuah will make yoh dizzy En pain yoh lit'le eye; Jes' keep yohse'f eh-lookin' Clah down de way yuh go: De bulgine sho'ly comin' De fus' thing dat yuh know!

Doan' twis' yoh neck, my bruddeh, Eh gawkin' at de sun; He'll shine up dah forebbeh No mattah whah yuh run; Jes' look out foh de bresh-piles En cross de mud-holes slow: 'Twill keep yuh mighty busy Watchin' dese hyah paths yuh go!



Don't growl if Fortune didn't trust you with more. Just think what a fool she would have been to favor you with greater gifts!



The Good Times Song.

Sing a song of good times! Life is full of bliss, And the merry music Who shall dare to miss? Joy delights the valleys, Plenty's everywhere, And pleasure swells the chorus Till we conquer care.

Sing a song of good times! That's the tune for me; The bow's upon the fiddle And the fiddle's full of glee! It's swing your pardners, honey, And swing them all the night; The good times call the measures And we're dancing to the light!



Nobody Hurt.

"I hear that Slugem and Hittem met last night."

"Yes, so they did."

"Which one of them got the worst of it?"

"Oh, there was no damage done. They made it all up, and nothing suffered but their New Year Resolutions!"



In the Legislature.

"An' Oi say, Moike," said Patrick O'Ferrall, to his neighbor Mike O'Neill, "Oi say, Moike, have ye heerd from yer bye Dennis lately who wint out wist?"

"Thet Oi hev, Pat."

"An' how is the poor bye gettin' on?"

"The divil take it, Pat, thet's whut breaks his mither's heart ontoirely. He wroites me thet he hez jest bin sintinced to the Legislachoor fer two years!"



Life, and labor along its way, Life, and a shade of sorrow; But Love is there with her lips of song, And the sun shines out tomorrow!



To live life happily, to work life earnestly, to leave life fearlessly,—what greater success ever crowned with ivied laurels the infinite brows of Adam's mortal sons?



On Behalf of the Minority.

Note—(The Oklahoma Legislature has a republican majority in both houses, and the following is supposed to be uttered by one of the democratic minority.)

To the Sleek and Fat Majority: We recognize your smoke, And in meek and humble fashion we have passed beneath the yoke; We've no foolish reservations: all the earth is yours to claim With the grandeur of its glory and the fullness of its fame; So accept our due submission; all we ask is that you give Ample chance to filibuster and preserve the right to live!

In the manner that Respectable Minorities behave, We shall justify the title while the heathen rage and rave; And according as 'tis written we shall every one be good, Though we smash the logs you're rolling into fancy kindling-wood, While we stir the sleeping animals with long and lively prods To the pleasure of the nations and the laughter of the gods!

And we pity you sincerely! You had quite a job at hand To divide the loaves and fishes as the bosses made command! Fifty places for five hundred hungry souls that wild cavort Is a work requiring statesmen of the most exalted sort: And we weep our tears of sorrow as we're looking on at you, While you bump the heads of many and anoint the chosen few!

You shall pass appropriations, tossing out the toothsome "pork," In a way to please the faithful and to keep the "boys at work;" And whatever seems the proper thing majorities should do, Why, the ocean's there before you and the course is up to you; But remember as you voyage that we have a little boat, And we're always steering madly tow'rd a record making vote!

We'll play our own part bravely, and we'll play it o'er and o'er: Approve, condemn, and criticize, like statesmen gone before; We'll rant about "the people, sir!" and shout "economy!" And stab appropriation bills each opportunity; And long preserve our "honesty"—unstained and white as snow: Since you have swiped the offices, that's all we have, you know!

And our task shall be most pleasant! Underneath the shade we'll flop While you fellows do the sweating for the legislative crop! We shall criticize your labors; if you reach the roads of doubt, We shall lend the hand of wisdom and in mercy lead you out; And at last, the harvest gathered, we shall sift the good and true For our own exalted portion while we leave the bad for you!

And after while the time will come, howbeit soon or late, When we shall guide the government and steer the ship of state,— When we shall trade our craft for yours, and our proud flag shall float O'er battle-ships of greater things as people then shall vote; And then we'll show you something else beyond the hearty strife, And do our best to visit you with touch of higher life!



