"I've wunder'd through this vale of sunshine for about sev'nty years," said Uncle Ezra Mudge, as he filled his Missouri meerschaum for the twentieth time, "an' I never yit seen a feller thet amounted to shucks who wuz allus a-hangin' on to someone else. The pore soul thet hain't got enough git up an' git to him to strike out fer hisself an' find a path of his own through the woods is mighty nigh sartin to git lost in the brush.
"Purty nigh ev'ry feller I ever knowed thet did anything wuth while did it by usin' the climbers on his own legs. Ef he stan's 'round waitin' to borry somebody else's tools, he wastes a mighty sight of his own time an' don't know how to use 'em when the other feller gits ready to be accommedatin'!"
Don't You Grumble.
I.
Don't you grumble at the weather when the clouds are hanging flat,
For the sun will soon be shining and you'll have to growl at that,
And before in working order you your growler well have got,
You will have to change its focus for another kind of shot!
II.
Don't you grumble at the fortune that the Fates incline to send!
If it's good, rejoice with gladness; if it's bad, why, make it mend;
And before you hit the gravel for the world beyond the years,
Things will balance pretty even through the tangled smiles and tears.