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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSro 
 
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 J. L. BROWN 
 (Aged 62) 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 A Book of Poems 
 
 Essays and 
 
 Epigrams 
 
 BY 
 
 J. L. BROWN 
 
 With an Introduction by 
 HON. CLARENCE PRICE NEWTON 
 
 Copyright 1916 
 BY J. L. BROWN 
 
i 
 1 
 
 DEDICATION 
 
 I Dedicate this Volume to Three Friends 
 
 Dr. Charles D. Tibbels 
 Mr. H. H. Shannon 
 Dr. Wm. A. Wyatt 
 
 By whose kindness I have been enabled 
 to have this book published 
 
 In order to know more of them read 
 Three Friends on page 233 
 
 Mi 19 1916 
 
 ©CI,A431137 ] 
 
 i 
 
PREFATORY NOTE 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR 
 
 I find myself an Author — more through 
 accident than purpose. Through the swift years 
 of a busy life I never felt that I had either the 
 time or talent to write a book. In spare moments 
 T penned my thoughts, sometimes grave, some- 
 times gay, and under the title "Brown Scraps" 
 I sent them to newspapers, who v/ere kind 
 enough to print them. My family and friends 
 preserved enough of these "Scraps" in their 
 scrapbooks to make a volume. A number of 
 friends have requested me to put these Poems, 
 Essays and Epigrams into a book. This book is 
 published in compliance with that request. 
 
 It lays no claim to scholarship for the 
 Author is not a scholar. If it was not imperfect 
 it v/ould not be like its Author.. It is not expec- 
 ted that this book will receive the approbation 
 of the cold scholarly critic. 
 
 Who will weigh each sentence 
 And measure each verse 
 Counting one half bad 
 And the other worse. 
 
6 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 The sunshine of human kindness is the 
 thing human hearts long for, and it is the things 
 this Author wants to give them. 
 
 If this book can only be helpful 
 
 In keeping a mad soul from growing 
 
 madder, 
 Or a sad soul from growing sadder, 
 Or a bad soul from growing badder, 
 And makes the world to them all look 
 
 brighter, 
 And their hearts grow warm, and their 
 
 burdens lighter. 
 While the bands of love grow strong 
 
 and tighter 
 If it gathers a harvest of such precious 
 
 grain. 
 Then the message it bears is not in 
 vain. 
 
 TO THE READER 
 
 My friend, Fm passive in your hand. 
 Though naught of you I understand ; 
 I do not konw your name nor birth, 
 Nor what you say nor do on earth. 
 
 You may be young, and bright, and gay, 
 You may be feeble, old and gray; 
 Into these things I cannot look, 
 Because you know, I am a book. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 7 
 
 This one advantage you have now, 
 And you will use it, I avow; 
 I cannot know or judge of thee, 
 But you can know and judge of me. 
 
 You drop me quick or hold me long, 
 Or call me good, or judge me wrong, 
 Or treat me any other way, 
 I'll never answer what you say. 
 
 Be what you may, I wish you well, 
 Therefore in prose or verse I tell, 
 A thought that's sad, or glad, or gay, 
 To teach, or cheer you, on your way. 
 
 Open my leaves, my pages read. 
 And see if they supply your need. 
 Like other books that you have read, 
 Wrote by the living or the dead. 
 
 But books, like men, if you but think. 
 Are not alike — they are distinct — 
 In many things beside their name, 
 Their form, their style is not the same. 
 
 So from the living or the dead. 
 
 One just like me you have not read, 
 
 So take and read me through and through, 
 
 And see if you don't find it true. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS \ 
 
 I do not say I'm better — no — \ 
 
 For such I deem would not be so ; 
 I only say just what I think — 
 
 That books like men are each distinct. . 
 
 1 
 
 \ 
 Books are the products of the mind, \ 
 
 And as such differ in their kind; ] 
 
 Oft different moods of the same mind, ; 
 
 Inside one volume you may find. 
 
 I have been growing many years, ■ 
 
 Warmed with laughter, fed with tears, ; 
 
 The spirit grave, the spirit gay. j 
 
 Upon my pages have their say. j 
 
 Sometimes as light as sunny hours, j 
 
 Sometimes as bright as summer flowers, j 
 
 Sometimes trembling like a leaf, j 
 
 Drenched in trouble, blown in grief. ] 
 
 When people do unite for life, i 
 
 One as husband, one as v/ife, { 
 
 The preacher may these words rehearse,* j 
 
 "You take for better or for worse." , 
 
 These words to you I now rehearse, j 
 
 "Take me for better or for worse," j 
 
 Accept the good, if such you find, 
 To faults and follies act the blind. 
 
 i 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 9 
 
 'i 
 
 To quarrel at me will do no good, | 
 
 It will not help me if you should ; : 
 While man can change in way, in name, 
 A book must stay always the same. 
 