At Valentine's Day.

The Wind came out of the poppied East, And said to heart of the lonely earth: "I bring you laughter and love increased, And all the music of might and mirth; I bring you dreams that were born above, And melting kisses as sweet as wine; And one waits lorn with her lips of love And dimpled arms, for her Valentine."

The Wind came out of the brazen North, And said to heart of the grieving world: "I bring a message, I call you forth Where Love the flags of her faith unfurled; I tell of peace that is sweeter far Than song that croons where the tropics twine; For one waits long 'neath the northern star With eyes of love, for her Valentine."

The Wind came out of the winsome West, And said to heart of the longing race: "I bring you tidings of all that's best, Of love and laughter and loved one's face; I come from red of the reeling sun, I bring you dreams of the things divine, And at the rim of the world waits one Who lists for the call of her Valentine."

The Wind came out of the sweet-breathed South, And said: "I carry her call to thee; She waits with songs in her mellow mouth,— She waits, and her lips like the corals be! She waits with embraces of long delights, And eyes that utter a language fine,— There, there, in the aisles of the romping nights, She waits for the call of her Valentine."

O, call of this world to the world that dreams,— Sweet call of the Near to the Soul Afar,— Beyond the shadows of earth's cold themes, There's one that waits where the love lights are! There's one that waits with her cheeks aglow, And eyes earth-round with a fearless shine, And Near and Far with their linked hands go To mate with the fate of their Valentine!



Little Sermons.

There is more religion in a home full of bread and butter than a hotel full of canvas-back and terrapin.

If the Lord sends a tin-cup full of happiness, don't spend your time upbraiding Him for not supplying a ship-load.

Some people are so unreasonable that if the Lord sent them a turkey they would raise a row because he didn't furnish a barrel of cranberries, too.



A Valentine.

Don't you dare to tell me Love is old and gray! He's as young and rosy As the blooms of May!

Don't you dare to tell me Love is wed with wrong! All his deeds are holy With the smiles of song!

Don't you dare to tell me Love is only strife! Hands of his shall lead us To the perfect life!

Love and hope with happy Feet shall scale the sky, Through the dismal shadows To the bye and bye!



Its Principal Work.

"Has the Legislature done much?" inquired one anxious citizen of another.

"No, not much," was the answer. "Its principal act was to pass a bill repealing Ground Hog day, but they fear the Governor will veto it."



Life's Way.

When the heart grows weary Of the storm and strife, Don't you worry, dearie, 'Tis the way of life!

'Tis the way we wander Through the world of wrong; Sorrow makes us fonder Of the smile and song.

Don't you weep or weary At the storm and strife: Love shall lead us, dearie, Through this tangled life!



Caught on the Fly.

Some one's contrariness is responsible for nine-tenths of life's tragedies.

Popularity is an ice-box where men are preserved in cold storage against the fickle mob's changes in temperature.

When you board the train of life for the city of happiness, don't let Conductor Sorrow ring the bell and drop you off at the wrong station. Check your baggage through, and don't use the sleeping-car too much.



Uncle Joe and Statehood.

(Note: The press dispatches indicate that Uncle Joe Cannon, Speaker of the House of Representatives, is doing all he can to defeat the Statehood bill.)

If Uncle Joe'd come off the perch and let us build a state We'd resolute to beat the band and call him wise and great; We'd hand him taffy, chunk on chunk, and sling the sugar out Till that old duffer'd surely think he's what you read about: But your Uncle Joe is mighty and he has a stubborn will, And he's done malicious murder to the Statehood bill!

It is true the bill is faulty; it is true if we'd our way, It would need a lot of fixing ere it saw the light of day; But we beggars are not choosers, and just any sort of state Now would set the anvils roaring when we came to celebrate; And we think he's small potatoes and quite scanty in the hill When he sets himself to knocking on the Statehood bill!

If he'd just be rather friendly, we would praise him up a bit And we'd give him such a jolly that he'd lose his nerve and quit; But he carries him so haughty and he bangs his hands so loud That he scares the day-lights out us and he frightens all the crowd; And whate'er his plan or purpose, it is plain he's bound to kill That sweet child of all the statesmen that we call the Statehood bill!