If he'd listen to our troubles and his haughtiness relax, Then the bill we love and cherish would escape the butcher's ax But with him across the pathway, it as plain as day appears That our hopes are only rainbows and we chase them down the years; Oh, we wish him every gladness and we never wish him ill, But we hope he'll quit his meanness to the Statehood bill!

Uncle Joey! Uncle Joey! Won't you for the once be good? Won't you let us find fruition for the hopes misunderstood? If you'll only mend your manners and repenting let us in We will jolly you forever, we will pat your cheek and chin; Or we'll lay for you till doom's-day and we'll then be hoping still That the boys will overrule you and will save the Statehood bill!



Small Bills.

"Is the Legislature passing any big bills?" inquired Weston.

"No I think not," said Preston. "I was over there the other day, and I couldn't even hear the crinkle of one bigger than $10!"



Caught on the Fly.

The homely virtues may be old, but they are still young enough to carry the world's burdens.

The crust on the pie at a charity dinner may be long, but it covers a multitude of culinary sins.

Every good thing in this world costs money; and since experience is the best thing of life it is always expensive, also.



The Sunny Side.

Oh, no matter what the weeping, Or what awful ills betide! Let us walk the ways of gladness On the happy, sunny side!

When the sorrows come and settle With their tears and cares and pride, Don't believe their tales of sadness, For there's still a sunny side!

What's the use to go to weeping When the shadows wander wide? For the sun is shining somewhere And there's yet a sunny side!

It's no diff'rence what the weather, What the flow of wind or tide; There's the holy joy of living And God keeps a sunny side!



Keep Busy.

Don't sit down so lonesome Through the speeding years; Drink the wines of gladness And forget the tears.

Life goes down the distance Swift as eagle's flight; Stop to say "Good-morning." And it ends "Good-night!"



Wait Awhile.

Don't you worry at the winter! There's a streak of shine about, And before the storm is over There's a daisy peeping out!

Spring is coming clothed in beauty, And her lilies laughing white Wait beneath the melting snow-drifts For the days of their delight!

Over yonder smile the gardens, And the sky above is blue; And your sweet-heart trips the meadows With the roses red for you!



Little Sermons.

A man's conscience preaches more eloquent sermons than the Savior on the Mount.

If men were less evil, it would be much easier for their fellows to walk the narrow way.

If the Bible reduced virtue to a mathematical demonstration of its cheapness over Vice, the mourner's bench would break down with the repentant sinners.



At the End.

At the end of the day What reward shall we gain For the pleasures of play And the presence of pain? When the sun shall have set What reward shall we get?

As we sing and we sigh Through the years' tangled ways, Through the winter's wild cry, Through the blooms of the Mays,— When the years all have set, What reward shall we get?

Through the battle and strife, Through the right and the wrong, We shall climb to the life Where the years are a song; When the sun shall have set, There's a crown we shall get!



If the Luxuries and Vices were banished from this world, Virtue would get so rich in a twelve-month that she would summon them all back and give them greater liberties than they enjoyed before.



A Popular Preacher.

"Ah done tole yuh, Sam, dat new pweacheh ob ouahs am de bestes' man in de pulpit dat ebbeh Ah see."

"How come, Rastus?"

"Why, doan't yuh know, de otheh night when de weatheh wuz so mighty col', he nebbeh said a wohd ehbout hell-fiah, but jes' exhohted ehbout hebben bein' a wahm en pleasan' place whah de flowehs bloom en de wohteh millions git red heahts de whole yeah roun'; en sebenteen ob dem young sinnehs come up to de mohneh's bench en got 'ligion mighty quick!"



An Incurable.

"And what is the peculiar derangement of this patient?" asked a visitor of the Superintendent of the Insane Asylum, as an especially abject victim was seen writhing and cowering in a padded cell.

"O, he is not insane,—he is just a common idiot," said the Superintendent. "He sent comic valentines, and they had no other place to put him!"



Good Morning,—Good Night!

As life with its glories Crowds close in the light, Tell pleasure good-morning And sorrow good-night.

No matter what fortune Comes down in swift flight, Tell pleasure good-morning And sorrow good-night.

Walk still in the sunshine, Where blossoms bloom bright; Tell pleasure good-morning And sorrow good-night.

And out through the orchards Where mirth rules in might, Tell pleasure good-morning And sorrow good-night!



It is always easy to find plenty of weeds in the garden of life, if you are looking for weeds; but then even the weeds have blossoms of love upon them!



Kansas Has Her Dander Up.

When Kansas gets her dander up and reaches for her gun, I think some folks will chase themselves and hike out on the run; I think the railroads will be good, John D. come off the perch And christianize the Standard Oil until it joins the church; I think the trusts and wicked men that once were all so bad Will mercy pray when once they know that Kansas can get mad!

The people there have stood a lot since first the state began; They've passed through many trying times as varied seasons ran; They've had the drouth, survived the flood, and isms good and ill Have overcome with sturdy heart and never-dying will; But now with patience broken quite new battles must be won: And Kansas has her dander up and reaches for her gun!

The Octopus must watch his ways and guard his awful arms, And keep his eyes peeled mighty close around the Kansas farms; The days of peace are over there! too long the robber-trust Has rifled all their pocket-books and left them but a crust; But Kansas has a sudden way of stopping all the fun, When once she gets her dander up and reaches for her gun!

"John Brown of Ossawatomie!" There's freedom in the phrase! St. John with prohibition and old Peffer with his craze! And now the world is waiting for the fire-works and the sights When Trusts will get insomnia and lie awake of nights; For she will take the bakery and capture every bun, When Kansas gets her dander up and reaches for her gun!

O, bold and reckless financiers! Take warning ere you fall! You'd better stop awhile and read the writing on the wall! Your hands are red with human blood, they're dripping human gore, And by the gods above they swear, you shall not rule them more; With hands that act, with hearts that dare, she'll get you every one, For Kansas has her dander up and reaches for her gun!



Caught on the Fly.

The language of love is mostly adjectives of the superlative degree.

At twenty, life is purpose; at thirty, doubt; at forty, philosophy; and after that, experience.

No woman ever was so much of a woman that she was not still enough of a child to enjoy being petted and flattered.



Rolling on to Glory.

Rolling on to glory, Still the old world goes! Still the ancient story Of the wants and woes; Here a little sighing, There a little song, Preaching, praying, dying, Down the ways of wrong!

Rolling on to glory, Still the old world goes, Through the battles gory Of the friends and foes! Here it sees a vision, There it gains a truth, Moving with precision To immortal youth!

Keep the laughter sunny As you walk the night: Neither might nor money Brings the living light! Still the ancient story Love, the Wonder, knows: Rolling on to glory Still the old world goes!



Don't Fall Out with Life.

Don't fall out with life, my brother; It will please, you like as not; If you'll sort its pleasures over, You will find it worth the living, And it's all the one you've got! You would better keep it friendly And not rib it up to fight: It will play you joyous music, It will give you love unceasing, If you only treat it right!

Don't fall out with life, my brother, If it slaps you in the face: Every time it brings a shadow, Every time it gives a sorrow, There's a rain-bow 'round the place; O, its heart is filled with pleasure And its raptures slay the wrong; All the stars repeat its praises, All the suns exalt its glory, And you'd better join the song!

Don't fall out with life, my brother! If it has the wintry snows, There's the scarlet of the summer, There's the russet of the autum, With the lily and the rose; It holds harvests for your labor, It has crowns for you to win; Open wide the glory-shutters, Fling the doors of deeds far-open, Till the sunshine saunters in!



