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Transcriber's note

Minor punctuation errors have been corrected without notice. Printer's errors have been corrected, and the changes are indicated with a [mouse-hover] and listed at the [end of this book]. All other inconsistencies are as in the original. The author's spelling has been retained.

Oklahoma
Sunshine.

By Freeman E. Miller,

Author of "Oklahoma and other Poems,"
"Songs from the South-West
Country," etc.

Stillwater, Oklahoma.
The Advance Printing Company.
1905.

Copyright, 1905,
By
Freeman E. Miller.
All Rights Reserved.

The Gospel of Sunshine is the one Supreme Evangel, the Religion of Love is Mankind's most Universal Creed. They hold in their divine Baptisms the Winning of the Heart to Happiness, the Wooing of the Soul to Heaven.

The Author.

Beginning with June 9, 1904, there was a column of verse and prose published in "The Stillwater Advance" under the caption "Oklahoma Sunshine." These were written in the moments of a busy life, amid the crowding of sterner things, and many of them found a wide circulation in the fugitive publications of the day. So many persons have offered expressions of being pleased and helped by them that they are here presented in a more permanent form. The following comprise the year from June, 1904, to June, 1905.

CONTENTS.

VERSES.

PROSE.

"What Think Ye, Masters, of These Things?"

(A Poem read on Oklahoma Day, September 6, 1904, at the Louisiana Purchase Exposition.)

O, ye who frame the sovereign law,
And heal the hurts of ocean isles
Till hid are savage tooth and claw
And Peace above the battle smiles,—
If Justice reigns and Mercy clings,
What think ye, Masters, of these things?

The Father of the Waters greets
Imperial sisters proud and great,
And nation mighty nation meets
At festal boards of lordly state:
But one—one only,—maketh moan:
Denied the Star, she weeps alone!

The cycles fly on eagled wings:
A hundred years have run their quest
Since he who bought and sold with kings
An empire added to the West:
And all his regions rulers are
Save her alone who mourns the Star.

The wildness in a moment died;
A garden bloomed and fruited full
Across the plains and valleys wide
At touch of hands invincible;
But mute she stands where deserts were:
The banner holds no Star for her!

The race heaps high its conquered spoil;
The braggart heirs of all men do
Assemble where the Triumphs toil
In marshaled columns for review;
And she, the Starless, at your call
Brings trophies that surpass them all!

Are not her laurels rich and rare?
Her apt attainments great with grace?
You crown her here and everywhere
Save where she pleads for power and place;
The world amazed her praises rings:
What think ye, Masters, of these things?

She wonders wrought with wondrous hands:
Her cities crowd the teeming plains,
And church and school exalt the lands
With all of mankind's greater gains;—
The last of all the waste, she brings
The triumphs of her million kings!

A million white and black and red
Whose treble toils misunderstood
Build happy homes and fondly wed
The desert place with joyous good,
And at your feet, uncrowned, unblest
Kneel for the knighthood of their quest!

Thralled in her chains, this fairest one
Of all the realms that greatly found
Rich largess on the barrens dun
Pleads from her fetters, vassal-bound;
And still the Star before her swings:
What think ye, Masters, of these things?

Oklahoma Sunshine

Dreams.

I.

Day-dreams and play-dreams! From the rosy morn
Till the ashy eventide and the stars new-born,
Ever bringing life and heart aweary with their load
Promises of hope and cheer while tramping down the road.

II.

Night dreams and bright dreams! In the house of sleep
With their happy faces full and their gazes deep,
World on world so beautiful there they brightly bring,
Till the heart is happy in the songs they sing.

III.

Day-dreams and Night-dreams,—all the dreams you will,—
Beckon up the rocky slope and summon o'er the hill,—
Summon us to do and dare all the deeds of yore
Till the battle ceases, and we strive no more!

My Philosophy.

I've made up my mind
In spite of the cranks,
'Tis a pretty good world
And we ought to give thanks;
And whether it came
From the God or the grime,
The fellow that runs it
Don't lose any time.