 My introduction now is o'er, 1 
 
 About myself Fll say no more ; | 
 
 I hope you'll read me to the end, j 
 
 And then will keep me as your friend. i 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 My dear friend, Brown, has asked me to 
 write the foreword or preface to this Book of 
 Poems, Essays and Epigrams. I have not read 
 every selection, but I know he has not written 
 anything I could not enjoy reading. Just why 
 Brown selected me to do this, I cannot divine, 
 but I do know that we are congenial minds, even 
 if we do not resemble in age, face, person and 
 church affiliation. I recall that during our short 
 but close association in the Arkansas General 
 Assembly we did not differ on one matter or 
 measure involving a question of morals I rem- 
 ember that Brown ,laughed at my jokes 
 applauded my speeches, inquired of the health 
 of my dear mother, and visited me when I was 
 sick. Likewise, I am reminded that I sat quietly 
 by when he flayed the liquor forces, stood still 
 and heard his latest anecedote, applauded his 
 shafts in repartee, talked heart-to-heart with 
 him in the cloak room and have answered his 
 every letter since. 
 
 Brown is a poet, plus. So am I. But I do not 
 write down my poetry, as does Brown. Vanity 
 forbids me admitting that I couldn't if I would. 
 When I was some younger than I now am I tried 
 it. The result did not bring me to the notice of 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 11 
 
 the great critics But my friend in question is a 
 real poet — not a mere verse-smith, rhymester, 
 doggerel ding-a-linger or plodding platitudinizer 
 — nor is he one of the long-haired variety, who 
 live in the atmosphere of another and strange 
 world, whose dreamy eyes see not the small 
 things of earth. But he combines a fine sense 
 of harmony and color and warmth with an 
 aptitude for fitness, an unswerving fidelity to 
 right and the saving grace of humor. 
 
 We are indebted to the poets for more than 
 we realize. It is true that in this age of dollar- 
 ized ethics we laugh at the poetic tendencies 
 of the young man or woman, yet the thrill from 
 poetry is as universal now as ever, and will be 
 while man continues to be enraptured by the 
 strains of music and the beauties of the autumn 
 sunset. The mad race for commercial suprem- 
 acy and the hard task of earning bread have 
 reduced the number of poets and calloused the 
 souls of most of us, but the world will "beat a 
 path to the door" of every one that braves the 
 hindrances of the untoward time to voice the 
 sweet impulses that stir betimes the hearts of 
 men and women who suffer and aspire. 
 
 Brown has the happy faculty of catching up 
 some pertinent happening and making a point 
 in rhyme. He hits many mighty blows against 
 
12 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 the cohorts of wrong in this way ; also, he lends 
 encouragement to many good projects by weav- 
 ing into verse his commendation. 
 
 In many of these poems the readerv/ill note 
 the fine philosophy of a man who knows life 
 here, yet has pitched his actions in a key that 
 will bring him to the end of his days with few 
 vain regrets and with a love for humanity that 
 only a great heart can hold His charity is 
 periennial, for he knows the weaknesses, the 
 common foibles of us all. Put down upon the 
 printed page to endure after he has been called 
 hence, may be read the quaint, loving, patient 
 humorous and hopeful heart-throbs of a true 
 servant of the Master, a real crusader against 
 wrong, a fine companion, a generous foe and 
 common brother to us all, and while you read 
 herein remember that dear old Brown looks out 
 from every paragraph, rounds every corner with 
 the reader and greets you with another impulse 
 when you turn the page, for he writes like he 
 talks and to read him is to know him. Such is 
 the genius of Brown. 
 
 CLARENCE PRICE NEWTON. 
 
BROWN SiCRAPS 13 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 The Sunny Day 17 
 
