Three Guests
I had a little tea party This afternoon at three. ‘Twas very small-- Three guests in all-- Just I, myself and me. Myself ate all the sandwiches, While I drank up the tea; ‘Twas also I who ate the pie And passed the cake to me. -Jessica Nelson North
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Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim Because it was grassy and wanted wear, Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I marked the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. -Robert Frost Tell me not in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou are, to dust thou returnest, Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each tomorrow Find us farther than today. Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the world's broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife! Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act, - act in the living Present! Heart within, and God o'erhead! Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sand of time; Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o'er life's solenm main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again. Let us then be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait. -Henry Wadsworth Longfellow A horse can't pull while kicking,
This fact I merely mention. And he can't kick while pulling, Which is my chief contention. Let's imitate the good old horse And lead a life that's fitting; Just pull an honest load, and then There'll be no time for kicking. -Unknown Build for yourself a strong box,
Fashion each part with care; When it's strong as your hand can make it, Put all your troubles there; Hide there all thought of your failures, And each bitter cup that you quaff; Lock all your heartaches within it, Then sit on the lid and laugh. Tell no one else its contents, Never its secrets share; When you've dropped in your care and worry Keep them forever there; Hide them from sight so completely That the world will never dream half; Fasten the strong box securely- Then sit on the lid and laugh. -Bertha Adams Backus When the weather suits you not,
Try smiling. When your coffee isn't hot, Try smiling. When your neighbors don't do right, Or your relatives all fight, Sure 'tis hard, but then you might Try smiling. Dosen't change the things, of course- Just smiling. But it cannot make them worse- Just smiling. And it seems to help your case, Brightens up a gloomy place, Then, it sort o' rests your face- Just smiling. -Unknown One night in late October,
When I was far from sober, Returning with my load with manly pride, My feet began to stutter, So I lay down in the gutter, And a pig came near and lay down by my side; A lady passing by was heard to say: "You can tell a man who boozes, By the company he chooses," And the pig got up and slowly walked away. -Unknown "I hates to think of dyin'," says the skipper to the mate;
"Starvation, shipwrecks, heart disease I loathes to contemplate. I hates to think of vanities and all the crimes they lead to," Then says the mate, With looks sedate, "Ye doesn't reely need to." "It fills me breast with sorrer," says the skipper with a sigh, "To conjer up the happy days what careless has slipped by; I hates to contemplate the day I ups and left me Mary." Then says the mate, "Why contemplate, If it ain't necessary?" "Suppose that this here vessel," says the skipper, with a groan, "Should lose'er bearin's, run away, and hump upon the stone; Suppose she'd shiver and go down, when save ourselves we couldn't." The mate replies, "Oh, blow me eyes! Suppose, ag'in, she shouldn't?" "The chances is ag'in us," says the skipper in dismay; "If fate don't kill us out and out, it gits us all some day. So many perish of old age, the death rate must be fearful," "Well," says the mate, "At any rate, We might as well die cheerful." "I read in them statistic books," the nervous skipper cries, "That every minute by the clock some feller ups and dies; I wonder what disease they gits that kills in such a hurry," The mate he winks And says, "I thinks They mostly dies of worry." "Of certain things," the skipper sighs, "me conscience won't be rid, And all the wicked things I done I sure should not have did; The wrinkles on me inmost soul compel me oft to shiver." "Yer soul's frust-rate," Observes the mate; "The trouble's with yer liver." -Wallace Irwin The Antiseptic baby and the Prophylactic Pup
Were playing in the garden when the Bunny gamboled up; They looked upon the Creature with a loathing undisguised;- It wasn't Disinfected and it wasn't Sterilized. They said it was a Microbe and a Hotbed of Disease; They steamed it in a vapor of a thousand-odd degrees; They froze it in a freezer that was cold as Banished Hope And washed it in permanganate with carbolated soap. In sulphureted hydrogen they steeped its wiggly ears; They trimmed its frisky whiskers with a pair of hard-boiled shears; They donned their rubber mittens and they took it by the hand And 'lected it a member of the Fumigated Band. There's not a Micrococcus in the garden where they play; They bathe in pure iodoform a dozen times a day; And each imbibes his rations from a Hygienic Cup- The Bunny and the Baby and the Prophylactic Pup. -Arthur Guiterman Poor Lil' Brack Sheep dat stray'd away,
Done los' in de win' and rain, An' de Shepherd He say, "O hirelin', Go fin' my sheep again." An' do hirelin' frowns, "O Shepherd, Dat sheep am brack an' bad." But de Shepherd He smile like de lil' brack sheep Is de onliest lamb he had, Is de onliest lamb he had. An' he say, "O hirelin', hasten! For de win' an' de rain am col', And dat lil' brack sheep am lonesome Out dere so far from de fol'." An' de hirelin' frown, "O Shepherd, Dat sheep am ol' an' gray." But de Shepherd He smile like de lil' brack sheep Wuz fair as de break ob day, Wuz fair as de break ob day. An He say, "O hirelin', hasten! Lo, here is de ninety an' nine, But dere way off from de sheep fol' Is dat lil' brack sheep ob mine." An' de hirelin' frown, "O Shepherd, De rest ob de sheep am here." But de Shepherd He smile like de lil' brack sheep He hol' it de mostes' dear, He hol' it de mostes' dear. An' de Shepherd go out in de darkness, Where de night was col' an' bleack, An' de lil' brack sheep He fin' it, An' lay it agains' His cheek. An' de hirelin' frown, "O Shepherd, Don't bring dat sheep to me." But de Shepherd He smile, an' He hol' it close, An' de lil' brack sheep-is me! An' de lil' brack sheep-is me! -Ethel M. C. Brazelton |
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