V.
And there at the last I shall find her—the angel that led me afar,—
And we shall rejoice in the raptures where all the beatitudes are,
And whether the journey be little, or whether the journey be long,
I press the red lips of her beauty and leap at the lilt of her song!
Caught on the Fly.
When Misfortune concludes to pay you a visit, she pushes the door open and walks in without knocking.
Woman's inhumanity to man,—the one she has and the other she wants,—maketh the divorce lawyer fat with ali-money.
Temptation is the dangerous banana-peel on the side-walk of upright conduct; and even the bare foot sometimes takes a fall-down.
Too Busy.
Trouble will double
If trouble gets room,
But will pine if you leave her
And die in her gloom;
For trouble is lonesome
And moans from the start
If you face her with firmness
And lock up your heart
Sorrow will borrow
Wherever she can,
But will leave when you tell her
You're never her man;
Don't flirt with the vixen,
Don't welcome her face,
But exhort her to leave you
For some warmer place.
Make Trouble and Sorrow,—
The couple that moans—
Keep out of your pathway
And limp on the stones
Just let them go weeping
Through all of the years;
For a man is too busy
To join in their tears.
"When the Crow's Feet Come."
When we reach the Land of Forty,
And the hot blood cools a jot,
There's a mighty sight of changes
In our vision, like as not;
And we sober down a little
As we figure up life's sum
When we waken in the morning
And the crow's feet come.
When they scratch their little wrinkles
Round the corner of the eyes
We begin to chase the creatures
In a horrified surprise;
But they cling with cool persistence
And our hearts are stricken dumb
For we know they'll never leave us
When the crow's feet come.
We may tonic and cosmetic,
We may take our beauty sleep;
We may rub and punch and powder
But the claws go deep and deep;
And before we understand it
All our beauty's on the bum
For the years are turning yellow
When the crow's feet come!
But it's all the way of Nature!
There's no use to sob or sigh,
'Cause the chin takes on a wobble
And the wrinkles wrap the eye;
If we heap our hearts with gladness
Life with music still shall hum,
Though we reach the Land of Forty
And the crow's feet come!