 The Dead Year 18 
 
 Fd Rather Be 19 
 
 April 20 
 
 The Web of Life 21 
 
 The Greatest Thing 22 
 
 The Daisy and the River 22 
 
 K the World Were a Dog 23 
 
 Esho Land . 24 
 
 Just Today 26 
 
 The Tramp of Time 28 
 
 Not Poor 29 
 
 The True Poet 30 
 
 Time's Record 32 
 
 Halley's Comet 33 
 
 Life's Sculptors " 40 
 
 God Gives — September 43 
 
 The Nook of Private Life 44 
 
 Life's Gate 46 
 
 Coming of Spring 47 
 
 The Fisher 48 
 
 A Steel Pen 49 
 
 Let Them Murmur 52 
 
 True and False Democracy 53 
 
 Storm Scare 55 
 
 Two Pictures 57 
 
 The War 58 
 
 If You Would 62 
 
 October 63 
 
14 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 Rub the Right Way 64 
 
 What is Poetry 65 
 
 The Village Blacksmith 67 
 
 (Crossing the Lines 71 
 
 Different Preaching 74 
 
 The Sunday Hunter 75 
 
 The Hero and Shero 76 
 
 Don't Borrow Sorrow 78 
 
 Thankfulness 79 
 
 Books 81 
 
 Don't Kick 81 
 
 Gone But Not Dead 89 
 
 Sister Hysterics 90 
 
 Give— Old Saying 91 
 
 Love On — January 92 
 
 Arkansas Gone Dry 93 
 
 Little Maud 95 
 
 The Devout Soul 96 
 
 Golden Wedding 97 
 
 The Hog 99 
 
 Life's Lessons 101 
 
 Dirt and Crook 102 
 
 60 Years of Age 103 
 
 August 107 
 
 Will Poetry Ever Die. . 108 
 
 To the Discouraged Muse .109 
 
 Dear Little Joe 110 
 
 Evolution 113 
 
 How 116 
 
 Fifty Years 117 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 15 
 
 Three Ways to Scatter News 120 
 
 The Three Islands 121 
 
 Thought on Thanksgiving 124 
 
 The Depot Crowd .125 
 
 The Goat 132 
 
 Who Ever Saw 133 
 
 The New Year 1911 134 
 
 Three Needful Things 135 
 
 How I write Poetry 136 
 
 Drouth and War 139 
 
 The Crown of the Year 137 
 
 The Biography of a Dime 143 
 
 The Family Trouble 148 
 
 Where Mortals Jostle Mortals 149 
 
 When I Grow Big 151 
 
 If You Wish 155 
 
 The Proverb — November 156 
 
 Better Whistle Than Whine 159 
 
 Different Feathers 161 
 
 Who is He 162 
 
 Shall We Help Them 163 
 
 The Riches of Friendship 166 
 
 Optimistic 167 
 
 Don't Do It 168 
 
 Let the Wind Blow 169 
 
 Independence 170 
 
 William Tucker 171 
 
 Death 172 
 
 Christmas Morn 173 
 
 I Must Sigh 176 
 
16 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 A Gnat 176 
 
 Bereavement 177 
 
 Address of Welcome 182 
 
 Destiny 190 
 
 The Devil's Tree 193 
 
 Christmas Eve 1908 195 
 
 The Negro's Vision 197 
 
 Stick to Your Bush 200 
 
 Sixty Acres of Corn 201 
 
 Agitation 203 
 
 The Salt River Packet 205 
 
 The Young Orator 209 
 
 Minsterial Education 210 
 
 The Best Old Place. 211 
 
 Jake and Belle 212 
 
 Old Time School Days 213 
 
 God's Mills .221 
 
 Life 221 
 
 Don't Scatter Thorns 223 
 
 The Value of a Book 224 
 
 To Be a Boy ' 226 
 
 A Dear Little Boy 227 
 
 Conundrum 228 
 
 A Prayer 229 
 
 The Candidate 230 
 
 Three Friends 233 
 
 Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow 234 
 
 Three Minutes Speech 236 
 
 Zeal 237 
 
 You Can't Please the World 240 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 17 
 
 THE SUNNY DAY 
 
 1 
 The day is warm and bright and cheery, | 
 
 The birds in the sunlight smg quite merry, i 
 
 The vine clings to the cottage wall, ' 
 
 Its green leaves cluster over all, ! 
 
 And the day is bright and cheery. 
 
 My life is warm and bright and cherry, 
 
 With love and faith we are not weary, 
 My thoughts turn loose the mouldering past, j 
 
 Like faded leaves on the autumn blast, | 
 
 And my days are bright and cheery. ■ 
 
 No human heart need be repining, 
 
 Behind each cloud the sun is shining, | 
 
 And hope is the common gift for all, ' 
 
 Into each life some blessings fall, I 
 
 To make it bright and cheery. ,, 
 
 ■II- 
 
 A duck is a duck, and always will j 
 
 Walk on a flat foot and nibble with a • 
 
 bill ; : 
 
 While a tattler is a tattler , old or young, j 
 
 Working for the Devil with a great long 
 
 tongue. 
 
 II I 
 
 You may call a cat a lion, but it won't : 
 
 make mane grow on its neck. j 
 
18 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 THE DEAD YEAR 
 
 The clock strikes twelve in home and tower, 
 'Tis midnight and the dying hour 
 
 For nineteen thirteen now has sped 
 
 To takes its place among the dead. 
 
 The north winds *neath a winter sky 
 Through the leafless forest sigh, 
 
 Out from the hill, the vale: and sky 
 
 Comes the sad wail, **01d year goodbye." 
 
 From whistle, gun, and clanging bell 
 
 We catch the sound, farewell, farewell. 
 
 The echo sighs the sad refrain : 
 
 Gone, gone to never come again. 
 
 Gone with our hopes, gone with our fears 
 
 Gone with our smiles, gone with our 
 tears. 
 Gone wtih our joys, gone with our pain. 
 Gone, never to come back again. 
 
 Now while the world in silence wait, 
 
 Time lifts the latch and ope's the gate. 
 
 With banners dark the old pass through. 
 With banners bright march in the new. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 19 
 
 We say goodbye and drop a tear, 
 
 We say good morn with hope and cheer, 
 Sweet memories to the old year clings, 
 
 While bright sweet hopes the new year 
 brings. 
 
 TD RATHER BE 
 
 rd rather be a fool with an honest heart 
 
 And a conscience white and clean, 
 Than be a Solomon from the start, 
 With a brilliant brain and a dirty heart, 
 
 And a conscience black and mean. 
 I'd rather be simple in everything 
 And yet to the garments of honor cling. 
 And wear them day by day 
 Then bow to a clique as to a king. 
 Or work a trick for a whiskey ring 
 And do their dirt for pay. 
 
 The philosophy of human life is to take 
 things as we find them to be, and not as we 
 would have them to be. Some folks hobble 
 through life on sore feet — made sore kicking 
 against things they can not help nor hinder. 
 
 Don't cry to live in a gallon bucket, so long 
 as you have plenty of room in a quart cup. 
 
20 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 APRIL 
 
 April, sweet April, we meet thee again, 
 Gladly we greet thee, with .sunshine and rain. 
 We know you will gladden our hearts with your 
 
 stay, 
 No doubt we'll feel sadly when you have to go 
 'way. 
 