Not Extravagant.

"Are the members of the legislature extravagant in their habits?" inquired a suspicious citizen of a press reporter.

"No, not at all!" answered the veracious reporter. "I know several of them who came here at the beginning of the session with a clean shirt and a five-dollar bill, and they haven't changed either of them yet!"



Away from the Winter.

Away from the Winter and all his wild ways, To the blossoms that smile in the spring's laughing days,— To the rivers that sing In the gladness of spring, Where the birds cleave the air on the love-laden wing!

Away from the walks of the snow-smitten town To the fields where the bees for the honeys go down, To the vales and the hills, And the love-singing rills, And the song of disconsolate, grieved whippoor-wills!

Away to the paths where the white lilies grow And the daisies besprinkle the meadows below; Where the roses blush new In the arms of the dew, And the stars toss the sweets of their kisses at you!



Just be Patient.

Don't you worry at stupidity! It may be trying some Just to keep your patience present when the dullard pounds the drum, And the discord of his rumpus fills the palace of your soul With a horrid inclination that you hardly can control; But the world keeps making music, and as on the ages fly It will learn the angel chorus, and will sing it bye and bye!

Don't you worry at the darkness! It may seem a little thick As through life's entangled thickets you your pathways try to pick, And the struggle for advancement seems so bitter as you roam Through these vagrant ways of wonder to the beacon-lights of home; Over yonder shines God's lantern! And the shadows all shall die, In the glories of the sunshine when we reach the bye and bye!

Don't you worry at the winter! When the snow is all about; It may seem a time of trouble for the blossoms peeping out, And the sere leases of the forest and the dead grass of the hills Bring a set-back to the roses and the lilies have the chills; But the world is rolling onward! and the spring is drawing nigh, When the birds will spill their music through the blossoms bye and bye!

There's no need to get impatient! All the tangled ways will cease, All the outer darkness vanish, all the battles end in peace; All the griefs that vex and hurt us, all the ills that worry so, Shall forsake the roads we wander and the weary paths we go! Up and on the world forever! Up and on to meet the sky, And the Good shall slay the Evil in the blessed bye and bye!



Off the Reservation.

There is war throughout the country! Don't you hear it rage and roar From the West Virginia mountains to the California shore, O'er the Illinois prairies and the valleys of Mizzoo, Far across the plains of Kansas and of Oklahoma, too? 'Tis the people that are marching! They've a purpose that is just; They have left the reservation and are smashing at the Trust.

It has been a time of patience; for the folks were slow to wrath, And they thought to go it easy down the Standard's stony path! But the loads were heaped too heavy, and the patient oxen broke From the proddings of the drivers and they splintered up the yoke; And however much the masters shout their curses through the dust, They have quit the reservation and are out to smash the trust!

Yet it was no sudden movement that expanded in a night: It for months and years was coming with tornadoes full of might: And the fuse was in the powder and the sure result was seen When Tom Lawson stuck a fagot in the mighty magazine! Then the people knew the Issue! Either yield or fight they must, So they quit the reservation and went out to smash the trust!

Tommy Lawson! Tommy Lawson! What a naughty boy you are, Stirring up the people this way till they rise and shout for war! Don't you wish you hadn't done it? You are like to break the rule Of the "System" and the Standard and disrupt the Sunday School! For the people are so earnest, in the ire of their disgust They have left the reservation and are out to smash the trust!



Caught on the Fly.

If the bad people never made scandal, what would the good people have to talk about?

Opportunity may call once, but she never rings the bell for the servant when she finds us visiting our wife's folks.

The lazy man is always willing to give the hustler a big percentage for collecting the living that the world owes him.



Don't Trade with Trouble.

Don't make a trade with Trouble! He would buy you bargain cheap, And you'd have to pay a ransom That would climb up mighty steep!

Don't sell yourself to Trouble, 'Cause he banters you each day! Out beyond the snows of labor Wait the blossomings of play!

Don't make a trade with Trouble! Never stop to name a price; Tell him plain he'd better travel Without any more advice!

Trouble never paid a dollar Of the mighty debt he owes; Don't sell yourself to Trouble And the sorrows that he knows!



Little Sermons.

The Devil has such a good appetite that you can't afford to have him boarding at your hotel.

Broken heads are more numerous than broken hearts, and they also pay more fines in the police court.

When Faith and Hope leave a woman's heart, it is entirely empty of the graces; for Charity never had a home there.



Life and Love.

Life, and the trouble that comes along,— Life and the griefs it carries; But Love comes by with her lips of song, And the joy that forever tarries!

Life and the love and the bliss supreme,— Life and the smiles of gladness; And the song she sings is a holy dream Where the soul forgets the sadness!



Where Love Abides.

We walk in the present as roamed we the past, With gladness before us and joys unsurpassed, And Love lights the new days as Love lit the old, With the smile of her joy and the laugh of her gold!

The world and its sorrows no longer supreme Fade away in the smiles of the wonderful dream, And the light of its love overshines the abode Of the shadows that falleth on beautiful road.

O, Sorrow, stay far in the desolate night, Where the black of your wings bears the black of your flight, And hasten, O tears, down the deserts that lie In the silences vast of the bleak bye-and-bye!

O, Joy, tune the stars till they sing through the night, While Love wreaths the lilies of Good with delight,— Till the stars fill the earth with the seraphim song, And Love with her garlands hides all of the wrong!



Keep in the Light.

It's no use to court the shadows! They will hide your heart in night! If you want to gather roses You must linger in the light!



It's Good bye, Mr Speaker.

O, it's good-bye, Mister Speaker, when the motion to adjourn Says the stuff is off forever and forbids us to return! And there's much of tears and laughter, much rejoicing and regret, At the measures we enacted and the things we didn't get; But the sixty days are over! And this hope each heart imbues That the people are forgiving and our errors will excuse!

It was sixty days of labor with but little recompense; It was sixty days of struggle with the rivalries intense; It was sixty days of effort to enthrone the people's will, And to legislate the good things and the evil things to kill; And if we but scanty trophies for our battles can display, Still it's good-bye, Mister Speaker! We are going home today!

We have found there's something mighty in the large affairs of state, And we know beyond a question it is hard to legislate! For there stand so many fellows plucking at the public goose, That it's moving lofty mountains when you try to pull 'em loose! But it's good-bye, Mister Speaker! If we failed to do the best, Let's be glad at what we purposed and surrender all the rest!

It is pretty safe to figure that the legislature man Shall receive but scanty praises though he does the best he can, And with fellows on the left of him and fellows on the right, Full of sage advice and counsel, his is not a happy plight; But the record has been written and for us it stands for aye, So, it's good-bye, Mister Speaker! We are going home today!

O, it's good-bye, Mister Speaker, and it's farewell this and that, And it's wish you well, my brother, with the work you labor at! And if we have missed our calling and we don't deserve applause, Nevermore we'll leave the furrow just to tinker at the laws; If we failed, 'twas worth the trying, whatsoe'er the people say, But it's good-bye, Mister Speaker! We are going home today!



A Memory.

A scarlet on the maples, A daisy down below, And perfumes of the gardens That blossomed long ago!

Love lifts the face of morning, And walks the twilight late, And one is there beside me And leans across the gate!

Love sings her angel music Through all the laughing days, And we, the lovers, loiter Adown the rosy ways.

