Just Folks | Page 4

the clouds about you?And your future may seem grim,?But don't let your nerve desert you;?Keep yourself in fighting trim.?If the worst is bound to happen,?Spite of all that you can do,?Running from it will not save you,?See it through!
Even hope may seem but futile,?When with troubles you're beset,?But remember you are facing?Just what other men have met.?You may fail, but fall still fighting;?Don't give up, whate'er you do;?Eyes front, head high to the finish.?See it through!
To the Humble
If all the flowers were roses,?If never daisies grew,?If no old-fashioned posies?Drank in the morning dew,?Then man might have some reason?To whimper and complain,?And speak these words of treason,?That all our toil is vain.
If all the stars were Saturns?That twinkle in the night,?Of equal size and patterns,?And equally as bright,?Then men in humble places,?With humble work to do,?With frowns upon their faces?Might trudge their journey through.
But humble stars and posies?Still do their best, although?They're planets not, nor roses,?To cheer the world below.?And those old-fashioned daisies?Delight the soul of man;?They're here, and this their praise is:?They work the Master's plan.
Though humble be your labor,?And modest be your sphere,?Come, envy not your neighbor?Whose light shines brighter here.?Does God forget the daisies?Because the roses bloom??Shall you not win His praises?By toiling at your loom?
Have you, the toiler humble,?Just reason to complain,?To shirk your task and grumble?And think that it is vain?Because you see a brother?With greater work to do??No fame of his can smother?The merit that's in you.
When Nellie's on the Job
The bright spots in my life are when the servant quits the place, Although that grim disturbance brings a frown to Nellie's face; The week between the old girl's' reign and entry of the new Is one that's filled with happiness and comfort through and through. The charm of living's back again--a charm that servants rob-- I like the home, I like the meals, when Nellie's on the job.
There's something in a servant's ways, however fine they be, That has a cold and distant touch and frets the soul of me. The old home never looks so well, as in that week or two?That we are servantless and Nell has all the work to do.?There is a sense of comfort then that makes my pulses throb And home is as it ought to be when Nellie's on the job.
Think not that I'd deny her help or grudge the servant's pay; When one departs we try to get another right away;?I merely state the simple fact that no such joys I've known As in those few brief days at home when we've been left alone. There is a gentleness that seems to soothe this selfish elf And, Oh, I like to eat those meals that Nellie gets herself!
You cannot buy the gentle touch that mother gives the place; No servant girl can do the work with just the proper grace. And though you hired the queen of cooks to fashion your croquettes, Her meals would not compare with those your loving comrade gets; So, though the maid has quit again, and she is moved to sob, The old home's at its finest now, for Nellie's on the job.
The Old, Old Story
I have no wish to rail at fate,?And vow that I'm unfairly treated;?I do not give vent to my hate?Because at times I am defeated.?Life has its ups and downs, I know,?But tell me why should people say?Whenever after fish I go:?"You should have been here yesterday"?
It is my luck always to strike?A day when there is nothing doing,?When neither perch, nor bass, nor pike?My baited hooks will come a-wooing.?Must I a day late always be??When not a nibble comes my way?Must someone always say to me:?"We caught a bunch here yesterday"?
I am not prone to discontent,?Nor over-zealous now to climb;?If victory is not yet meant?For me I'll calmly bide my time.?But I should like just once to go?Out fishing on some lake or bay?And not have someone mutter: "Oh,?You should have been here yesterday."
The Pup
He tore the curtains yesterday,?And scratched the paper on the wall;?Ma's rubbers, too, have gone astray--?She says she left them in the hall;?He tugged the table cloth and broke?A fancy saucer and a cup;?Though Bud and I think it a joke?Ma scolds a lot about the pup.
The sofa pillows are a sight,?The rugs are looking somewhat frayed,?And there is ruin, left and right,?That little Boston bull has made.?He slept on Buddy's counterpane--?Ma found him there when she woke up.?I think it needless to explain?She scolds a lot about the pup.
And yet he comes and licks her hand?And sometimes climbs into her lap?And there, Bud lets me understand,?He very often takes his nap.?And Bud and I have learned to know?She wouldn't give the rascal up:?She's really fond of him, although?She scolds a lot about the pup.
Since Jessie Died
We understand a lot of