 Perfect in pleasure, a queen thou shalt reign, 
 Dressing in leisure, both mountain and plain. 
 The winter king's gone, while spring birds in 
 
 glee 
 Are singing their songs of chick-a-dee-dee. 
 
 The old apple tree has her garments of white 
 Where the mocking-bird sings to the stars of the 
 
 night, 
 The honey bees out in chorus are humming 
 A song to the flowers of summer days coming. 
 
 A halo of light 'round the moon is now showing. 
 And soft fleecy clouds on the south winds are 
 
 blov/ing. 
 The sun in the heavens climb higher each day, 
 And Nature is fixing to welcome sweet May. 
 
 ■%?• 
 
 Spite work never succeeds in the long run, nor 
 ccomplishes any good in the short run. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 21 
 
 THE WEB OF LIFE 
 
 The loom of time doth weave away, 
 The web of life grows day by day. 
 The web now woven soon will be 
 The garment worn in eternity. 
 
 Weaving wrong and weaving right, 
 The shuttle stops not day nor night; 
 The threads it weaves are threads we spin, 
 The threads of right or threads of sin. 
 
 On spindles of heart, tongue and brain 
 We spin the threads we'll wear again, 
 Threads of joy or love or strife 
 Woven into the web of life. 
 
 To wear a garment clean and white 
 In the blest world of love and light, 
 The way to wear it now is seen. 
 Keep your spindle bright and clean. 
 
 For there is one thing that always is so. 
 Wherever we be, wherever we go, 
 In earth, or heaven, or hell below. 
 Don't you knov/, don't you know. 
 Wherever we be, wherever we go — 
 We reap what we sow, 
 We reap what we sow. 
 
22 BROWN SiCRAPS 
 
 THE GREATEST THING 
 
 The sweetest word that ever hung 
 
 In speech or song on mortal tongue, 
 
 To gladden earth or heaven above — 
 The sweetest word of all is LOVE. 
 
 The greatset word that ever fell 
 In earth, or heaven, or in hell, 
 
 On Mercy's wand, or Justice's rod — 
 The greatest word of all is GOD. 
 
 The shortest time we ever view. 
 
 The shortest time one ever knew, 
 
 The shortest time, I do avow. 
 
 Is the present time, or NOW. 
 
 These three v/ords together take, 
 
 And you will find that they do make 
 
 The greatest duty or command. 
 
 It's LOVE GOD NOW, you understand? 
 
 THE DAISY AND THE RIVER 
 
 The daisy by the river's brim 
 
 A silent message brought to him, 
 
 A silent voice of symbol form 
 
 That grew and smiled in sun and storm. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 23 
 
 lis slender stems and petals blew 
 In silence and in beauty grew, 
 
 It symboled not a thing of power, 
 
 But sweet contentment every hour. 
 
 The deep blue stream sped on its way 
 With laughing waters day by day. 
 
 Shone forth its strength from hour to hour, 
 A happy spirit linked with power. 
 
 He turned and on the viewless air 
 
 He breathed an honest, earnest prayer, 
 
 That in his life there might be sent 
 The daisy's spirit of content. 
 
 He prayed his life be strong and deep 
 Like the strong river in its sweep, 
 
 But in its current there might be 
 
 Mingled the spirit of power and glee. 
 
 If the world were a dog, some folks would 
 be its eyes — always looking for something to 
 run after. Some would be its mouth — always 
 ready to bark, growl or snap. And some other 
 folks would be its tail — always behind, either 
 wagging or trying to switch off. 
 
 It is said every man has his place, but some 
 men seem to spend a lifetime hunting for theirs. 
 
24 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 ECHO LAND 
 
 I saunter out on a summer day, 
 
 Down a path that leads through a forest 
 
 green, 
 But I find that others have passed this 
 
 way — 
 The prints of their feet in the dust are 
 
 seen. 
 
 I stand at the rim fo the ocean wide, 
 Where murmuring waves break on the 
 
 shore ; 
 But footprints gleam down near the tide 
 That tell me one had come before. 
 
 To a rugged nook, in a mountain side, 
 Near a place where the eagle builds her 
 
 nest, 
 I climbed and rested ; but there I spied 
 Where a mountain climber had stopped to 
 
 rest. 
 
 I entered a cave as dark as night; 
 No one, I thought, has passed this door; 
 But letters carved with a stalacite 
 Told of a party gone on before, 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 25 
 
 I entered the land of sober thought, 
 Where I tried to think on a subject new, 
 But I found in a book that I had bought 
 Where an author had brought these 
 thoughts to view. 
 
 I stood in a shadow, cold and bleak, 
 Where the mountain's base just touched 
 
 the plain, 
 Where a sigh, or cry, or laugh, or shriek, 
 In an echo sound would come again. 
 
 Oh, mountain high, do you hear my cry, 
 Has anyone cried here once before? 
 Out on the plain, from the mountain high. 
 Came the echo again, "Here once before." 
 
 I turned away in the twilight gray, 
 And said to myself, I understand 
 That the path of life from every way 
 Leads to the valley of *'Echo Land." 
 
 The sermon or song — preached or sung — 
 We may value highly as new in store ; 
 But they are not — they are echoes flung 
 From lips and pens on the bygone shore. 
 
