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II.
Roas'in'-ears is best of eatin', though not very much fer style!
Shuck an arm-full fer yer dinner, sot 'em on en let 'em bile; Salt 'em well, en smear some b.u.t.ter on the juicy cobs ez sweet Ez the lips of maple-suger thet yer sweet-heart has to eat!
Talk about ole Mount Olympus en the stuff them roosters spread On theyr tables when they feasted,--nectar drink, ambrosia bread,-- Why, I tell ye, fellers, never would I swop the grub I swipe When the roas'in'-ears air plenty en the worter millons ripe!
III.
Near the sugar camps of glory is the worter millon patch Like a great big nest of goodies thet is jest a-gone to hatch; En ye take yer thumb en finger in an ecstasy so drunk Thet ye hardly hear the music of theyr dreamy plunky-plunk!
En the griefs air gone ferever, en the sorrers lose control Ez ye feed the angel in ye on the honeys of a soul, En ye smack yer lips with laughter while the birds of heaven pipe, When the roas'in'-ears air plenty en the worter-millons ripe!
IV.
O, the darlin' days of summer when the stars of plenty s.h.i.+ne With the apples in the orchard en the graps upon the vine!
When the hedges bud en blossom, en the medders rich en rare Breathe the perfumes of the clovers like an incense everywhayre!
En the world seems like yer mother, with the tender hands thet bless All the restless race of struggle with a heaped-up happiness, En her han'kerchiefs of glory from yer eyes the weepin's wipe, When the roas'in'-ears is plenty en the worter-millons ripe!
Don't You Fret.
Don't you fret about the weather 'Cause it seems a little hot; You will find it rather sultry Over yonder, like as not!
And unless you mend your manners You will land without a doubt, Where the brim-stone keeps a blazin'
And the fire is never out!
The Kingbolt Philosopher.
"In spite of whut some fellers say, this world never owed anybody a livin' yit!" said Uncle Ezra Mudge, as he whetted his scythe and tried the edge on the broad part of his thumb. "Thet heresy wuz invented fer the lazy cuss thet wuz too ornery to git up in the mornin' and hustle fer grub while the gra.s.s wuz wet.
"Some fellers seem ter act on the habit thet the world not only owes 'em a livin' but air willin' fer some body else to do the collectin' fer 'em. Leastways, they never do much hustlin' in thet direction theirselves. En I hev noticed thet when other fellers collect the livin'
fer a feller, they giner'ly confisticate the most ov it in commissions!"
"Doing Pretty Well."
There are many that you meet with Who are always full of gloom, And they chew the rag forever 'Bout the darkness of their doom; But as through the world we journey, There's a joy that none may tell When we meet the pleasant people Who are "doing pretty well."
There are fellows by the dozens Who are always in the skies, And forever capture fortunes Of the most gigantic size; But we stagger from their presence And their glories that repel, For the quiet-spoken persons Who are "doing pretty well."
O, it's neither sun nor shadow All the time from year to year,-- And it's neither all of pleasure Or of pain,--the journey here!
But whatever clouds may gather Or what suns.h.i.+ne, for a spell Let us keep a steady temper And keep "doing pretty well!"
Caught on the Fly.
Hitch your wagon to a star, if you will, but always stand ready to throw the harness on the mules, also.
The man who masters the world may trust in Providence, but he climbs to greatness on the stepping stones of hard work.
In the economy of farmers entirely up against the crab-gra.s.s in the cotton-patch, the mule is mightier than the sword.
What shall it matter though sorrows distress us?
G.o.d sends the sun and the shadows to bless us!
And through all the years Joy ever appears, With a little of love and a little of laughter To fas.h.i.+on this life for a jolly hereafter!
The Kingbolt Philosopher.
"I want ter say," remarked Uncle Ezra Mudge as he began his Sunday shaving and stropped his razor on his thumb-nail, "I want ter say thet eddication is a big thing, but there air some things it can't do. One of 'em is ter give brains ter a fool. No school wuz ever yit found thet could change a wooden head ter flesh en blood; en the pore teachers air bein' continua'ly pestered ter death with idiotic payrents a-tryin' to have 'em stuff brains in their kids which the good Lord dident give any to. You kin plant jimson weeds in the garden, en tend 'em and water 'em, en nuss 'em the hull season through, en you'll hev only a leetle bigger crop of jimson seed at the wind-up. En it's jest thet way when brainless cubs air sent off ter collidge!" And the old man wiped his face with a hot towel and went on with his shaving.
There are many pleasant things in this world, but it is the job that allows us to get up when we please in the morning that makes life one grand sweet song.
In Prayer.
Beyond the narrow years Thou sendest me, Flecked with their sun and shadow, tears and wrong, Grant me this glory, Father, this to see,-- A world made happy in a world made strong!
The Kingbolt Philosopher.