I've made up my mind
In spite of the tears.
That the world clambers up
With the roll of the years;
And whether it gropes
Or is led on and on,
It will come by and by
To the meadows of dawn.

In spite of the sin
And the folly around,
'Tis a much better place
Than the fore-fathers found;
And in spite of the fools
And the devils that grieve
I'm sure in no hurry
To pull up and leave.

So shut up your mouth
And don't grumble nor croak;
Go put your poor head
And your poor heart in soak;
Lay all of your sorrows
And sins on the shelf,
For the world is all right
If you're all right yourself!

Caught on the Fly.

If the girl with a white muslin dress and a picture hat has any troubles in this world she has a wonderful skill in hiding her real feelings.

Somehow, those men who are all the time telling how well money talks, never get well enough acquainted with it to speak with authority.

"De worst objection to de wortersmillion in Oklahomy," said a Mississippi black man, "is de fact dat it gits ripe too late fer de wheat harvest an' too yarly fer de cotton-pickin."

The average man grieves more when he runs out of chewing tobacco and the nearest neighbor who uses the filthy weed is three miles away, than he does when the mortgage takes the farm. Upon what little things doth happiness depend!

A Busy Family.

Mam's at a function where you hold your breath;
Liz has got a feller, an' she's talkin' him to death;
Andy has the measles, Susie's nussin' Bill,
Pap is out fer office an' he's runnin' fit to kill;
Pont an' me are fishin', all the signs are right,
Fer the crick is up a-boomin' an' the big fish bite!

The Kingbolt Philosopher.

"Ive heerd tell," said Uncle Ezra Mudge, "thet every dog has his day. But I'm jest as sartin thet he don't know he's a havin' of it when he has it.

"Now, thar was Bill Smith. Bill was a high-up chap, made money, had a rubber-tired buggy, four girls, and chawed terbacker thet cost a dollar a pound. But he never knowed he was a havin' of his day ontell he went busted on the Board of Trade. But now Bill knows it, and has knowed it ever sence he went busted."

Don't Grumble.

What's the use to grumble, what's the use to fret,
'Cause the cotton's weedy and the days go wet?
'Tis the Lord that sorts the weather and the sun and rain to you,
And you needn't kick and holler 'cause he don't explain to you!
When it rains, don't get to mopin!
There's more sunny skies than clouds,
And if sorrows drop in singly, why, the pleasures come in crowds;
Black day or bright day, don't you fume and fret,
When the cotton's weedy and the days go wet!

A Troublesome Set.

"Dese hyar white folks am a troublesome set," said a Guthrie coon. "We hab a great majority ob de city, but on 'lection day we nebber git ober half the city council an 'de school board, and four drinks apiece. We am a-talkin' of sendin' 'em back to Englan' whar dey belong ef dey don't do better!"

A Little of Love.

I.

With a little of Love, Dear, and something of Song,
There's a glorified courage that conquers each wrong,
And the years fly as swift as the bird on the wing
Through the snow days of winter and rose days of spring.

II.

With a little of Love, Dear, and something of Song,
There's no hour that is heavy, no day that is long;
And the soldier of hope scales the mountains that meet,
Till they lay all their trophies and gifts at his feet.

III.

With a little of Love, Dear, and something of Song,
All the mighty exalt, all the feeble are strong,
And the breast bravely bares to the breast of the foe,
And, forever full armored, gives blow for his blow!

IV.

Then a little of Love, Dear, and something of Song!
What shall matter the struggle with error and wrong?
For the lilies and roses of gladness shall bloom
Till we sleep the long slumber as dust in the tomb!

Caught on the Fly.

It's no use to try to trot in a race where you are out-classed. Better be a good weed-puller at so much per pull, than a member of the legislature without any pull at all.

If a woman's hair is smoothed up, her hat on straight and her belt all right behind, the other cares and responsibilities of this life sink at once and forever into insignificant nothingness.