O, scarlet of the maples, O, daisies down below, And perfumes of the gardens That blossomed long ago!



Richly Deserved.

"I see Jingles is becoming quite a poet. I presume he must have got a good deal for that last poem of his."

"Yes, I think he deserved six months for it, at least!"



Sunny Side Out.

Though the skies are gray and gloomy And the shadows hang about, Yet the world is bright and bloomy When the sunny side is out.

There is still an angel chorus That shall put the griefs to rout, And the sorrows flee before us When the sunny side is out.

Then ring the bells of glory And swing them with a shout! This life's a laughing story When the sunny side is out!

And fill the lips with laughter! Let ancient worries pout! With joys before and after And the sunny side still out!



Little Sermons.

It's a mighty poor religion that isn't better than some of its devotees.

If God is in your debt, you can meet the Devil's sight drafts on demand.

The honest doubter will be welcomed to glory while the canting hypocrite is hustled into the patrol wagon for the infernal regions.



Fishing Time.

Yonder by the river Grasses growing green, And the wild birds singing Over all the scene!

Yonder by the river Violets are blue, And the skies are dropping Tender dreams of you!

Yonder by the river, Where the ripples sing, In the tangled thicket Burns a crimson wing!

Yonder by the river! We have waited long; Let us greet the sunshine With a smile and song!



Life's Eternities.

Who can measure the dynamic force of one small life, or even of its smallest act? Verily, he that plants faith and hope in one brave heart and summons it with trumpet call to the lofty labors of the rolling years, has borrowed creative energies from the treasuries of God and throned eternal might to rule again among the skies!



The Days.

Day-time and night-time, Bright and black weather, Life-song and love-song Blended together! Sorrow's an exile At Joy's high endeavor; Tears for a moment, Then laughter forever!



Little Sermons.

A bowl of hot soup is sometimes more christian than a cup of cold water.

Even a bald-headed man can be a prophet. There was Elijah, for instance, whom the bears revenged.

Patience is sometimes imposed upon. Job not only had great suffering, but his friends lectured him about his sins.



Spring is the creative season of the world. Then all the creatures of earth and air, of sky and sea, find their well-loved mates, and though the individuals pass away, the pair grows all immortal in the children of their love.



When the Birds Come Back.

When the birds come back! When the birds come back! There's a call of rolling music for the lonely hearts that lack, And across the hills and valleys that have silent been so long There's a lilt of love and laughter and a rhapsody of song; And the cares that brought the sorrows and the shadows bleak and black Hide away their gloomy faces, when the birds come back!

When the birds come back! There's a sky of sweeter blue, With the breezes blowing softer and the blossoms peeping through; There's a daisy in the meadows and a green upon the trees With a welcome for the songsters and their swelling melodies; And the pleasures trip the measures and their happiness unpack Over all the waking wood-lands, when the birds come back!

When the birds come back! Ah, the wonders of the spring And the blossoms that are longing for the choruses they sing! And the roses that are sleeping through the darkness of the night Till the love-song calls and summons to the lover and the light! Then we sail the seas of laughter, though the tempests lower black, As the blossoms greet the morning, when the birds come back!

When the birds come back! Ah, the days of heaven when All the songs shall sing forever down the perfect ways of men, And the lilies and the roses in the fields of death and doom Shall engarland all the path-ways with the bright of bud and bloom! What if long the wait and watching? What if sky and sun are black? Songs and blossoms come to meet us, when the birds come back!

When the birds come back! When the birds come back! O, the raptures and the rhapsodies that follow in their track! How the memories of by-gones and the joys of other days Smile again with angel faces down the world's entangled ways! And the pleasures come and crown us with the garlands that we lack, When the sunshine floods the valleys and the birds come back!



The Ways of Life.

The rough way, the hard way, The way that seems so long! Yet still the sweet and happy way Across the fields of song!

The sad way, the dark way, The way that leads above; And still the bright and golden way Across the fields of love!

The love way, the song way, The way we gladly go,— The way of blossoms sweet and fair And 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! Mister Blue-bird! Don't you think it's rather soon For the making of your music, And the striking of a tune?" "I have heard the lone trees calling And the meadows barren long, For the laughter of the lovers And the raptures of the song!

"I have heard the dark buds waiting, And the roses red to be Sent the wailing of their wishes In a message after me!

"Never think I come too early! I'm the messenger of spring, And the roses and the lilies Never waken till I sing!"



He has Lived in Vain.

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 scraped apple and castor oil in cold coffee, taught the calves to drink and fed them, manipulated the churn-dasher, ate molasses and sulphur and 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 sunshine And laugh in the light; And the roses and lilies of God's holy love With 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."

Say good-bye to Sorrow, And her ways of night; Song for you will borrow Every sweet delight.

Say good-bye to Sorrow,— Put the rogue to flight; Pleasures come tomorrow With the blossoms bright.

Say good-bye to Sorrow! When she pounds your door, Tell her there's the highway And to call no more!



Caught on the Fly.

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.



The Call of the Master.

I.

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!"

II.

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!

III.

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!

IV.

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!

V.

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 we Both shall laugh with rhapsody, Hand in hand through all the days And the world's peculiar ways! What to us unhappiness Of the sad heart's storm and stress? Joy shall hold our hands and twine Heart to heart through storm and shine!



The Baby's Hand.

In these days of loot and lucre When no chap can get enough, And the man that wins the praises Is the one that gets the stuff; When the fellow with a plenty Of the "long green" at command Is the one that knocks persimmons From the tall trees of the land,— What for me shall such things matter? There's a glory more divine Than 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 blue And the blankets of its comfort Come and warm the heart of you! But it soon demands the minutes Every hour and day and week, With the gall of angry despot And a most unmeasured cheek; So I'm reconciled to leave it and its tyrannies resign For the ways of love and laughter with the baby's hand in mine!

For the jingle of the dollars Soon disturbs the dearest dreams With the thunders of their madness And the rumble of their schemes, Till the heart and brain are weary And the revel of their roar Drive away the mirth and music From the longings evermore! But the skies above are bluest and the heavens all a-shine With the faces of the angels when the baby's hand in mine!

Mister Midas, take your millions And the glitter of your gold! Life has treasures where the heart is That have never yet been told! There are sweeter things to cherish, There's song of earth and sky, That are only faintest whispers Of the raptures bye and bye! You have little that I value! Let for me the roses twine With the laughter of the lovers and the baby's hand in mine!



Little Sermons.

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.



Caught on the Fly.

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!



Love and Song.

Ah, Love is no phantom, Love's never a dream! One hour in her kingdom Is life all supreme! And ever and ever The scepter she swings For hearts that are happy With laughter that sings!

And Song is her sister That makes for the feet All the carpets of roses And blossoms so sweet!

With hands linked together They wander the ways! How joyous their kisses For grief-laden days!



Sooner Sayings.

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.



Sooner Sayings.

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.



Caught on the Fly.

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.



All Fool's Day.

God bless the man who hallowed April First! (Or was it, after all, some saintly woman?) May countless barrels of honors brimming burst Across the realms he rules so super-human! A wondrous person he in every part With true affection filling all his heart!

For 'tis but proper that one holy day From all the hundreds should be consecrated, While Nature triumphs over Arts' display And 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 throng Should 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 shame And 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 waves Imperial 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 brains While 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.



In the Orchards of Spring.

