All heedless of our hopes and fears.
To-morrow? ’Tis not ours to know
That we again shall see the flowers.
To-morrow is the gods’—but, oh,
To-day is ours! (Text.)
—Charles Edmund Merrill, Jr., Scribner’s Magazine.
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TONGUE, A SWEARING
A long, long time ago, in the summer-time, a man was stung in the face by a bee. This made him mad, and he swore and swore and then swore again. The swear was so hot that his kettle of time boiled over and he wasted half an hour swearing at the bee. A friend who was sorry to hear him swear, said: “Jim, I am sorry for you. I think that bee might have stung you in a better place.” Again the kettle boiled over. “Where might it have stung me?” asked the swearer. “Why, it would have been better for you if it had stung you on the tip of your tongue.” Read the third chapter of James and then think of the need of a bee on the tip of the tongue—J. M. Farrar.
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