II.
The harvest time is over! After all the years of strife
There's a joy for every sorrow and a crown for every life;
And the songs of Heaven's angels on the straining soul arise
As the weary foot-steps falter on the walks of Paradise.
The harvest time is over! All the struggle has surcease!
After life, the stars above us! After battle, love and peace!
And the glories of achievement that atone for sin and strife
Are the sheaves of good we garner as we reap the fields of life!
Harvest time! harvest time!
Years of struggle gone,
Joy shall crown the soul with light
In eternal Dawn!
The Kingbolt Philosopher.
"Fer accumulatin' much experience in a short while and in a rapid manner," said Uncle Ezra Mudge, "thar is nothin' under the sun beats a-goin' to law. With only a toler'ble fair case and a good lively lawyer on the other side, a man can git enough out of one single law-suit suitably appealed, to decently equip a whole neighborhood fer at least three generations."
Mister Cantaloupe.
Hello, Mister Canteloupe,
When did you arrive?
Glad to see you, and I hope
That you're all alive!
How-dy do and how-dy do!
Hope your folks are well,
And are coming after you
For to stay a spell!
Hello, Mister Cantaloupe!
Please excuse my smile,
But I'm just so glad, and hope
You will stay awhile;
Put 'er here and put 'er there!
If you've traveled far,
Come with me and take a chair
In the dining car!
Life is neither comedy nor tragedy, but sometimes it pushes up so close to both that it keeps a fellow on the dodge between smiles and tears.
Rainy Weather.
Our Mud Creek correspondent sends us the following items, having to do with the recent wet weather:
"Bill Hughes cut his wheat last week. He rigged up a header attachment to a row-boat, and nipped the heads off at the surface of the water.
"It rained so fast last Saturday night at Tad Wilson's that the water couldn't all run off the roof of his new house. The water stood four inches deep on top of the comb for over half an hour. Then Tad took an ax and sharpened the comb so it would split the drops better, and the water soon ran down.
"Jem Bilkins' incubator hatched last Wednesday during the heavy rain. Jem set only Plymouth Rock eggs; but, when they hatched, over half of his chickens were ducks. They were given web feet by an accommodating providence."
Get in the Game.
Get in the game of life, my boy,
Get in the mighty game;
There'll be something of care and somewhat of strife
And something of sin and shame!
But after the years and the toils they bring,
There'll be a time of joy,
If the heart stays sweet and the soul can sing,
So get in the game, by boy.
Got in the game of life, my boy,—
That is the game for all;
For the hazards are sweet and the days are rife
With the fortunes that rise and fall;
But after the losses the triumphs stand
Enemies can't destroy;
So get in the game with a full, clean hand,
So get in the game, by boy.
Get in the game of life, by boy!
That is the game men play,
And whether it's gladness or whether it's strife,
It lasts to the One Great Day;
The crowns and the stars and the laughs of love
Beckon with hands of joy,
Till the soul grows vast in the home above,—
So get in the game, my boy!
Caught on the Fly.
My son, this world has so much work to do that it has not even room for a lazy man to sit down and rest. The hen that [doesn't] lay, the horse that balks, and the cow that refuses to give down her milk, don't get up to the feed-rack very long.
The Athletic Clubs are always inventing some new way of giving a big strapping cub an adequate form of exercise, but the average farmer finds more kinds of it than he wants when the crab grass gets busy.
It isn't every dude that wears patent leathers and parts his hair [in] the middle, who hasn't sense enough to flag the bread-wagon when it comes tearing down the pike.
Dreaming.
Let those who prefer it
Keep hatching their schemes,
But all through life's summer
I'll cherish my dreams!
Go on with your struggles,
Your worries and wrongs;
I'll camp with the lillies
And list to their songs.
I'll dream with the daisies
That sweeten the sod;
I'll dream with the roses
That whisper of God;
I'll dream with the wild birds
That sing of the right,
And out of the shadows
Dream garlands of light.
I'll dream through the darkness
Of sorrow and strife,
Till love brings the morning
And laurels the life;
And over the meadows
My happy feet roam,
Still dreaming, still dreaming,
Till Love takes me home!