Chapter III: Part 3

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.