Chapter V: Part 5

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.