A cloud of white in the orchard And blossoms fair in the sun, When love comes by in the morning And sings till the day is done!

A cloud of white in the orchard! O, branches hung with the bloom At touch of her fairy fingers And breath of her sweet perfume!

A cloud of white in the orchard And skies with their deeps of blue, And songs of the purple morning That 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 morning And stayed till the set of sun!

O, cloud of white in the orchard And days with the skies of blue! And songs that were sweet with laughter And 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 laughter For you will return no more!



Sunshine or Shadow.

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 us With 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 us Blossom in the blue, And the days are singing Through 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 and prophesy of 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.



Dreams.

Day-dreams and night-dreams,— All the dreams you will; Black dreams and bright dreams Up and down the hill! What if nights are gloomy? What if days are sad? Life is always bloomy With the roses glad!

Day-dreams and night-dreams,— All the dreams you will; Love is there with kisses Through the good and ill! Love is there with music And her heart so true, And amid the shadows Still the eyes of you!



Caught on the Fly.

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.



Teddy's on a Hunting Trip.

"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 say That 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 nag On 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 cold And 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 ones To 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 guns Will 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 hied O'er dale and desert, wood and plain, each to his ingle-side! They hid themselves so closely that no hunter cared to roam Where 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!



Sooner Sayings.

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.



Little Sermons.

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.



In April Days.

The budding trees Perfume the breeze With breath of blossomed mysteries, And soft winds play By grassy way Through every laughing April day!

Suns rosy rise Through turquoise skies, And life looks out through tender eyes; While cloudlets lift Through rent and rift, Where floating islands drive and drift.

Clear waters sing From stream and spring, With music in their murmuring, And where they drip, With thirsty sip A lonely violet lifts its lip.

The balmy croons Of tender tunes Sing through the drowsy afternoons, And faint perfumes Of bursting blooms Haunt all the aisles of dying glooms!

And dreams arise Of perfect skies And all the worlds of prophets wise, And tender hands Whose fond commands Lead fast and far through Love's sweet lands.

And bending low We fondly know The love-songs of the Long Ago, So sweet and fair With raptures rare, And lips of welcome waiting there.

O, fields afar, Whose echoes are Soft whispers flung from sun and star, Still faint and dim I hear your hymn Across the wide horizon's rim!



Little Sermons.

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.



Without Embarassment.

(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 trying When the wicked millionaires Desire to trade the pulpits Dirty dollars for their prayers; But I miss the shame, you see, And am happy as can be, For John D. Rockyfeller he Hain't a-throwin' any of his awful coin at me! Of course, if some rich sinner Should 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 he Hain't expressed a notion to be subsidizin' me!

But I—I have the promise,— You may spread the joyous news— I get whatever millions That the churches may refuse; But I know still poor I'll be And from dirty dollars free, For John D. Rockyfeller he Will never have occasion to pass on the coin to me!



In the Dark.

It's all too lonely for speech, Too drear for a swift remark; I only grope till I faintly reach Your finger-tips in the dark.

But there in the darkness near Where the shadows clutch and cling, Above the plash of the bitter tear, A song and the lips that sing!



Caught on the Fly.

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.



"When Teddy Squares the Deal."

They tell us that the good old play We call the game of life, Is fair no more, and every day Leads on to more of strife; The cards are marked, the hands are stuffed, The players bunco feel, And graft has all the goodness bluffed Till Teddy squares the deal!

The gamblers who have won the stakes By shady ways of wrong Will find of dough their biggest cakes And sing another song; The loaded dice so used of yore, The marks that help the steal, Will disappear forever more When Teddy squares the deal.

Then honest men will have a chance To play an even game, And thrift and virtue swift advance To happiness and fame; No more will robbers ply their trade, Nor shout the tin-horn's spiel; The world will call a spade a spade When 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 pains And millionaires shall reel, While poor men prosper in their gains, When Teddy squares the deal.

I think that life will be worth while When force and fraud no more Confederate with smirk and smile To grab the people's store; Get in the game! The laws will cease To help the robbers steal, And all the land will live in peace When Teddy squares the deal!



A Date with Joy.

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 and the Man-Child.

I.

The Gods of Life to the Man-Child crept They whispered 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 fate In a crown that was sad to see!

II.

"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 burn And the joys that are slaves of mine!"

III.

"Come worship me!" said the God of Hate; "Revenge is sweetest of faith and fate! To conquer foes that revile and leer With the scorn of the fiends of hell, Is work that brings to the soul good cheer And is worthy of doing well!"

IV.

"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 state And of gold and the world's acclaim!"

V.

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!

VI.

He heard faint calls from the far-off days; He saw faint steps in the lonely ways; He caught faint glimpses by wayside path, As he threaded the shadows dim, And through the years with their peace and wrath In the quest of the soul for Him!



Caught on the Fly.

Love heals the wound that truth only irritates.

The world offers no standing-room for the lazy man.

Palpitation of the tongue is the most chronic disease known to the race of women.



Sooner Sayings.

The swift horse plants the first stake.

It is well enough to be early, but too early is worse than too late.

A quarter section isn't big enough for a potato patch when two men claim it.



April 22, 1889-1905.

It is sixteen years since the race for homes,—it is sixteen years today Since we on that April morning lined up for the mighty race; And after the strenuous toiling and the griefs that have gone away, The fields are glad with their beauty and the land is a dream of grace.

We raced for homes in the desert ways, and we won them fair and square; We built so well as the swift years fled that life was a laughing thing; And the joys that come as the crowns of life, the joys that are sweet and fair, Build close their nests by the brooding eaves where the rose-vines climb and cling.

We knew when we entered the strange, new land there were labors of might to do; We knew that Want with his deadly sword stood guard at the desert gate, But far to the swarded prairies and valleys that no one knew, We spurred our steeds on the holy quest for the stars of a mighty state!

The Drouth came out of the sere south-west and the corn died low in a day; The copper sun looked out of a sky that burned with a molten fire; While Hope sank deep in the bravest heart, and over the barren way The dumb feet trailed in the steps of Want and dead was the old desire.

And Famine came with her sunken eyes from the dust of the parching fields And tapped the door with her bony hands and her fingers gaunt and thin; Ah, Hearts grow faint at the hunger-cry and the arm of the master yields When all the world is a heap of dust that its creatures wriggle in!

But Plenty heard of our want and woe, and gave with a lavish hand, And Love loaned ever her cruise of oil that never of fullness fails; The God of the rains heard all our cries and He watered the thirsty land And sent us a patch of turnips instead of a flock of quails!

O, years of the strife and struggle! O, years of the wrath and wrong! The hands of toil smote the sleeping fields and they woke with the blooms of light; The homes we wrought are the homes of peace, where life is a tender song, And the pleasures romp through the laughing days and the dreams go down the night!

Between the seas of the big, round world there never was such a land! A land that walks in the paths of peace where the stars in their plenty shine; And the fields are fair with the harvests there and the gifts of the toiler's hand, And the fruit hangs red in the orchard trees and the grapes on the purple vine!

It is sixteen years since we ran the race, it is sixteen mighty years, And the days have come and gone again, with the gifts that the strong men claim; And after the days of the struggle, the grief and toil and tears, The wilderness smiles in its beauty 'neath the stars of a wondrous fame.



Caught on the Fly.

The younger a bride, the sooner a grass widow.

Lilies are pretty, but the old fashioned potato sticks closer to the ribs.

A magnate and his money are different propositions to the missionary societies.