This thing of "hitching your wagon to a star" may be all right for a steady occupation, but the fellow who plants garden truck in his back-yard nights and mornings will have more on the table at meal-times.

.

Don't Frown.

Don't frown!
In the world's market place,
For a scowl there's no price,
And a long, gloomy face
Never cuts any ice!
Look pleasant, look pleased,
Or as pleased as you can;—
With a smile can be seized
All the great things of man!
Don't frown!

Don't frown!
With a smile on your lips
You can reach to the end
Of the world's last eclipse
Or the heart of a friend;
And the things the gods throw
Over life's weary mile,
Are the gifts they bestow
In return for a smile.
Don't frown!

Don't frown!
As you walk down the way
Where the world scatters chaff,
Light your labors with play
And your griefs with a laugh!
And when it's all o'er
And you reach heaven's stile,
You will get through the door
If you carry a smile!
Don't frown!

Jog Along.

Jog along, my brother,
Jog along, I say;
There's no cozy corner
For one that wants to play;
Don't stop to whistle,—
Whistle good and strong,
But be careful that you always
Jog along.

Jog along, my brother,
Jog along, I say;
Keep yourself in motion,—
You needn't stop or stay;
Someone will hear you
And will help your song,
If you do your part and always
Jog along.

Jog along, my brother,
Jog along I say,
Doing God good service
Till the final day;
For He will crown you
After all the wrong,
With his choicest blessings, if you
Jog along.

The Kingbolt Philosopher.

"There be some things," says Uncle Ezra Mudge, "that it is best to take on faith. I don't know for certain that the devil has split hoofs and a forked tail and carries a four-tined fork along with him in the hope of finding a hay-field handy; but rather than make a private appointment with him to find out, I am willing to take the word of the picture books on the subject."

Whatever weaknesses he may have, the man who is so thick-skinned that he can go on about his regular business and pay no attention to the little distractions of this life, has a great advantage in the world. The rhinoceros would not look well in a beauty show, but it can always sleep well, even if hundreds of mosquitoes are buzzing around hunting for a full meal.

Spring is that season of the year when the new plow-boy and the old plow-mule patiently learn again the world-wide difference between "haw" and "gee."

The Harvest Time.

I.

The harvest time is over! And across the fertile plain
Stand the winrows of the meadows and the stocks of golden grain;
And the aching limbs of labor take the rest of happy ease
From the scorching suns of noon-day in the shadows of the trees.

The harvest time is over! And the husbandman receives
For the days of hard endeavor all the wealth of garnered sheaves;'
And the land of hill and valley smiles exalt with joys untold
Heaping high above the stubbles in the piles of ripened gold!

Harvest time! Harvest time!
Hours of toil are told;
Hill and valley both rejoice
With their wealth of gold!

II.

The harvest time is over! After all the years of strife
There's a joy for every sorrow and a crown for every life;
And the songs of Heaven's angels on the straining soul arise
As the weary foot-steps falter on the walks of Paradise.

The harvest time is over! All the struggle has surcease!
After life, the stars above us! After battle, love and peace!
And the glories of achievement that atone for sin and strife
Are the sheaves of good we garner as we reap the fields of life!

Harvest time! harvest time!
Years of struggle gone,
Joy shall crown the soul with light
In eternal Dawn!

The Kingbolt Philosopher.

"Fer accumulatin' much experience in a short while and in a rapid manner," said Uncle Ezra Mudge, "thar is nothin' under the sun beats a-goin' to law. With only a toler'ble fair case and a good lively lawyer on the other side, a man can git enough out of one single law-suit suitably appealed, to decently equip a whole neighborhood fer at least three generations."

Mister Cantaloupe.

Hello, Mister Canteloupe,
When did you arrive?
Glad to see you, and I hope
That you're all alive!
How-dy do and how-dy do!
Hope your folks are well,
And are coming after you
For to stay a spell!

