The present rain that will not stop Next autumn means a b.u.mper crop.

We wonder why some things must be-- Care's purpose we can seldom see-- An' yet long afterwards we turn To view the past, an' then we learn That what once filled our minds with doubt Was good for us as it worked out.

I've never known an hour of care But that I've later come to see That it has brought some joy to me.

Even the sorrows I have borne, Leavin' me lonely an' forlorn An' hurt an' bruised an' sick at heart, In life's great plan have had a part.

An' though I could not understand Why I should bow to Death's command, As time went on I came to know That it was really better so.

Things mostly happen for the best.

So narrow is our vision here That we are blinded by a tear An' stunned by every hurt an' blow Which comes to-day to strike us low.

An' yet some day we turn an' find That what seemed cruel once was kind.

Most things, I hold, are wisely planned If we could only understand.

The Kick Under the Table

After a man has been married awhile, And his wife has grown used to his manner and style, When she knows from the twinkle that lights up his eye The thoughts he is thinking, the wherefore and why, And just what he'll say, and just what he'll do, And is sure that he'll make a bad break ere he's through, She has one little trick that she'll work when she's able-- She takes a sly kick at him under the table.

He may fancy the story he's telling is true, Or he's doing the thing which is proper to do; He may fancy he's holding his own with the rest, The life of the party and right at his best, When quickly he learns to his utter dismay, That he mustn't say what he's just started to say.

He is stopped at the place where he hoped to begin, By his wife, who has taken a kick at his shin.

If he picks the wrong fork for the salad, he knows That fact by the feel of his wife's slippered toes.

If he's started a bit of untellable news, On the calf of his leg there is planted a bruise.

Oh, I wonder sometimes what would happen to me If the wife were not seated just where she could be On guard every minute to watch every trick, And keep me in line all the time with her kick.

Leader of the Gang

Seems only just a year ago that he was toddling round the place In pretty little colored suits and with a pink and shining face.

I used to hold him in my arms to watch when our canary sang, And now tonight he tells me that he's leader of his gang.

It seems but yesterday, I vow, that I with fear was almost dumb, Living those dreadful hours of care waiting the time for him to come; And I can still recall the thrill of that first cry of his which rang Within our walls. And now that babe tells me he's leader of his gang.

Gone from our lives are all the joys which yesterday we used to own; The baby that we thought we had, out of the little home has flown, And in his place another stands, whose garments in disorder hang, A lad who now with pride proclaims that he's the leader of his gang.

And yet somehow I do not grieve for what it seems we may have lost; To have so strong a boy as this, most cheerfully I pay the cost.

I find myself a sense of joy to comfort every little pang, And pray that they shall find in him a worthy leader of the gang.

Ma and the Ouija Board

I don't know what it's all about, but Ma says that she wants to know If spirits in the other world can really talk to us below.

An' Pa says, "Gosh! there's folks enough on earth to talk to, I should think, Without you pesterin' the folks whose souls have gone across the brink."

But Ma, she wants to find out things an' study on her own accord, An' so a month or two ago she went an' bought a ouija board.

It's just a shiny piece of wood, with letters printed here an' there, An' has a little table which you put your fingers on with care, An' then you sit an' whisper low some question that you want to know.

Then by an' by the spirit comes an' makes the little table go, An' Ma, she starts to giggle then an' Pa just grumbles out, "Oh, Lord!

I wish you hadn't bought this thing. We didn't need a ouija board."

"You're movin' it!" says Ma to Pa. "I'm not!" says Pa, "I know it's you; You're makin' it spell things to us that you know very well aren't true."

"That isn't so," says Ma to him, "but I am certain from the way The ouija moves that you're the one who's tellin' it just what to say."

"It's just 'lectricity," says Pa; "like batteries all men are stored, But anyhow I don't believe we ought to have a ouija board."

One night Ma got it out, an' said, "Now, Pa, I want you to be fair, Just keep right still an' let your hands rest lightly on the table there.

Oh, Ouija, tell me, tell me true, are we to buy another car, An' will we get it very soon?" she asked. "Oh, tell us from afar."

"Don't buy a car," the letters spelled, "the price this year you can't afford."

Then Ma got mad, an' since that time she's never used the ouija board.

The Call of the Woods

I must get out to the woods again, to the whispering trees and the birds awing, Away from the haunts of pale-faced men, to the s.p.a.ces wide where strength is king; I must get out where the skies are blue and the air is clean and the rest is sweet, Out where there's never a task to do or a goal to reach or a foe to meet.

I must get out on the trails once more that wind through shadowy haunts and cool, Away from the presence of wall and door, and see myself in a crystal pool; I must get out with the silent things, where neither laughter nor hate is heard, Where malice never the humblest stings and no one is hurt by a spoken word.

Oh, I've heard the call of the tall white pine, and heard the call of the running brook; I'm tired of the tasks which each day are mine; I'm weary of reading a printed book.

I want to get out of the din and strife, the clang and clamor of turning wheel, And walk for a day where life is life, and the joys are true and the pictures real.

Committee Meetings

For this and that and various things It seems that men must get together, To purchase cups or diamond rings Or to discuss the price of leather.

From nine to ten, or two to three, Or any hour that's fast and fleeting, There is a constant call for me To go to some committee meeting.

The church has serious work to do, The lodge and club has need of workers, They ask for just an hour or two-- Surely I will not join the shirkers?

Though I have duties of my own I should not drop before completing, There comes the call by telephone To go to some committee meeting.

No longer may I eat my lunch In quietude and contemplation; I must foregather with the bunch To raise a fund to save the nation.

And I must talk of plans and schemes The while a scanty bite I'm eating, Until I vow to-day it seems My life is one committee meeting.

When over me the night shall fall, And my poor soul goes upwards winging Unto that heavenly realm, where all Is bright with joy and gay with singing, I hope to hear St. Peter say-- And I shall thank him for the greeting: "Come in and rest from day to day; Here there is no committee meeting!"

Pa and the Monthly Bills