 'Tis ours to freshen with tongue or pen 
 The truth of sermon, the thought of song. 
 And pass them to our fellow-men 
 Tq echo again a^ they pass along, 
 
26 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 JUST TODAY 
 
 Just today along the way 
 Is all we need be knowing; 
 
 Tomorrow's storm will do no harm 
 Until its winds are blowing. 
 
 Patience for the present time 
 To do the things we'er doing; 
 
 Patience to bear its joy or care 
 And help our present going. 
 
 The day that's past has gone, alas, 
 Gone with its grief or gladness ; 
 
 Why seek the shade that it has made 
 To keep our souls in sadness? 
 
 Why seek to fly or seek to pry 
 
 Into the coming morrow; 
 The most of trouble some folks have 
 
 Is trouble that they borrow. 
 
 Just let your bridges keep ahead, 
 Don't cross them 'till you find them; 
 
 You'll find the grace to cross the place 
 So move along, don't mind them. 
 
 Look not behind lest you should find 
 The dark cloud of a sorrow; 
 
 Lift up your eyes to brighter skies 
 That arch the coming morrow. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 27 ] 
 
 ■j 
 
 Each day the sun his course will run : 
 
 And in that course be shining; j 
 
 Walk in his light from morn 'till night 
 Don't spend your time in whining. 
 
 Above the sun there ruleth One \ 
 
 Who sees the falling sparrow; | 
 
 He lives today to guard your way j 
 
 And He will live tomorrow. ^ 
 
 I 
 
 He willed your birth upon this earth, i 
 
 All things by Him are given; ;i 
 
 When life is o'er, He'll give you more — i 
 
 A lasting home in heaven. ] 
 
 ■^ II ■ ! 
 
 When the clouds look black 
 And the thunder doth sound, 
 
 Some folks make a track 
 For a hole in the ground. 
 
 When it rains you fear a flood. 
 When it shines you talk of drouth ; 
 
 If that's your rule you are a fool 
 And ought to shut your mouth. 
 
 Teach your boy if he can't be a president 
 he can be a gentleman, and that it is better to 
 be a gentleman and not a president than to be 
 a president and not a gentleman. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 THE TRAMP OF TIME 
 
 Tramp, tramp, tramp the march of time 
 As step by step the fleeting years go by; 
 Our little life it gives, we just begin to live, 
 And then it brings the message we must die. 
 
 But in the passing years we find 
 A sunlight glimpse — a protrait of a better clime 
 That flashes in our thoughts — our mind, 
 That speaks of rest beyond the shores of time. 
 
 We see the cold and pitiless snow, 
 
 A winding sheet of seeming death that wraps 
 
 the earth; 
 But soon the south winds softly blow 
 Slow falls the rain and soon again the spring 
 
 has birth. 
 
 The unchained rivers murmur in their strength, 
 As out the silver liquids start their flow; 
 Sweet April violets cling upon their banks, 
 Fed by the flashing dew-drops — one time snow. 
 
 And so life's winter times will soon be past. 
 Out from the ice of death our streams of life 
 
 shall flow, 
 And we shall live within that land so vast. 
 Where at our feet — with fragrance sweet — 
 
 Life '9 flowers shall grow, 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 29 
 
 NOT POOR 
 
 Call no man poor 
 
 That wends his way 
 Among the lowly throng ; 
 
 That gives relief 
 
 To those in grief, 
 By word, or deed, or song ; 
 
 That shows the way 
 
 To those astray 
 To reach the better life ; 
 
 To dry the tear 
 Within this world of strife. 
 
 But poor indeed 
 
 Is he who lives 
 Where want and woe abound. 
 
 Who never cares 
 
 And never gives 
 Though gold with him is found. 
 
 Who spends his life 
 
 With searching greed 
 
 And stops his ear 
 
 To cry of need, 
 And shuts his selfish door; 
 
 That gamers pelf 
 
 To fatten self 
 Is poorest 'mong the poor. 
 
30 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 THE TRUE POET 
 
 Can you tell, or do you know it, 
 How the world obtains a poetl 
 
 He's born, not made of art of school ; 
 He lives apart from courts of rule. 
 
 A son of nature, a friend of art. 
 The seed of genius is in his heart ; 
 
 A fountain of love, a mine of light. 
 That beam in words on fancy's flight. 
 
 As it wings its way through leafy June, 
 Or gathers a ray from the crescent moon. 
 
 Or bathes its feet in the restless tide — 
 That ceaseless beat on the ocean side. 
 
 You cannot make a mind like this. 
 Winged in fancy, filled with bliss, 
 
 No more than paint the dazzling light. 
 Of rainbow hues in dew drops bright. 
 
 Or music make like evening breeze, 
 
 That softly sings through forest trees; 
 You can paint the star, but not its light, I 
 
 That gleams athwart the fields of night. ; 
 
 You can paint the flower with leaf and bloom > 
 
 But you cannot paint its sweet perfume ; j 
 
 The river paint, in its onward flow, \ 
 But not the sound of its music low. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 31 i 
 
 These things belong to nature's store; \ 
 
 We see, we hear them, and adore ; > 
 
 They thrill our mind, they thrill our heart, J 
 They live in nature, not in art. 
 
 So the true poet has his power, \ 
 
 In Nature's fountain — like a flower \ 
 
 Or flashing dew-drop of the morn, 
 
 He is not made, he must be born. j 
 
 ] 
 
 m I 
 
 Sometimes I'm glad 
 Sometimes I'm sad. 
 Sometimes I need a little money ; 
 But sing or sigh, 
 Or laugh or cry, 
 I'm bound to laugh when things are funny. 
 