Hello, Mister Cantaloupe!
Please excuse my smile,
But I'm just so glad, and hope
You will stay awhile;
Put 'er here and put 'er there!
If you've traveled far,
Come with me and take a chair
In the dining car!

Life is neither comedy nor tragedy, but sometimes it pushes up so close to both that it keeps a fellow on the dodge between smiles and tears.

Rainy Weather.

Our Mud Creek correspondent sends us the following items, having to do with the recent wet weather:

"Bill Hughes cut his wheat last week. He rigged up a header attachment to a row-boat, and nipped the heads off at the surface of the water.

"It rained so fast last Saturday night at Tad Wilson's that the water couldn't all run off the roof of his new house. The water stood four inches deep on top of the comb for over half an hour. Then Tad took an ax and sharpened the comb so it would split the drops better, and the water soon ran down.

"Jem Bilkins' incubator hatched last Wednesday during the heavy rain. Jem set only Plymouth Rock eggs; but, when they hatched, over half of his chickens were ducks. They were given web feet by an accommodating providence."

Get in the Game.

Get in the game of life, my boy,
Get in the mighty game;
There'll be something of care and somewhat of strife
And something of sin and shame!
But after the years and the toils they bring,
There'll be a time of joy,
If the heart stays sweet and the soul can sing,
So get in the game, by boy.

Got in the game of life, my boy,—
That is the game for all;
For the hazards are sweet and the days are rife
With the fortunes that rise and fall;
But after the losses the triumphs stand
Enemies can't destroy;
So get in the game with a full, clean hand,
So get in the game, by boy.

Get in the game of life, by boy!
That is the game men play,
And whether it's gladness or whether it's strife,
It lasts to the One Great Day;
The crowns and the stars and the laughs of love
Beckon with hands of joy,
Till the soul grows vast in the home above,—
So get in the game, my boy!

Caught on the Fly.

My son, this world has so much work to do that it has not even room for a lazy man to sit down and rest. The hen that [doesn't] lay, the horse that balks, and the cow that refuses to give down her milk, don't get up to the feed-rack very long.

The Athletic Clubs are always inventing some new way of giving a big strapping cub an adequate form of exercise, but the average farmer finds more kinds of it than he wants when the crab grass gets busy.

It isn't every dude that wears patent leathers and parts his hair [in] the middle, who hasn't sense enough to flag the bread-wagon when it comes tearing down the pike.

Dreaming.

Let those who prefer it
Keep hatching their schemes,
But all through life's summer
I'll cherish my dreams!
Go on with your struggles,
Your worries and wrongs;
I'll camp with the lillies
And list to their songs.

I'll dream with the daisies
That sweeten the sod;
I'll dream with the roses
That whisper of God;
I'll dream with the wild birds
That sing of the right,
And out of the shadows
Dream garlands of light.

I'll dream through the darkness
Of sorrow and strife,
Till love brings the morning
And laurels the life;
And over the meadows
My happy feet roam,
Still dreaming, still dreaming,
Till Love takes me home!

A Jolly Good Game.

I.

You may talk as you please about Life's necromancy;—
'Tis a journey of smiles or of tears as you fancy—
For I always have found,—and I'm happy to say it,—
'Tis a jolly good game if one knows how to play it!

II.

The Dealer sits yonder,—the hands that he serves us—
The brains and the beauty and courage that nerves us,—
And strength for the struggle; and then he gives warning,
To play to the ceiling till dawn of the morning!

III.

And mighty the stakes that he sets us to try for!
Fame, Fortune and Honor, and Love, that men die for!
The Sword, or the Crown, or the Star, or the Garter,
And all the high winnings men bargain and barter!

IV.

He deals us the hand,—and no one may discard it!
The game must go on with no power to retard it!
And whether the hand be a good one or bad one,
He asks of us only to play it a glad one.

V.

Then let people talk about life as they see it;
You can make it for you what your heart may decree it;
For I always have found—and I'm happy to say it,—
'Tis a jolly good game if you know how to play it!

