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.