Just Folks | Page 4

from
toil a week
To chum with stream and tree,
I'll fish away and smiling
say
That life's been good to me.
See It Thrnugh
When you're up against a trouble,
Meet it squarely, face to face;

Lift your chin and set your shoulders,
Plant your feet and take a brace.

When it's vain to try to dodge it,
Do the best that you can do;

You may fail, but you may conquer,
See it through!
Black may be 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