 Time flies. 
 
 While sadness sighs 
 
 And Hope paints rainbows 
 
 On the skies. 
 
 •^■ 
 
 Ducks have two advantages over some 
 folks — one is they stand flat-footed for things; 
 the other is, they don't run off and leave their 
 bills behind them. 
 
32 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 TIME'S RECORD 
 
 Old Father Time's got down his book, 
 
 And turning pages fast, 
 He writes the record of our lives, 
 
 While days are whirling past. 
 Somewhere we'll meet that record, 
 
 When time has passed away, 
 We'll stand and hear the reading 
 
 Of what the records say. 
 
 We'll hear in silent sadness 
 
 The deeds of sin and night. 
 We'll hear in joy and gladness 
 
 The deeds of love and light. 
 So do not walk in blindness. 
 
 And do not live in hate, 
 Give to each day some kindness. 
 
 Dread not the frown of fate. 
 
 Though life may have its fetter, 
 
 And darkness comes with night. 
 Strive daily to be better. 
 
 Stand bravely in the fight. 
 For life is worth the living 
 
 If we but live it true, 
 For what to time you're giving, 
 
 Will be given back to you. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 33 | 
 
 HALLEY'S. COMET j 
 
 ■i 
 
 Thou Pilgrim on the field of space, j 
 
 We look with pleasure on thy face; ; 
 Thou trembling, traveling star, 
 
 So long youVe been upon your flight, ] 
 
 Amid the hidden worlds of night, j 
 
 So deep — So dark — So far! ; 
 
 Your visits have been oft, we're told, j 
 
 Amid the ages, past and old, \ 
 
 You come — You shine — You go — ' 
 No one can tell or time your birth, 
 
 Or count your visits to this earth, 
 No record stands to show. 
 
 While viewing thee this clear, calm, night 
 
 The wings of fancy take their flight, \ 
 
 Along the trackless way, j 
 
 Into the ether plains of space, i 
 
 Where planets doth each other chase, i 
 
 Throughout the ceaseless day. j 
 
 The lips of ages long since dead, I 
 
 Seem waking from their silent bed, i 
 
 To speak and tell their tale ; ; 
 
 And from distant parts of earth, ' 
 
 Nations arise with hidden birth, 1 
 
 That saw thee on thy trail. j 
 
34 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 Before the wise men of the East, ' 
 
 Were born to let their vision least, 
 
 Upon that mystic star, j 
 
 That shed its silver light through spaee, ] 
 
 To tell them of the King of Grace, ; 
 
 Ere that, you had been there. 
 
 Before old Rome did rise or fall, i 
 
 Or aged China build her wall, j 
 
 Of strength around her land ; 
 
 Before these nations had their birth, ; 
 
 You made your visit to this earth, ] 
 Among the stars to stand. 
 
 ■| 
 
 But few there be upon this shore, j 
 
 That's lived to see thee once before, ' 
 
 And few that live today, ] 
 
 Will live and on the earth remain, ; 
 
 To greet you when you come again, ■ 
 
 As near the earth you stray. | 
 
 Some the theory now maintain, '] 
 
 That you may never come again 
 As you have come before; ' 
 
 That your race is almost run, 
 That you'll be swallowed by the sun. 
 
 And perish evermore. \ 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 35 
 
 So many things weVe heard of thee, 
 Of where you are and what you be, 
 
 That we can only guess, 
 
 Whether you will oft return 
 
 Or in the sun fall down and burn, 
 Or which of these is best. 
 
 The hand that formed that fiery frame. 
 Has held and guided well the same. 
 
 These times, long ages through. 
 
 In all thy sweep through distant fields. 
 
 Thy form from him is not concealed. 
 In azure's deepest blue. 
 
 Why should we fear thy coming sweep, 
 Thou traveler through the mystic deep. 
 
 In God's own power we stand. 
 
 We stand with him as children dear, 
 
 The objects of his love and care. 
 And you are in his hand. 
 
 So standing here this calm, clear night 
 We watch your trembling distant light; 
 
 That in yon heaven burns; 
 
 Like you, our lives may pass away, 
 
 To gleam within some distant day, 
 And then again return. 
 
36 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 LIFE'S STORM 
 
 (Mark iv; 37-41) \ 
 
 I 
 
 Twas midnight and the sable vale | 
 
 Hid every shining star from view, i 
 As fiercer swept the coming gale 
 
 And blacker all the storms cloud grew. i 
 Loud shraiked the storm upon the sea, 
 
 As wave and cloud each other kissed; ; 
 
 Whirl winds rushed both loud and free ! 
 
 And seething whirlpools foamed and hissed ] 
 
 It seemed a black winged imp of hell 
 
 With wings of wrath that night had fell | 
 
 Upon this inland sea [ 
 
 The lightning fire gleamed in his eye, ; 
 
 His black wings spread across the sky, I 
 
 As black as Egypt dared to be. 
 
