Love will lift the bending burdens, And 'twill all come right!

Do you feel the hate and malice Of the foolish ones that fight?

They will find your heart is worthy, And 'twill all come right!

Do your duty to the utmost!

Then the foes shall vanish quite; Let the world howl on with censure,-- It will all come right!

G.o.d awaits us over yonder, Where his lilies blossom white; In his love the griefs shall perish, And 'twill all come right!

The happy days when the mistletoe makes raptures for young hearts and loving lips will soon come 'round again. Heaven grant us all to be young and confiding enough for all the love and joy and the glad music of the Christmas times!

Good-bye to Trouble.

O, it's good-bye, Mister Trouble!

There's a joy the angels know, With the mistletoe above us And our sweet-hearts here below!

Then play the fiddle, Mister!

Love and laughter are in sight; And swing your partners, fellers, Till the dawning of the light!

O, its good-bye, Mister Trouble!

For the fiddle says, "Be gay!"

There's the mistletoe up yonder, And we kiss the griefs away!

Caught on the Fly.

All things are forgiven to the woman who holds her tongue.

The greatest vice of the women is gossip, and the greatest folly of the men is greed.

If some people get to heaven, no one will be more surprised at the achievement than themselves.

Troubles have walked the highways of human life since the morning stars sang together; and yet when we meet them on the dusty roads we travel, we pretend astonishment and annoy high heaven with our cries.

Too Much Prosperity.

"Dis heah big cotton c.r.a.p am a great calam'ty toh de cullud folks," said old Black Mose dejectedly.

"How is that, Uncle?" inquired the astonished white man.

"So many ob 'em hab sabed up em.u.f.f money toh buy tall hats en long--tailed coats dat de conf'rences will all be jam-full ob cullud preachehs befoh spring, en de cotton-fiel's'll miss some mighty good han's nex' season, shuah!" was the reply.

Little Sermons.

Don't go too much on the sensibilities. Feelings are a mighty poor regulator when it comes to determining the necessity for hard work.

The days of the gray hairs and wrinkled brows utter few pet.i.tions to the merry G.o.d of all the happy Christmas eves; but if they asked of Santa Claus the supremest gift in all the world of men, they would implore him for one more Christmas as happy and as innocent as smiled upon them in the days of childhood long ago!

To the Lonesome Fiddle.

You needn't look so lonesome, Mr. Fiddle, hanging there With the pretty girls about you and the pleasures every where; For I know your heart is heaven with its music angel sweet, And it all will go to singing at the coming of the feet!

Then don't you look so lonesome!

The happy days we'll meet; For the Christmas times are coming And the dancing of the feet.

You needn't look so lonesome! In your happy soul abound All the airs of royal rapture that the golden cycles found, And the willing fingers waiting are staying close about, Just to pick your heart to pieces and to coax the music out!

Then don't you look so lonesome!

The laughing lips shall meet With the mistletoe above us And the coming of the feet!

You needn't look so lonesome! I can see you laughing there To the tune of "Old Dan Tucker" as you drop the loads of care, And the melodies immortal drive the troubles all away As you spill the tender music of "My Darling Nellie Gray."

Then don't you look so lonesome!

All your dreams will come complete, And Love will swing his partners To the tripping of the feet.

O, you needn't look so lonesome! All the good times you shall feel As you shout the mighty chorus of the "Old Virginia Reel,"

And Love shall join the music with the raptures that abound, As we heel-and-toe-it lively and we "swing the ladies 'round!"

Then don't you look so lonesome!

Love and happiness shall meet, And we'll shout good-bye to trouble In the shuffle of the feet!

Let the boy eat! The grocery-man is a less expensive guest than the doctor, and mush and milk are more palatable than medicine.