Willie's Easter.

When Easter Sunday comes along I hunt and hunt so hard, And find a nest of rabbit eggs Out yonder in the yard; They're red and yellow, blue and green, All colored every way, And when the rabbits lay their eggs I know it's Easter day.

My Mamma cooks a lot of eggs For little Bud and me, And says for us to eat ourselves As full as we can be; And then we go to dress ourselves, And find in every shoe, The rabbits left a pile of eggs As Easter rabbits do.

And Mamma tells us of the Christ Who came to earth and died, And was so good in all he did He soon got crucified; But when they took him from the Cross And buried him away, He came to life and rose again And started Easter day.

And Mamma has some lilies, too, And glad flowers of the spring, And tells us how the world wakes up, And tells the birds to sing: And I like Easter mighty well, But what is best, I say, Is when you find the rabbit eggs And know it's Easter day!



Little Sermons.

Faith is a great heart-cleaner.

The godly man never worries over hell-fire.

Good intentions never make the dollars ring in the collection plate.

A man's meanness and woman's frailty make a pair that prayer can't beat when they get together.

The Devil never attends the church of a scolding preacher. He knows that his presence is unnecessary.

If you want a balance in your favor on God's books, see to it that there is no balance against you on the books of men.

At the birth-hour of every soul, there overhangs a divine plan directing its plans and purposes. That plan is holy and immaculate; it has neither spot nor blemish; and as the soul walks out upon the highways of its life, dim whispers and faint intuitions try to teach the road it ought to travel to the stars. Happy the man who understands the story and walks with unerring feet the divine lanes of life and light until the shadows fall again!



The Blossom Ways.

With one true heart and a hand that stays, This world rolls ever the blossom ways, And there as it roams the sweet paths over, The honey bees and the laughing clover!

And Love comes by with her lips of song, To hush the cries and the calls of wrong, Till life romps on to a merry measure With dimpled hands and a heart of pleasure!



Sooner Sayings.

The swift horse makes the safe filing.

Getting in line is easy, but it's where you want to get that costs the money.

A mother-in-law may not be a popular member of the family, but your wife's folks will do to visit when the crops fail.



A Modern Love Story.

Anent the present divorce agitation, I find in an old paper the following skit which is still in point:

Chapter I. They met in the Spring And admired everything.

Chapter II. In the Summer she said, "Yes, dear, we will wed!"

Chapter III. In the Autumn this pair Had a spat, I declare!

Chapter IV. In the winter, of course, They procured a divorce!



However it may happen, there are times when the common-place soul rebels at the petty chains of trifles and seeks acquaintance with the infinite. Then it is a companion of the stars, an associate of wind and wave, and all of Nature's immeasurable forces. Happy he whose sanity is so brave and strong as to walk with the blossoms at his feet and the stars above his head.



Sooner Sayings.

Usury knows no law in a new country.

It's a poor claim that won't beat Arkansaw.

It takes more than a map and a real-estate sign to make a city.

All signs fail in dry weather,—except those of the money-lenders.



Better Hurry.

Man, you'd better hurry! Life is mighty swift, Fled before you know it With the stars adrift!

Soak yourself with sunshine All the blessed day; Yonder come the shadows And the night of gray!



If Love Abides.

Old Mister Trouble hides his face And crosses o'er the slope, When Love is laughing on the place And links her hands with Hope.

No matter if in darkest night Through tangled ways we grope, If Love abides with living light Still lip to lip with Hope!



The Rim of the Circle.

I.

We travel the rim of the circle; the center is under the feet; Today is the sire of tomorrow, the noon and the night never meet; The mornings come out of the purple to die in the light of the day, And over the dead of the ages the living are up and away!

II.

We travel the rim of the circle! The roses are ruddy and red Where the blossoms that burst into beauty are sleeping the sleep of the dead; And the trees in the deeps of the forest wave scepters of laughter and light Where the monarchs have perished forever and sheathed are the swords of their might.

III.

We travel the rim of the circle! The peoples that struggled and wrought Are the dust of the ways that we wander, with truths they discovered and taught; And back to the morning we hasten,—the morning when nations were new,— For the Voice of the Master is calling, and still there is labor to do.

IV.

We travel the rim of the circle, yet wider and wider it grows, Yet farther and farther it reaches till Love conquers all of her foes, And Faith to the far journey beckons, and Truth with her promises sweet Sounds the call of the masterful ages and hurries the march of the feet.

V.

We travel the rim of the circle! Its path is a way of delight; The morning brings ever the noon-day and conquers the shadows of night; And whether we walk it a little, or whether we wander it far, Still widens the rim of the circle, and yonder the sun and the star!



Playing the Game.

When Willie first began the game, He saw but little in it, And often wondered how he came To let himself begin it; But soon he learned the ball to hit A mighty blow elastic, And shouted at the rise of it With yells enthusiastic.

He talked so much of hits and runs, Of strikes and fouls and bases, That we, the poor admiring ones, Could hardly hold our faces; His boasting never found an end, His bat was always ready, And every day he had to spend Some hours in practice steady.

He never seemed prepared for meals,— The game held him completely; He kept so busy making "steals." And running home so neatly; And if a "home run" batted he, We could forget it never; His talk would all about it be Forever and forever!

Sometimes I think that Willie's game Is like the game life's playing: At first we wonder how we came Around here to be staying; And then we find the game is worth The stakes that humans stagger, And anxious are to win the earth With "home run" or "three-bagger."

We practice up from day to day To gain applause and prizes, And fool the precious hours away With toilsome exercises; Yet 'tis worth while whate'er the strife, Whatever you are doing, To play your best the game of life And keep the prize pursuing.



Little Sermons.

Love pardons where the law condemns.

It's a poor religion that joins the church for popularity.

Both God and the Devil know that neither of them can depend on the hypocrite.

A cup of cold water bestowed in mercy has more christian qualities than millions of dollars given for the astonishment of men.



With the May-time Blossoms.

I.

Out with the May-time blossoms! How sweet is the May-time song, Far from the griefs and sorrows and all of the cries of wrong!

II.

Out with the May-time blossoms, where the pleasures dance the light, And Love is a laughing fairy that kisses the lilies white!

III.

Out with the May-time blossoms, where the mocking-bird is king, And the songs of the thrush in chorus with all of the laughters ring!

IV.

Out with the May-time blossoms! For the lilies lead the way, And the roses blush their greetings and Love is the Queen of May!

V.

And the breezes whisper "Welcome" and sweet is the vale and stream! And life with the rose and lily is only a lover's dream!

VI.

Out with the May-time blossoms! Let youth and her fancies play, For Love is the light of the lily and Love is the rose's way!



Caught on the Fly.

Even a dead lie has a poisonous sting.

Social stars are not all of the first magnitude.

Grit in men and granite in stone are similar qualities.

Good opinions are valuable only as they come from good people.

Love never yet held poison to the lips or poured vitriol in a wound.

He only is truly rich who carries the sufficiencies of life within his soul.

The musician who would be praised by the ravens must learn to croak in their serenades.

Before great men can grow, the proper raw material must be provided. Pearls can't be made from putty.



My Heritage.

I am rich in the treasures of earth, In the deeds that the fathers have done, And for me from the moment of birth All the gifts of the stars and the sun!

At my feet have the multitudes cast What the ages have conquered and wrought,— All the wonders of present and past, All the truths that the sages have taught.

