W’EN us fellers stomp around, mak… Gramma says, 'There’s certain tim… W’en they need a shingle or the so… She says 'we’re a—itchin’ for a ri… An’ she says, 'Now thes you wait,

When I come in f’om de co’n—fiel’… It 's amazin’ nice to fin’ my supp… An’ it 's nice to smell de coffee… An’ it 's fine to see de meat a—si… But when suppah—time is ovah, an’…

I done got 'uligion, honey, an’ I… Evahthing I see erbout me ’s jes’… An’ it seems lak I do’ want to do… But jes’ run an’ tell de neighbour… I done shuk my fis’ at Satan, an’…

Out of the sunshine and out of the… Out of the dust of the grimy stree… A song fluttered down in the form… And it bore me a message, the one… Ah, I was toiling, and oh, I was…

Come, drink a stirrup cup with me, Before we close our rouse. You ‘re all aglow with wine, I kn… The master of the house, Unmindful of our revelry,

SWEETEST of the flowers a—bloo… In the fragrant vernal days Is the Lily of the Valley With its soft, retiring ways. Well, you chose this humble blosso…

UNCLE JOHN, he makes me tired; Thinks 'at he’s jest so all—fired Smart, 'at he kin pick up, so, Ever’thing he wants to know. Tried to ketch me up last night,

When August days are hot an’ dry, When burning copper is the sky, I ‘d rather fish than feast or fly In airy realms serene and high. I ’d take a suit not made for look…

A DOWN the west a golden glow Sinks burning in the sea, And all the dreams of long ago Come flooding back to me. The past has writ a story strange

A BLUE—BELL springs upon the l… A lark sits singing in the hedge; Sweet perfumes scent the balmy air… And life is brimming everywhere. What lark and breeze and bluebird…

When first of wise old Johnson ta… My youthful mind its homage brough… And made the pond’rous crusty sage The object of a noble rage. Nor did I think (How dense we are…

I Found you and I lost you, All on a gleaming day. The day was filled with sunshine, And the land was full of May. A golden bird was singing

I’VE always been a faithful man An’ tried to live for duty, But the stringent mode of life Has somewhat lost its beauty. The story of the generous bread

MY soul, lost in the music’s mist… Roamed, rapt, 'neath skies of amet… The cheerless streets grew summer… The Son of Phœbus spurred his ste… And, wand’ring down the mazy tune,

GOD has his plans, and what if we With our sight be too blind to see Their full fruition; cannot he, Who made it, solve the mystery? One whom we loved has fall’n aslee…