A Contented Farmer.

Wheat-crop heapin' in de shock,
Corn jes' keeps a-bumpin';
Oats a-yallerin' in de sun,—
Cotton des a-jumpin'!
Millet, Kafir-corn an' cane
Bust their selves a-growin';
Oklahoma's home for me
Till Gabriel goes to blowin'!

Hell and Heaven.

"Doan't tell me dat hell am away off yander," said an old darkey as he stood before the display window of the vegetable market where a dozen water-melons, the first of the season, reposed in unconscious temptation. "Dem millyuns cost a dollar apiece, an' I hain't got but thirty cents ter save me from the bad place. Go 'way, man! I tell you hell am right hyar, an' hebben only sebenty cents away!"

Caught on the Fly.

Of course, it is all right to aim high, but it's the fellow that never shoots at all that fails to bring down the game.

After all, the alleged failures of life are not of much importance. It is what one does with his failures that tells the story of his despair or hope.

When a man is always dressed and has his boots on ready for the journey, Opportunity comes along in her automobile and invites him to get in and ride with her.

June Time.

Pleasures fond are singing,
Love, for you and me,
And the moments bringing
Joys of land and sea!

June-time is tune-time!
Don't you hear the song?
All the time is love time
Where the roses throng!

Don't you sigh or sorrow!
Raptures full and free
Crown each glad tomorrow,
Sweet, for you and me!

June-time and tune-time,
Where the roses throng,
Life-time and love-time
And the world of song!

The Candidate.

He's getting so busy, he makes the world dizzy,
His smoke can be seen from afar;
He kisses the babies and flatters the ladies
And gives the old man a cigar!

Good-bye, Dear Heart.

I.

Good-bye, Dear Heart! I go my own sad way,
And you go yours, and Life is agony;
And yet I must not weakly beg you stay,
In spite of all your absence means to me.

II.

Though distance part, though sky and sea divide,
To you I must not reach detaining hands;
The years are many and the world is wide,
And Love's fair roses bloom in many lands.

III.

With all the joys and all the wishes fond
My soul sends after you, we can't regret;
The raptures wait us in the sweet Beyond,
And we shall teach our memories to forget.

IV.

We meet no more! The hand-clasp and embrace,
The hot, mad kiss, the crush of lips to lips,
The melt of eye and tender flush of face,—
These all for us have passed to last eclipse.

V.

So, good-bye, Dear! Good-bye for evermore!
Adown the years our halting feet shall press,
Our lone hearts wander, till the quest is o'er,
And Love shall lead us back to happiness!

The Kingbolt Philosopher.

"I've knowed some mighty fine scholars in figgers," said Uncle Ezra Mudge, "that never could calkilate the problem of human life. Purty near every feller when he gets to figgerin' on it, tries to git the Almighty Dollar fer the answer, and it won't figger out. I've seen lots of men in my time an' I never seed one yit that money made happy. An' if happiness ain't the answer to all this here figgerin' an' foolin' an' fightin', then I give it up.

"I'd ruther have Myrandy sing 'Ole Fokes at Home' when I'm lonesome like than to hev $10 Williams layin' around all over the place. It's more comp'ny to me, a whole lot more!"

Toss a Kiss to Care.

Toss a kiss to Care, and say,
"You are only for a day";
You with all your woes and tears
Never linger through the years.

Toss a kiss to Care, and be
Happy in your ecstasy;
Bid your grief begone, and smile
With the pleasures for awhile!

Caught on the Fly.

The bass-drum is all right at the head of the procession, but the still-hunt cuts the most ice in politics.

The up-to-date dude, a-sport with patent-leathers and a Panama hat, puts on lots of style, but he began life as a bald headed and bare-foot boy along with the common herd.

Whenever you see an old maid who giddily shies off from the croup when the little folks grow wheezy, you can put it down as a sure sign that she is trying to conceal her age.

The Glorious Fourth.