I'm the heir of the sea and the sky, Of the storm and the sun and the star, And the morning of time toils for me Till I cross o'er the outermost bar.

Every truth that the teachers attained, Every vision the dreamers have known Every thought the philosophers gained, Is forever and ever my own.

I'm the heir of the land and the sea! 'Twas for me that they finished their quest; For they toiled the slow cycles for me And they wrought that my days may be blest!



Shadow and Shine.

"This world is full of trouble, And of sorrows, too, my boy!" But Love is here with laughter And she dwells along with Joy!

"This life is full of grieving, Every pleasure to destroy!" But Love is here with gladness And she fills the days with Joy!

"This path is full of darkness And the gloomy ways annoy!" But Love lights all her candles And unveils the stars of Joy!

O, this world and all that's in it,— Life and every tiny toy! Love is all we crave or care for,— Love who links her hands with Joy!



The Quest.

Over the hills that rise Still pursue the quest, Seeking in the shadows For the best,—the best! And beyond the summits gleam All the glories of the dream!



Brighter than the Dreams.

Never mind the brooding shadows, Nor how dark they seem! Sweeter are the laughing meadows Than the dreams we dream.

Never mind the waves that sever As we sail the stream; Lo, the harbor's brighter ever Than the dreams we dream!

Never mind the griefs that wander Where no stars may beam; There's a heaven fairer yonder Than the dreams we dream!

Never mind the Sword or Miter,— Hard or holy theme; Brother mine, the world is brighter Than the dreams we dream!

Still the dream and still the dreaming, Through the tangled scheme; But the stars of love are gleaming Brighter than the Dream!



Little Sermons.

The cup that runs over is the one that we neglect to empty.

Those who would lie down in green pastures must not sow too many weeds and wild oats.



Howdy, Mister Summer.

It's howdy, Mister Summah! Ah's glad toh see yoh face; Ah hope yuh'll lak de kentry En visit all de place!

It's howdy, Mistah Summah! We'll happy be, Ah knows, Wid shiny watah-melons Eh-crowdin' in de rows!

So howdy, Mistah Summah! Ah's glad yuh back ehgin; We'll ten' de craps tohgetheh, En roll de melons in!



Little Sermons.

Fast people demand a religion trained to their own pace.

Whatever may be thought of the teachings of conventional theology and its peculiar dogmas, it is undeniable that a moral and an upright manner of living secures the highest happiness for the human family. If death is only a passage-way to eternal sleep, still a goodly life is worth the living for the little years of this world only.



Sooner Sayings.

Every man's horse is the fleetest, in the contest records.

Fortune favors the first man on the ground,—if he sets his stake and stays with it.

Statehood and "manana" are putting up a fierce contest to become exact synonyms.



A Happy Dream.

"Ah had a happy dream the otheh night, Boss; jes' de happies' one I evah had in all my life!"

"How was that, Rastus?"

"Well, suh, Ah dreamed dat Ah wuz in a field of water-melons jes' eh-eatin' widout eitheh knife or spoon, en de juice a drippin' offen my chin in a reg'lah stream!"



Still Going.

The black way and the bright way, And still we trudge along, With sunshine o'er each path-way And life a summer song.

The tear-drop and the heart-ache, And still we tread the years, With Love enough for gladness And Joy enough for tears!



Little Sermons.

When envy enters a man's heart, the devil never gives him any more attention.

The devil needs no mortgage on the Pharisee. He already owns him in fee simple.

When a man comes to believe he is better than his neighbors, it is high time he were hunting the mourner's bench.



At the Turning of the Lane.

Say good-bye to grief and sorrow, Leave them in a high disdain; All the raptures come tomorrow At the turning of the lane!

What if over you the shadows And the nights of cold and rain? Yonder smile the laughing meadows At the turning of the lane!

Still the rose and still the rapture Woven through the tangled skein, And the joys we still shall capture At the turning of the lane.

All the rain-bows arch their story Bright above the hill and plain; If we wait, we'll see the glory At the turning of the lane!



At the Twilight.

I.

As sure as the red years die, dear, as sure as the red years die, The day and the hour will come, dear, to whisper a last good-bye. When Love shall unloose the hand-clasp and under the heaping clays Shall hide in the shadows dark, dear, the dreams of the by-gone days!

II.

Whatever the paths we wander, they lead to the ways that part! One goes to the realm of shadows, one waits with a lonely heart; And tears that we weep together shall come at the cry of prayer And flow in a flood of grieving at pangs of the parting there.

III.

The roses will bloom as red, dear, through all of the laughing land; The lilies will grow as white, dear, but neither will understand; For what is the rose and lily to hearts that murmur and moan, With eyes that were bright all dim, dear, and one of us here alone!

IV.

Ah, one that is left shall murmur and ask of the bud and bloom, And question the awful silence and mourn at the gates of gloom; And call through the nights of darkness and sit at the doors of woe, And never an answer at all, dear, from lips that it used to know!

V.

And one at the darkened window and door of the heart's old home. Shall wait with an unspoke welcome for one that shall never come; And one at the gate stand watching as there in the years before, While the latch of the gate is silent and one shall return no more!

VI.

Whichever it be that goes, dear, whichever it be that stays, The lily and rose shall bloom, dear, through all of the lonely days; And all that we lived so bravely and all that we loved so long Shall dwell with the one that stays, dear, and lighten the lips with song.

VII.

Enough that the joys were many, that Love was a sun and star! Enough that we knew the raptures as tired feet wandered far! Enough that the years were happy and sweet was the golden light That came at the first "Good Morning" and stayed till the last "Good Night!"



Upward.

What matters the tempest, The storm and the night? Up yonder is glowing The rainbow of light: And o'er the red path-ways to glory we go The feet of our faith in their happiness know!



Success in its true sense is a personal and subjective matter, after all. Many have commanded armies and sat upon the purple thrones of the world with tear-stained cheeks and the unhappiest of hearts. Unless life has brought happiness to the one who spends it royally, failure of the most ignominious kind has been its dark achievement.



Sooner Sayings.

The gate to a cow pasture has rusty hinges.

A horse's swiftness is not determined by the saddle he sports.

The hoe and the branding-iron can't dwell as friends in the same settlement.



Quit Grieving.

Don't you go to grievin' At the cry of grief; If you'll try to whistle You will find relief!

Mockin'-bird up yonder. Robin down below, An' the world a-singin' All the song's they know!



A rose is only a rose after all, however sweet and beautiful it may be. And a weed is no worse than a weed, however noxious or deadly its exhalations. Neither can reach into the realm of the other or invade the world of its supremacy. Stick to the world in which you are born, and throw no bouquets at the impossible or the unattainable.



To the Dawn.

Hand in hand to the dawn, dear, We go to the gates of day. Where the sweet light beckons on, dear, And the roses line the way; And whether the clouds are heavy Or whether the skies are blue, A song on the lips of love, dear, And a light in the eyes of you!

Hand in hand to the dawn, dear, We go through the happy years, Where the feet of the joys have gone, dear, And the smile of the gold appears; And whether the fates are friendly And whether the blossoms few, The touch of the hand is brave, dear, And a song in the heart of you!

Hand in hand to the dawn, dear, We travel the dusty road, With the bruise of the battle's brawn, dear, And the weight of the labor's load; But whether we lose or conquer, And whether the rose or rue, A song on the paths we go, dear, And a smile on the face of you!

