III.
Day-dreams and Night-dreams,—all the dreams you will,—
Beckon up the rocky slope and summon o'er the hill,—
Summon us to do and dare all the deeds of yore
Till the battle ceases, and we strive no more!
My Philosophy.
I've made up my mind
In spite of the cranks,
'Tis a pretty good world
And we ought to give thanks;
And whether it came
From the God or the grime,
The fellow that runs it
Don't lose any time.
I've made up my mind
In spite of the tears.
That the world clambers up
With the roll of the years;
And whether it gropes
Or is led on and on,
It will come by and by
To the meadows of dawn.
In spite of the sin
And the folly around,
'Tis a much better place
Than the fore-fathers found;
And in spite of the fools
And the devils that grieve
I'm sure in no hurry
To pull up and leave.
So shut up your mouth
And don't grumble nor croak;
Go put your poor head
And your poor heart in soak;
Lay all of your sorrows
And sins on the shelf,
For the world is all right
If you're all right yourself!
Caught on the Fly.
If the girl with a white muslin dress and a picture hat has any troubles in this world she has a wonderful skill in hiding her real feelings.
Somehow, those men who are all the time telling how well money talks, never get well enough acquainted with it to speak with authority.
"De worst objection to de wortersmillion in Oklahomy," said a Mississippi black man, "is de fact dat it gits ripe too late fer de wheat harvest an' too yarly fer de cotton-pickin."
The average man grieves more when he runs out of chewing tobacco and the nearest neighbor who uses the filthy weed is three miles away, than he does when the mortgage takes the farm. Upon what little things doth happiness depend!
A Busy Family.
Mam's at a function where you hold your breath;
Liz has got a feller, an' she's talkin' him to death;
Andy has the measles, Susie's nussin' Bill,
Pap is out fer office an' he's runnin' fit to kill;
Pont an' me are fishin', all the signs are right,
Fer the crick is up a-boomin' an' the big fish bite!
The Kingbolt Philosopher.
"Ive heerd tell," said Uncle Ezra Mudge, "thet every dog has his day. But I'm jest as sartin thet he don't know he's a havin' of it when he has it.
"Now, thar was Bill Smith. Bill was a high-up chap, made money, had a rubber-tired buggy, four girls, and chawed terbacker thet cost a dollar a pound. But he never knowed he was a havin' of his day ontell he went busted on the Board of Trade. But now Bill knows it, and has knowed it ever sence he went busted."
Don't Grumble.
What's the use to grumble, what's the use to fret,
'Cause the cotton's weedy and the days go wet?
'Tis the Lord that sorts the weather and the sun and rain to you,
And you needn't kick and holler 'cause he don't explain to you!
When it rains, don't get to mopin!
There's more sunny skies than clouds,
And if sorrows drop in singly, why, the pleasures come in crowds;
Black day or bright day, don't you fume and fret,
When the cotton's weedy and the days go wet!
A Troublesome Set.
"Dese hyar white folks am a troublesome set," said a Guthrie coon. "We hab a great majority ob de city, but on 'lection day we nebber git ober half the city council an 'de school board, and four drinks apiece. We am a-talkin' of sendin' 'em back to Englan' whar dey belong ef dey don't do better!"