 A light boat like a leaf was blown, 
 
 -I 
 
 A speck upon the sea it shown \ 
 
 Beneath the lightning glare ; i 
 
 The silent boatman at the oar i 
 
 Could look and pray, but nothing more, \ 
 
 Their face showed wild despair. i 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 37 
 
 But while dashed upon the billow 
 
 There was resting on a pillow 
 In that ship at sea ; 
 
 While the winds and waves were sweeping 
 There that form in rest was sleeping 
 
 Just as calm as calm could be. 
 
 Till some watchers in the number 
 
 Called and woke him from the slumber 
 
 And did tell him of their fear. 
 
 Some faith in him they seemed to cherish ; 
 
 "Master save us ere we perish," 
 Ere we perish here. 
 
 Looking at his loved ones tearful, 
 "Why are ye so weak and fearful, 
 
 ye of little faith," said he ; 
 
 Then rebuked the winds for blowing 
 
 And the waves about him flowing 
 And to a calm he ruled the sea. 
 
 The black clouds fell as if affrighted, ] 
 
 In the heavens stars seemed lighted ] 
 
 On their azure throne ; ■ 
 
 Winds no longer stayed to revel ? 
 
 Sea waves lowered to a level, j 
 Still and calm as stone. 
 
38 BROWN SCRAPS I 
 
 When he stopped the pealing thunder =; 
 
 Men looked on in deepest wonder, i 
 
 And we hear them saying, j 
 
 As their hearts beat strong and faster, l 
 
 **What kind of man is this, our Master, \ 
 
 Winds and sea obey him." j 
 
 j 
 
 Saying this if nothing more, 
 
 Turning to the waiting oar, ; 
 Plying it light hearted. 
 
 Soon they drop the dripping oar, j 
 Soon they stand upon the shore. 
 
 The land to which they started. 
 
 { 
 
 The storm of life is oft time raging, 
 
 Dark fears our hearts are oft engaging ; 
 
 In this present world. i 
 
 Winds of trouble 'round us blowing, \ 
 
 Waves of sorrow 'cross us flowing, j 
 
 Our tiny bark in peril. ! 
 
 I 
 
 But we have a promise given I 
 
 That there lives and rules in heaven 1 
 
 He who ruled the storm; j 
 
 That his care includes the sparrow i 
 
 That he cares for human sorrow, '• 
 
 And can save from harm. I 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 39 , 
 
 Sometimes it seems if he was sleeping I 
 
 While in sorrow we are weeping, | 
 
 Filled with doubt and fear; ] 
 
 But when by faith to him we are going, ; 
 
 And to him our troubles showing, j 
 
 s 
 
 He makes our cause his care. j 
 
 When before him we are standing, ; 
 
 He in silence is commanding \ 
 
 All our troubles fly. i 
 
 Then is hushed life's pealing thunder, 
 
 Then our storm clouds drift asunder ' 
 
 And within the sky. j 
 
 \ 
 
 Shine the stars of hope above us, 
 
 God is good and still doth love us, ] 
 
 And doth hold us in his hand. ' 
 
 And though storms may here abide us, | 
 
 With his hand he'll hold and guide us ] 
 
 To that bright and better land, : 
 
 Then we bow with adorations 
 To the Ruler of the Nations 
 
 In submission to his will. 
 
 When we make his will our choice, 
 
 When we hear his loving voice. 
 Sweetly saying, "Peace Be Still." 
 
40 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 LIFE' SCULPTORS 
 
 Two sculptors stood 
 
 Each one alone. 
 By each one lay 
 
 A block of stone 
 Without a line 
 
 Without a trace 
 Of any living 
 
 Form or face.. 
 
 But there was dwelling 
 
 In each mind 
 Form and features 
 
 Two in kind. 
 And to each one 
 
 The skill was known 
 To carve the features 
 
 Into stone. 
 
 One turning to the stone 
 
 With mallet stroke 
 The outline of his thought 
 
 Beneath his chisel broke. 
 The work went on 
 
 With stroke of skill so true 
 That on the stone 
 
 An angel face soon grew. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 41 
 
 And hovering wings 
 
 In guarding posture lay 
 O'er a sleeper's pillow 
 
 At the gates of day, 
 And this glad truth 
 
 Shined out upon its face: 
 I am an angel 
 
 And in an angel's place. 
 
 The other sculptor 
 
 His mallet caught 
 To carve in stone 
 
 The image of his thought. 
 With labor's constant stroke 
 
 And chisel keen 
 A demon almost spoke 
 
 Its horrid form was seen. 
 
 A scale clad dragon 
 
 Stood nearby. 
 The light of hell 
 
 Gleamed in its eye. 
 So horrid was its form, 
 
 So wretched was its plight, 
 The heart would chill with fear 
 
 While looking on the sight. 
 
42 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 The blessed angel form 
 
 And horrid dragon came 
 Out of two marble blocks 
 
 In structure just the same; 
 They were two forms of thought 
 
 In fancy's net way caught, 
 That the hand of skill 
 
 In marble features wrought. 
 
 Each youth today 
 
 Doth like a sculptor stand 
 With human will 
 
 The chisel in his hand 
 His future is the block 
 
 Of polished stone 
 On which to cai've 
 
 An image all his own. 
 