Hand in hand to the dawn, dear We go to the gates of day, Where the sweet light beckons on, dear, And the roses line the way; And whether the clouds are heavy, Or whether the skies are blue, A song on the lips of love, dear, And a light in the eyes of you!



Caught on the Fly.

A man is what he is, not what he heaps around him.

When life passes into the rocking-chair existence, it has no energies for combat.

To have one friend who believes in you is more than to be a favorite of extreme good fortune.



Little Sermons.

Untempted virtue is frequently only undeveloped vice.

When a man's religion brings a long face, he simply got fooled in the article he found.

So many people think heaven must be up yonder because they have never tried to find it here below.



You Sang to Me, Dear!

I.

You sang to me, Dear, in the morns far away, When the birds of the spring sang the matins of May, And the songs that you sang to me then were as sweet As the whispers the daisies lisped low at your feet.

II.

You sang to me, Dear, in the noons far away, When the fairies of joy sang the love-songs of May, And the touch of your hand was as tender and true As the longings of love in the dear heart of you!

III.

You sang to me, Dear, in the nights far away, When the dews of the dusk kissed the rose-lips of May, And the dews of your lips were as soft as the dew, And your eyes were as bright as the stars over you!

IV.

O, the morn and the noon and the night, when your lips In the sweetest of raptures brought sorrow's eclipse! They have died with the years on the deserts of men, Yet your heart to my heart sings the love-songs again!

V.

And the blossoms still bloom on the beautiful way Where the dews of the dusk kiss the rose-lips of May, And the noon and the night from the far away shore Sing the songs that you sang, to my heart evermore!



Caught on the Fly.

A bar-room full of laughter is more attractive than a home used for rag-chewing.

If a man stops to try on every shoe that fits him, he won't get dressed in time to build the fires in the morning.

Strength to do and to endure is the rich, ripe fruit of trial and struggle, grown only in the gardens of supreme courage.



Jist a-Wushin'!

Jist a-wushin' fer the grass Whayre the brook's a-brimmin' An' the tow-head fellers thayre Strippin' off fer swimmin'! Wushin' fer to be a boy In the laughin' lan's o' joy, Whayre the rain-bows ring the medders with a rosy rim of joy!

Wushin' fer the fields o' green, Cow-bells jingle, jangle, An' the kids thayre on the swing In the tree-tops' tangle! Wushin' fer to be a boy Whayre no sorrows fun destroy, An' the rain-bows ring the medders with a rosy rim of joy!

Wushin' fer a fishin pole, Whayre the swallers chatter, An' the Bob-whites come an' call Through the cat-bird's clatter! Wushin' still to be a boy Whayre no grown-ups bring annoy, An' the rain-bows ring the medders with a rosy rim of joy!

Jist a-wushin'! Only that, Fer tho perished pleasures! Jist a-wushin'! Fer the years An' their squandered treasures! Wushin' still to be a boy With the wide world fer a toy, While the rain-bows ring the medders with a rosy rim of joy!



A Happy Farmer.

What's the use to worry? Joy is coming nigh: Got the patches planted For the melons bye and bye!

What's the use to worry? Trust the rain and sky; They will stuff the melons Full of heaven bye and bye!



Sooner Sayings.

When the cow-path fades, the section line appears.

The testimony in a contest case is often a startling work of fiction.

The booth certificate and the lottery number are worthless to the fellow that won't hustle.



In the Lap of Spring.

Took a walk one day to hear Mister Blue-bird sing; Found old Winter sittin' there In the lap of Spring!

"Mister Winter!" So I said, "Guess you'd better hike! Give the lady here a chance At the rosy pike!"



Loafing.

Loafin' in the sunshine, On a grassy bed, Dreamin' of the melons An' their hearts of red!

Loafin' in the sunshine,— That is what I said! Mockin'-bird a-singin', Tree-tops overhead!

Loafin' in the sunshine! All the cares are dead, Thinkin' of the melons An' their hearts of red!

Loafin' in the sunshine,— Work an' worry fled! Heart's a-dancin' hoe-downs With the roses red!



No Encouragement.

"Ah tole yuh, boss, dat book whut yuh calls de Bible ain't no frien' to de cullud people," said Black Mose in a sceptical moment.

"Why, how is that Mose," said the preacher.

"Bekaze it doan't hol' no encouragement out foh de cullud sinnah! Now, ef Hebben wuz a place full ob banjoes en wohtah-millions, all de black raskels would suah come eh-runnin' to de moahneh's bench so fas' dey coulden' be bapsoused!" And the old man slouched away full of indignation at the barrenness of the heavenly promises.



Only the chemical tests of the long years can determine the true success or the utter failure,—the worth of a great deed or the nothingness of a mean act. The world's esteemed immortals have survived the shadows of oblivion only because of precious deeds they wrought for fellow men. The rags of yesterday are exchanged for purple robes as the centuries pass, while the crowns of today fade and crumble into forgetfulness. No man succeeds because he becomes a king or fails because he remains a peasant.



The Grip of the Prairies.

Up and down the world I've wandered, over land and over sea, With the rivers rolling under and the mountains over me, And as sure as truth is certain, you will find this saying so: When the prairies grab a feller, they will never let him go!

For there's something in the stretches of the plains that comes and takes All the loves and all the longings for their own exalted sakes, And the man that gets to breathing of their glories day and night Finds the prairies hold his heartstrings in a grip that's good and tight.

He may tread the balsam forests with their whiffs of fir and pine; He may sail the tossing oceans and inhale their breaths of brine; He may walk the rosy valleys, climb the mountains to the snow, But if once the prairies grab him they will never let him go!

Ever see the sun rise proudly from the prairie's naked rim Filling up the world of wonder till it overflows the brim? 'Tis a glory that's unrivaled! 'Tis a most exalted sight, And the prairies that present it come and grab you good and tight!

O, the grandeur of the prairies! O, the seas of grassy plain! How they soothe with satisfaction all the hopes of heart and brain! 'Tis a truth beyond disputing, and your own heart says it's so: When the prairies grab a feller, they will never let him go!



Caught on the Fly.

The man who has only two hands has none to spare for his neighbor's business.

Some people get up and fool around in the dark so they can grumble at the lack of sunshine.

The man who laughs in the sunshine and sleeps when the shadows fall will never suffer much with the heart-ache.



The Meadows of Morning.

The raptures grow the blossoms Over all the fields of May, And they bring the birds with music Just to sing the time away; O, brother, lift your voice In the anthems that rejoice While the roses rim the meadows of the morning!

The glad hearts send the gladness Over all the fields we go, And the glory of the sunshine Brightens all the world we know; O, brothers, come along! Let us sing the rain-bow song While the roses rim the meadows of the morning!

The good Lord gives his bounties To his children through the years, And his gifts of love and labor Conquer all the griefs and tears; O, brother, bye and bye We shall reach the home on high While the roses rim the meadows of the morning!



Fields of May.

Here's a road that's never long, Where it leads away Through the blossom and the song To the fields of May!

There the rain-bow bends above Bags of gold, they say; And there's laughter, light and love In the fields of May!

Here's the road that's never long! Come and let's away, Through the blossom and the song To the fields of May!



With all the strife and struggle after riches, the greatest joys of life are forever more the gifts of nature, within the reach of rich and poor alike, and beyond the measurings of gold. The clear sky and the green grass, the sunshine of the noon, and the dew of the morning, the blossom and the bird-song, good health and sound sleep, and the love of a man for a woman and of a woman for a man,—these have no prices in the catalogues of wealth and poverty alike.



