It's _got_ to be! And again I say,-- When his old scythe circles high, I'll laugh--of course, in the kindest way,-- As I say "Good-by!--Good-by!"

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"OUT OF REACH?"

You think them "out of reach," your dead?

Nay, by my own dead, I deny Your "out of reach."--Be comforted: 'Tis not so far to die.

O by their dear remembered smiles And outheld hands and welcoming speech, They wait for us, thousands of miles This side of "out-of-reach."

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"A BRAVE REFRAIN"

When snow is here, and the trees look weird, And the knuckled twigs are gloved with frost; When the breath congeals in the drover's beard, And the old pathway to the barn is lost; When the rooster's crow is sad to hear, And the stamp of the stabled horse is vain, And the tone of the cow-bell grieves the ear-- O then is the time for a brave refrain!

When the gears hang stiff on the harness-peg, And the tallow gleams in frozen streaks; And the old hen stands on a lonesome leg, And the pump sounds hoa.r.s.e and the handle squeaks; When the woodpile lies in a shrouded heap, And the frost is scratched from the window-pane And anxious eyes from the inside peep-- O then is the time for a brave refrain!

When the ax-helve warms at the chimney-jamb, And hob-nailed shoes on the hearth below, And the house-cat curls in a slumber calm, And the eight-day clock ticks loud and slow; When the harsh broom-handle jabs the ceil 'Neath the kitchen-loft, and the drowsy brain Sniffs the breath of the morning meal-- O then is the time for a brave refrain!

ENVOI

When the skillet seethes, and a blubbering hot Tilts the lid of the coffee-pot, And the scent of the buckwheat cake grows plain-- O then is the time for a brave refrain!

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IN THE EVENING

I

In the evening of our days, When the first far stars above Glimmer dimmer, through the haze, Than the dewy eyes of love, Shall we mournfully revert To the vanished morns and Mays Of our youth, with hearts that hurt,-- In the evening of our days?

II

Shall the hand that holds your own Till the twain are thrilled as now, Be withheld, or colder grown?

Shall my kiss upon your brow Falter from its high estate?

And, in all forgetful ways, Shall we sit apart and wait-- In the evening of our days?

III

Nay, my wife--my life!--the gloom Shall enfold us velvetwise, And my smile shall be the groom Of the gladness of your eyes: Gently, gently as the dew Mingles with the darkening maze, I shall fall asleep with you-- In the evening of our days.

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JIM

He was jes a plain, ever'-day, all-round kind of a jour., Consumpted-lookin'--but la!

The jokiest, wittiest, story-tellin', song-singin', laughin'est, jolliest Feller you ever saw!

Worked at jes coa.r.s.e work, but you kin bet he was fine enough in his talk, And his feelin's, too!

Lordy! ef he was on'y back on his bench ag'in to-day, a-carryin' on Like he ust to do!

Any shop-mate'll tell you there never was, on top o' dirt, A better feller'n Jim!

You want a favor, and couldn't git it anywheres else-- You could git it o' him!

Most free-heartedest man thataway in the world, I guess!

Give up ever' nickel he's worth-- And, ef you'd a-wanted it, and named it to him, and it was his, He'd a-give you the earth!

Allus a-reachin' out, Jim was, and a-he'ppin' some Pore feller onto his feet-- He'd a-never a-keered how hungry he was hisse'f, So's _the feller_ got somepin' to eat!

Didn't make no differ'nee at all to him how _he_ was dressed, He ust to say to me,-- "You togg out a tramp purty comfortable in winter-time, a-huntin' a job, And he'll git along!" says he.

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Jim didn't have, ner never could git ahead, so overly much O' this world's goods at a time.-- 'Fore now I've saw him, more'n one't, lend a dollar, and haf to, more'n like, Turn round and borry a dime!

Mebby laugh and joke about it hisse'f fer a while--then jerk his coat.

And kindo' square his chin, Tie on his apern, and squat hisse'f on his old shoe-bench, And go to peggin' ag'in!

Patientest feller, too, I reckon, 'at ever jes natchurly Coughed hisse'f to death!

Long enough after his voice was lost he'd laugh in a whisper and say He could git ever'thing but his breath-- "_You fellers_," he'd sorto' twinkle his eyes and say, "Is a-pilin' onto me A mighty big debt fer that-air little weak-chested ghost o' mine to pack Through all Eternity!"

Now there was a man 'at jes 'peared-like, to me, 'At ortn't _a-never_ a-died!

"But death hain't a-showin' no favors," the old boss said-- "On'y to _Jim_!" and cried: And Wigger, who puts up the best sewed-work in the shop-- Er the whole blame neighborhood,-- He says, "When G.o.d made Jim, I bet you He didn't do anything else that day But jes set around and feel good!"

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THE BEST IS GOOD ENOUGH