ments throng,
Sweet labor lifts the burden and satisfies with song,
And after all the sadness that shades the rugged life,
There's glory for the struggle and slumber for the strife.

IV.

The bright side! The bright side!
The side that's always there
Across the ways I wander and all the paths of care;
No matter what the darkness, the storm of land or sea,
The bright side still is shining, and that's the side for me!

Caught on the Fly.

Don't cry over spilled milk. Tie up another cow, and try it again.

Don't trail over the world hunting for happiness with a candle, when the
sunshine Of God's mercy is over every thing.

Who can understand the deeps and heights of another's nature? Nay, who
can measure and comprehend even his own?

Four-tined forks are splendid implements in the hay-field, but any fork
is a mighty poor thing to impale the gorgeous bliss reposing in a ripe
water-melon's ruddy heart.

The Weather Man's Mistakes.

No doubt, we all have troubles
That arise from this and that,
And we seldom make a home-run
Though we're often at the bat;
But the prince of all the fellows
That performs the wildest breaks,
Is the chap that brings the burdens
Of the weather man's mistakes.

"Sunday, fair and cool and pleasant"
So you hie yourself away
To the wild-wood sweet and shady
For a joyous, happy day;
Then the rain comes down in torrents
Till it drowns the very snakes,
And you have a high example
Of the weather man's mistakes.

"Wednesday, storm, perhaps a cyclone!"
So you stay at home and wait,
With your windows tightly shuttered
For a hurricano great;
But it's all as mild as morning,
And you shout, "Of all the fakes!"
While you grumble, wildly helpless,
At the weather man's mistakes.

And some day a patient people
Turned to furies by their wrongs,
Will arise and smite the building
Where the weather man belongs;
And whatever then shall happen,
They will know the joy that wakes,
When no longer made to suffer
From the weatherman's mistakes!

In Supplication.

Dear Lord, I ask not that I live so long
That all the joy is gathered, all the rose;
But rather let me perish, ere the Song,
The highest Hope and perfect Vision close!

"When the Roas'in'-Ears Air Plenty."

I.

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