VII.
Enough that the joys were many, that Love was a sun and star!
Enough that we knew the raptures as tired feet wandered far!
Enough that the years were happy and sweet was the golden light
That came at the first "Good Morning" and stayed till the last "Good Night!"
Upward.
What matters the tempest,
The storm and the night?
Up yonder is glowing
The rainbow of light:
And o'er the red path-ways to glory we go
The feet of our faith in their happiness know!
Success in its true sense is a personal and subjective matter, after all. Many have commanded armies and sat upon the purple thrones of the world with tear-stained cheeks and the unhappiest of hearts. Unless life has brought happiness to the one who spends it royally, failure of the most ignominious kind has been its dark achievement.
Sooner Sayings.
The gate to a cow pasture has rusty hinges.
A horse's swiftness is not determined by the saddle he sports.
The hoe and the branding-iron can't dwell as friends in the same settlement.
Quit Grieving.
Don't you go to grievin'
At the cry of grief;
If you'll try to whistle
You will find relief!
Mockin'-bird up yonder.
Robin down below,
An' the world a-singin'
All the song's they know!
A rose is only a rose after all, however sweet and beautiful it may be. And a weed is no worse than a weed, however noxious or deadly its exhalations. Neither can reach into the realm of the other or invade the world of its supremacy. Stick to the world in which you are born, and throw no [bouquets] at the impossible or the unattainable.
To the Dawn.
Hand in hand to the dawn, dear,
We go to the gates of day.
Where the sweet light beckons on, dear,
And the roses line the way;
And whether the clouds are heavy
Or whether the skies are blue,
A song on the lips of love, dear,
And a light in the eyes of you!
Hand in hand to the dawn, dear,
We go through the happy years,
Where the feet of the joys have gone, dear,
And the smile of the gold appears;
And whether the fates are friendly
And whether the blossoms few,
The touch of the hand is brave, dear,
And a song in the heart of you!
Hand in hand to the dawn, dear,
We travel the dusty road,
With the bruise of the battle's brawn, dear,
And the weight of the labor's load;
But whether we lose or conquer,
And whether the rose or rue,
A song on the paths we go, dear,
And a smile on the face of you!
Hand in hand to the dawn, dear
We go to the gates of day,
Where the sweet light beckons on, dear,
And the roses line the way;
And whether the clouds are heavy,
Or whether the skies are blue,
A song on the lips of love, dear,
And a light in the eyes of you!
Caught on the Fly.
A man is what he is, not what he heaps around him.
When life passes into the rocking-chair existence, it has no energies for combat.
To have one friend who believes in you is more than to be a favorite of extreme good fortune.
Little Sermons.
Untempted virtue is frequently only undeveloped vice.
When a man's religion brings a long face, he simply got fooled in the article he found.
So many people think heaven must be up yonder because they have never tried to find it here below.