IV.
O, the darlin' days of summer when the stars of plenty shine
With the apples in the orchard en the graps upon the vine!
When the hedges bud en blossom, en the medders rich en rare
Breathe the perfumes of the clovers like an incense everywhayre!
En the world seems like yer mother, with the tender hands thet bless
All the restless race of struggle with a heaped-up happiness,
En her han'kerchiefs of glory from yer eyes the weepin's wipe,
When the [roas'in'-ears] is plenty en the worter-millons ripe!
Don't You Fret.
Don't you fret about the weather
'Cause it seems a little hot;
You will find it rather sultry
Over yonder, like as not!
And unless you mend your manners
You will land without a doubt,
Where the brim-stone keeps a blazin'
And the fire is never out!
The Kingbolt Philosopher.
"In spite of whut some fellers say, this world never owed anybody a livin' yit!" said Uncle Ezra Mudge, as he whetted his scythe and tried the edge on the broad part of his thumb. "Thet heresy wuz invented fer the lazy cuss thet wuz too ornery to git up in the mornin' and hustle fer grub while the grass wuz wet.
"Some fellers seem ter act on the habit thet the world not only owes 'em a livin' but air willin' fer some body else to do the collectin' fer 'em. Leastways, they never do much hustlin' in thet direction theirselves. En I hev noticed thet when other fellers collect the livin' fer a feller, they giner'ly confisticate the most ov it in commissions!"
"Doing Pretty Well."
There are many that you meet with
Who are always full of gloom,
And [they] chew the rag forever
'Bout the darkness of their doom;
But as through the world we journey,
There's a joy that none may tell
When we meet the pleasant people
Who are "doing pretty well."
There are fellows by the dozens
Who are always in the skies,
And forever capture fortunes
Of the most gigantic size;
But we stagger from their presence
And their glories that repel,
For the quiet-spoken persons
Who are "doing pretty well."
O, it's neither sun nor shadow
All the time from year to year,—
And it's neither all of pleasure
Or of pain,—the journey here!
But whatever clouds may gather
Or what sunshine, for a spell
Let us keep a steady temper
And keep "doing pretty well!"
Caught on the Fly.
Hitch your wagon to a star, if you will, but always stand ready to throw the harness on the mules, also.
The man who masters the world may trust in Providence, but he climbs to greatness on the stepping stones of hard work.
In the economy of farmers entirely up against the crab-grass in the cotton-patch, the mule is mightier than the sword.
What shall it matter though sorrows distress us?
God sends the sun and the shadows to bless us!
And through all the years
Joy ever appears,
With a little of love and a little of laughter
To fashion this life for a jolly hereafter!
The Kingbolt Philosopher.
"I want ter say," remarked Uncle Ezra Mudge as he began his Sunday shaving and stropped his razor on his thumb-nail, "I want ter say thet eddication is a big thing, but there air some things it can't do. One of 'em is ter give brains ter a fool. No school wuz ever yit found thet could change a wooden head ter flesh en blood; en the pore teachers air bein' continua'ly pestered ter death with idiotic payrents a-tryin' to have 'em stuff brains in their kids which the good Lord dident give any to. You kin plant jimson weeds in the garden, en tend 'em and water 'em, en nuss 'em the hull season through, en you'll hev only a leetle bigger crop of jimson seed at the wind-up. En it's jest thet way when brainless cubs air sent off ter collidge!" And the old man wiped his face with a hot towel and went on with his shaving.
There are many pleasant things in this world, but it is the job that allows us to get up when we please in the morning that makes life one grand sweet song.
In Prayer.
Beyond the narrow years Thou sendest me,
Flecked with their sun and shadow, tears and wrong,
Grant me this glory, Father, this to see,—
A world made happy in a world made strong!
The Kingbolt Philosopher.
"Them millionairs kin hev all the money they want en all the fun they kin git outen it," said Uncle Ezra Mudge as he drew on his blue denim wampus and whistled for the hounds, "but I kin git more ra'al fun en pure enjoyment outen a three hour 'coon-hunt with ole Lead then they git outen all theyr tom-foolin' aroun' with awty-mobeels en yats en summer ree-sorts en sea-side foolishness. It takes mighty leetle money ter make a man happy thet loves his work, en all the millions they kin pile up in front of him wouldn't buy a single beller from ole Lead on a hot trail! Come on, Lead!" And the old man strode away through the clearing with all a boy's enthusiasm for the hunt.