Oklahoma Sunshine Part 41

Caught on the Fly.

The language of love is mostly adjectives of the superlative degree.

At twenty, life is purpose; at thirty, doubt; at forty, philosophy; and after that, experience.

No woman ever was so much of a woman that she was not still enough of a child to enjoy being petted and flattered.

Rolling on to Glory.

Rolling on to glory, Still the old world goes!

Still the ancient story Of the wants and woes; Here a little sighing, There a little song, Preaching, praying, dying, Down the ways of wrong!

Rolling on to glory, Still the old world goes, Through the battles gory Of the friends and foes!

Here it sees a vision, There it gains a truth, Moving with precision To immortal youth!

Keep the laughter sunny As you walk the night: Neither might nor money Brings the living light!

Still the ancient story Love, the Wonder, knows: Rolling on to glory Still the old world goes!

Don't Fall Out with Life.

Don't fall out with life, my brother; It will please, you like as not; If you'll sort its pleasures over, You will find it worth the living, And it's all the one you've got!

You would better keep it friendly And not rib it up to fight: It will play you joyous music, It will give you love unceasing, If you only treat it right!

Don't fall out with life, my brother, If it slaps you in the face: Every time it brings a shadow, Every time it gives a sorrow, There's a rain-bow 'round the place; O, its heart is filled with pleasure And its raptures slay the wrong; All the stars repeat its praises, All the suns exalt its glory, And you'd better join the song!

Don't fall out with life, my brother!

If it has the wintry snows, There's the scarlet of the summer, There's the russet of the autum, With the lily and the rose; It holds harvests for your labor, It has crowns for you to win; Open wide the glory-shutters, Fling the doors of deeds far-open, Till the suns.h.i.+ne saunters in!

Not Extravagant.

"Are the members of the legislature extravagant in their habits?"

inquired a suspicious citizen of a press reporter.

"No, not at all!" answered the veracious reporter. "I know several of them who came here at the beginning of the session with a clean s.h.i.+rt and a five-dollar bill, and they haven't changed either of them yet!"

Away from the Winter.

Away from the Winter and all his wild ways, To the blossoms that smile in the spring's laughing days,-- To the rivers that sing In the gladness of spring, Where the birds cleave the air on the love-laden wing!

Away from the walks of the snow-smitten town To the fields where the bees for the honeys go down, To the vales and the hills, And the love-singing rills, And the song of disconsolate, grieved whippoor-wills!

Away to the paths where the white lilies grow And the daisies besprinkle the meadows below; Where the roses blush new In the arms of the dew, And the stars toss the sweets of their kisses at you!

Just be Patient.

Don't you worry at stupidity! It may be trying some Just to keep your patience present when the dullard pounds the drum, And the discord of his rumpus fills the palace of your soul With a horrid inclination that you hardly can control; But the world keeps making music, and as on the ages fly It will learn the angel chorus, and will sing it bye and bye!

Don't you worry at the darkness! It may seem a little thick As through life's entangled thickets you your pathways try to pick, And the struggle for advancement seems so bitter as you roam Through these vagrant ways of wonder to the beacon-lights of home; Over yonder s.h.i.+nes G.o.d's lantern! And the shadows all shall die, In the glories of the suns.h.i.+ne when we reach the bye and bye!

Don't you worry at the winter! When the snow is all about; It may seem a time of trouble for the blossoms peeping out, And the sere leases of the forest and the dead gra.s.s of the hills Bring a set-back to the roses and the lilies have the chills; But the world is rolling onward! and the spring is drawing nigh, When the birds will spill their music through the blossoms bye and bye!

There's no need to get impatient! All the tangled ways will cease, All the outer darkness vanish, all the battles end in peace; All the griefs that vex and hurt us, all the ills that worry so, Shall forsake the roads we wander and the weary paths we go!

Up and on the world forever! Up and on to meet the sky, And the Good shall slay the Evil in the blessed bye and bye!

Off the Reservation.

There is war throughout the country! Don't you hear it rage and roar From the West Virginia mountains to the California sh.o.r.e, O'er the Illinois prairies and the valleys of Mizzoo, Far across the plains of Kansas and of Oklahoma, too?

'Tis the people that are marching! They've a purpose that is just; They have left the reservation and are smas.h.i.+ng at the Trust.

It has been a time of patience; for the folks were slow to wrath, And they thought to go it easy down the Standard's stony path!

But the loads were heaped too heavy, and the patient oxen broke From the proddings of the drivers and they splintered up the yoke; And however much the masters shout their curses through the dust, They have quit the reservation and are out to smash the trust!

Yet it was no sudden movement that expanded in a night: It for months and years was coming with tornadoes full of might: And the fuse was in the powder and the sure result was seen When Tom Lawson stuck a f.a.got in the mighty magazine!

Then the people knew the Issue! Either yield or fight they must, So they quit the reservation and went out to smash the trust!

Tommy Lawson! Tommy Lawson! What a naughty boy you are, Stirring up the people this way till they rise and shout for war!

Don't you wish you hadn't done it? You are like to break the rule Of the "System" and the Standard and disrupt the Sunday School!

For the people are so earnest, in the ire of their disgust They have left the reservation and are out to smash the trust!

Caught on the Fly.