The Journey.

This life, my dear, is a varied journey And most of its ways are queer, But those who laugh through its work and wonder Will find that it holds good cheer; And whether we laugh or languish And whether we sigh or sing, I am sure that still There is good for ill And the flash of an angel wing!

The world, my dear, and the folk that use it Care naught for our waste or worth; The smile and sorrow of hope and hurry Are small to the brave old earth; And whether with pain or pleasure And whether with smiles or tears, There is something glad For the dark and sad, And we go to the blessed years.

The deeds, my dear, that we faint in doing, The dreams that we catch and cherish, To those that walk in the ways beside us Are naught when they fall and perish; But whether they fail or triumph And whether the rue or rose, To the hearts that hold They are more than gold Till the years of the gods unclose.

It's up, my dear, with the purple morning, And death to the heart's annoy; No stop nor stay on the endless journey To rest on the hills of joy! And whether the paths are easy And whether the roads are long, There is rapture still For the ache and ill, As we wander the ways with song!

Yes, life, my dear, is a varied journey And most of its ways are queer, But those who laugh as they wander onward Will find that it holds good cheer; And whether we laugh or languish And whether we sigh or sing, I am sure that still There is good for ill And the flash of an angel wing!



"When the Sad Time Ends."

What's the use to beckon trouble As you journey down the road? Life will find its burdens double If it cherishes the load! Keep a smile and be contented With the favors fortune sends, And the joys will romp around you Till the sad time ends.

What's the use to keep complaining At the gifts the good days bring? For each tear that flows from heart-ache There's a hundred laughs that sing; For the day that's dark and gloomy, God a hundred bright days lends, And his sunshine will be ceaseless When the sad time ends.

What's the use to go to growling When the comrades that you knew Turn their backs on all your kindness And unsheathe their knives for you? For the scamp that proves a traitor, You will find a hundred friends, And their golden hearts ne'er waver Till the sad time ends.

What's the use to welcome trouble? Chase it from the paths you go! There is always plenty of it If you cherish every woe. Keep your life alight with gladness Till a song each day attends; You will reach the land of sunshine When the sad time ends.



Sooner Sayings.

The land office is the grave-yard of many a happy home.

In driving a settlement stake, one man is company and two's a crowd.

The ox-team makes a swift run when its owner understands how to drive them at the land-office window.



Snake Bit.

"Did you have any accidents on the fishing trip?"

"No; none to speak of?"

"Any one snake bit?"

"Yes, but that's nothing. Bill Jones got snake-bit every time his clothes rubbed him, and hollered for whiskey; and in order to save any, we had to undress Bill and put him under guard for the general welfare."



The Books.

I.

Close the book and put it by! What it held of song and sigh, What it held of smile and tear Laughs and sorrows through the year! Pages dark and pages fair Each to each are wedded there, And no sage e'er understood What was evil, what was good!

II.

Close the life and put it by! It was made of song and sigh, It was made of smiles and tears And the struggles of the years! Days of dark and days of fair Closely came and blended there, And but He who judges could Know the evil and the good!



Every day and hour from which Love witholds her smiles and hides her happy face is a desert path in the rose-fields of this life. Only he who welcomes the laughing goddess to his heart and holds her dear hands close with an abiding faith, receives that holy happiness discerning souls call a success worth having.



Move Along.

Move along, brother! The way may be long, But yonder's the sunshine And here is the song.

Move along, brother! The rain-bow is red; The clouds with the shadows And darkness have fled.

Move along, brother! The turn of the lane! Here's laughing for weeping And pleasure for pain!



The Sage.

Removed from pygmy ways afar, He feels the heft of sun and star,— He traces winding paths that go Beyond the ways that dullards know, And sails swift thoughts across the seas Of God's unsailed immensities.

His vision sees the First and Last To present smallness welded fast, And he beholds with prophet eye The brotherhood of earth and sky, And, when Time's voyage wild is o'er The lights upon the farther shore!



Still Onward.

What if the paths be dark and shadowed still The summit roads and hope hides in eclipse! Beyond the tangled ways that murmur ill The touch of tender lips!

Forth on the dark ways though still darker grow The paths before the groping finger-tips! Beyond the shadow years our visions know The touch of tender lips!



Finis.

A sigh and a song, And a song and a sigh; But the song helps along To the sky bye and bye!



* * * * *



Transcriber's note

The following changes have been made to the text:

In the Table of Contents:

Poetry:

Page number for "A Valentine" changed from 307 to 207.

Page number for "Life" changed from 158 to 168.

Page number for "Mistah Cotton" changed from 149 to 105.

Page number for "Off the Reservation" changed from 225 to 224.

"Our Joe's Home Again" changed to "Our Joe's Home Agin."

"Governor Tom" changed to "Said Governor Tom" and moved to appropriate place in the list.

"See the Side Show" changed to "See the Side-Show" and page number changed from 4 to 102.

Page number for "The Legislative Pass" changed from 187 to 186 and moved to the appropriate place in the list.

Page number for "The Little Boy Land" changed from 67 to 66.

"The Valley of Rest" changed to "The Valleys of Rest".

Prose:

Page number for "Caught on the Fly" changed from 282 to 283.

"Mighty Troublesome" changed to "Mighty Lonesome".

Page number for "Wanted to Hide" changed from 151 to 121.

Page 16: "dosen't lay" changed to "doesn't lay".

Page 16: "hair is the middle" changed to "hair in the middle".

Page 31: "the the care-clouded" changed to "the care-clouded".

Page 34: Added "I." to the first stanza.

Page 39: "Pie-millon" changed to "Pie-million".

Page 59: "roas'in' ears" changed to "roas'in'-ears".

Page 62: "And they they chew" changed to "And they chew".

Page 74: "whereever I roam" changed to "wherever I roam".

Page 76: "new-fangeled" changed to "new-fangled".

Page 78: "it shadows of woe" changed to "its shadows of woe".

Page 80: "Wid de jedgment" changed to "Wid de judgment".

Page 82: "Lumkinsville" changed to "Lumpkinsville".

Page 85: "all the vitrues" changed to "all the virtues".

Page 102: "harvesings of blame" changed to "harvestings of blame".

Page 104: "other fellow out" changed to "other fellow ought".

Page 106: "These is sunshine" changed to "There is sunshine".

Page 111: "food he easts" changed to "food he eats".

Page 158: "Good Bye" changed to "Good-bye".

Page 179: "Caugh on the Fly" changed to "Caught on the Fly".

Page 195: "battallions" changed to "battalions".

Page 217: "They ve passed through" changed to "They've passed through".

Page 227: "Trou le" changed to "Trouble".

Page 237: "when the birds!" changed to "when the birds come back!".

Page 240: "molasses and sulpur" changed to "molasses and sulphur".

Page 241: "Say Good bye" changed to "Say Good-bye".

Page 249: "Fools Day" changed to "Fool's Day" to match Table of Contents.

Page 253: "song and prophsy" changed to "song and prophesy".

Page 265: "millionairs shall reel" changed to "millionaires shall reel".

Page 266: "The whispered" changed to "They whispered".

Page 282: "May time" changed to "May-time".

Page 283: "vitrol" changed to "vitriol".

Page 284: "sun and the star" changed to "the sun and the star".

Page 293: "bouqets" changed to "bouquets".

Page 309: "Snake Bite" changed to "Snake Bit".

THE END