Sister got her new hat wet,
An' her white dress fair;
Mother got a cannon-crack
'Sploded in her hair;
Pap got powder in his face
Shootin' anville thayre;
Billy got an' ear tore off,
Sammy lost an eye;
Got two fingers broke myself,
Fourth o' ole July!

When the Bills Come Due.

There are many things that bother
In this mixed up world of ours,
And the paths we wander over
Are not always filled with flowers;
While some days are bright and sunny
There are others black and blue,—
And the day that brings the trouble
When the bills come due!

When the bills come due,
After all the debts accrue,
O, it's all another story,
When the bills come due!

We blow in without a falter
For most every thing in sight,
From the dawn of Monday morning
Till the dark of Sunday night;
And we dinner on the dainties,
Robe in garbs of gorgeous hue,
But it's all another story
When the bills came due.

O, we chase the rounds of travel,
On a cruise from shore to shore,
And no diff'rence what we purchase
Still we always buy the more;
It's a barter every minute,
Till possessions large accrue,
But the clouds come down with darkness
When the bills come due!

When the bills come due,
After all the debts accrue,
O, it's all another story,
When the bills come due!

Well Prepared.

"How are you getting on, Mose?" asked an anxious creditor of an impecunious colored farmer.

"Wull, boss, pickin's kinder slim erroun' de cabin jes' now, but I'm a livin' in hopes. I've got two yakers er cotton's dat's middlin' fine, an' ten yakerser worter-millyuns dat am de bes' I ever see; an' ef I doan't git er millyun yakers er hebben dis fall, I miss my guess mighty bad!"

The Kingbolt Philosopher.

"Thar's nuthin' in all this world so dog-cheap ez advice," said Uncle Ezra Mudge. "I've give my seven boys enough advice off an' on to fix over the world an' finish up Heaven, an' 'en they don't know enough to let cigarettes alone, even. Thar's nuthin, arter all, that teaches a boy so quick es a lickin.' When he gits lammed all ter pieces by some kid thet he kep' a-pickin' at till good natur' fergot ter be a vartue, an' pasted him several between the eyes, he may not look so purty but he will know two or three things so blamed well he'll never fergit 'em ontell Gabriel blows his conk shell in the mornin'!"

Life may be One Grand Sweet Song but we are generally furnishing the music by pounding the bass-drum for the fellow who is pounding the bass-drum for us.

"Love's young dream" may be the sweetest thing in life, but there is nothing like pork gravy and hot biscuit for sticking to the ribs.

"There's No Use to Worry."

There's no use to worry,
When trouble appears,
For she leaves in a hurry
And bottles her tears;
There's a song for each sorrow,
A smile for each grief,
And the joys of tomorrow
Bring happy relief.

There's no use to worry!
This world's a good place,
If you fly from its flurry
And keep a bright face;
There is never a sorrow
That sickens the soul,
If you wait for the morrow
And let the cares roll!

A Prayer.

Lord, as I journey down the way,
Grant me good work for every day,
And, till my labor here is past,
To work with Thee until the last!

Words are poor vehicles for the carrying of thought. The glance of only one bright eye can tell a sweeter story than was ever written out in all the books of men.

A Song of Green Valleys.

I.

A Song of Green Valleys,—the valleys new born
With the gold of the wheat and the green of the corn,
Where the roses arise from the dews of the night
And the paths for Love's feet are a-swoon with delight!

II.

The Voice of the Valleys! The brooks to the seas
Mingle multiplied praises with Love's lullabies,
And the shouts of glad children exultingly rise
From the daisies of earth to the stars of the skies.

III.

The calm of the Valleys! The raptures increase
With the calls of content and the pleasures of peace,
And the homes of the happy their gladness engage
From the rose-days of youth to the snow-days of age.

IV.

The bliss of the Valleys! There life blossoms sweet,
And the night-time and noon time in melody meet,
Till the sorrows that sadden [the] care-clouded day
Find the smiles ever beaming and vanish away.