 One with motives pure 
 
 And thoughts that are the best, 
 Can chisel out a life 
 
 Of usefulness and rest, 
 One turning to the wrong 
 
 In thought and will, 
 Carves out a wretched form 
 
 Both dark and ill. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 43 ! 
 
 ii 
 
 And at the end of life \ 
 
 That form will stand i 
 
 A shame and curse 1 
 
 The creature of their hand. - i 
 
 And in the judgment day j 
 
 When every work shall tell ^ 
 
 A gathered world can say j 
 
 That soul has carved its hell. \ 
 
 GOD GIVES \ 
 
 i 
 t 
 
 God gives to every leaf and flower 
 
 Its gem of sparkling dew; ! 
 
 And in his goodness and his power ? 
 
 Gives life and love to you. ; 
 
 The star that shines so bright above 
 
 Reflects within that dew ; 
 Let him that lives and rules in love 
 
 Reflect his life in you j 
 
 i 
 SEPTEMBER ; 
 
 The year is slipping by, 
 
 The autumn wind doth i-^igh, j 
 
 The clouds go sailing by, | 
 
 The evening sunset — a brilliant ember; \ 
 
 We hear the song of quails 
 
 Float out from hill and dale, \ 
 
 We see the misty veil \ 
 
 On the calm face of sweet September. \ 
 
44 BROWN SCRAPS i 
 
 THE NOOK OF PRIVATE LIFE | 
 
 i 
 
 How sweet to turn aside j 
 
 From the dusty, musty way, \ 
 
 Where naught is firm or stable I 
 
 And nothing good doth stay. i 
 
 How sweet to flee the hustlings i 
 
 Of such folly and such strife; ; 
 
 How sweet to meet the shadows ; 
 
 In the nook of private life. | 
 
 In the shadow of your cottage ' 
 
 Where your wife and children dwell, j 
 
 Where love and admiration 
 
 In its purest form doth swell. I 
 
 Where the forest trees are waving 
 Green banners neath the sky. 
 
 Where the humming bird doth linger 
 In the rose bush growing nigh. 
 
 Where evening twilight shadows 
 Come creeping from the hill, 
 
 And we hear the distant calling 
 Of the summer whippoorwill. 
 
 How sweet to sit and study 
 
 In the dusk of coming night 
 
 And view God's sweeping glory 
 In the starry fields of light. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 45 
 
 And to think of loved ones parted 
 Who from us have gone away — 
 
 Gone on beyond the shadows 
 To the land of fadeless day. 
 
 To sit watching and sit dreaming 
 
 Of that land beyond the sky 
 That will be our home in Eden 
 
 In the coming by and by. 
 
 Till awakened from the dreaming 
 Of the land of coming bliss — 
 
 'Tis our babes *round us clinging 
 For the goodnight, parting kiss. 
 
 Yes life is worth the living 
 
 If we do not live in vain — 
 If we live for those who love us, 
 
 We can live with them again. 
 
 Vm glad I own a cottage. 
 
 Though it is not by the sea ; 
 It is better than a mansion 
 
 Could ever be to me. 
 
 I would not give the roses 
 
 That are blooming in my yard 
 
 For the flash of costly jewels. 
 
 Gleaming over hearts made hard. 
 
46 BROWN SCRAPS ] 
 
 By the god of lust or fashion j 
 
 Or by the greed of gold, ' 
 
 Where love is not the passion ] 
 That hearts together hold. 
 
 Give me a home of quiet ! 
 
 Full of love and full of rest, j 
 
 With a board of simple diet 1 
 
 And a garb of simple dress. j 
 
 LIFE'S GATE 
 
 ! 
 f 
 
 He who sits beside life's gate, ' 
 
 Waiting for some hand of fate ; 
 
 To open wide the same, i 
 
 Through which will come an honored ] 
 
 name, j 
 
 A crown of triumph, or of fame, \ 
 May sit and wait beside the gate, 
 But he will find, when it's too late. 
 He's missed the same. 
 
 In every time and every state j 
 
 God helps the soul tc ope the gate I 
 
 That works to ope the same. i 
 
 The key of effort when applied ■] 
 
 Will cause the gate to open wide; \ 
 
 The key to you is not denied. ' i 
 Grasp and use the same. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 47 
 
 THE COMING OF SPRING 
 
 March has come from fields of snow, 
 Come to let the South winds blow, 
 
 Come to let the wild brooks flow 
 And help the daffodils to grow. 
 
 Soft clouds float across the sky, 
 
 Wild geese toward the north land fly, 
 
 Blue birds sing and flutter nigh. 
 Warm days coming by and by. 
 
 White blooms soon will crown the thorn. 
 Red clouds fringe the gates of morn, 
 
 Sparrows dart about the barn. 
 Farmers talk of planting corn. 
 
 In the twilight dark and cool. 
 
 Spring frogs croak from marsh and pool. 
 Teachers meet and make a rule. 
 
 To be broken by the school. 
 
 The ground hog now has left his den. 
 The fattening hog has left his pen. 
 
 The farmer's wife has set her hen, 
 
 And school boys wish that they were men. 
 
 A bullfrog may bellow as loud as a bull, 
 but he can't hook as hard nor pull as much. 
 
48 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 THE FISHER 
 
 Little Joe-John-Owens 
 
 Was puffing and blowing, 
 
 His face wore a happy look. 
 
 I won't go, said he, away off to sea 
 
 I'll just go down to the brook. 
 
 There is a big trout 
 
 I guess he will weigh a ton ; 
 
 He'll get on my lin'3 
 
 And then he is mine, 
 
 I will pull him in for fun. 
 
 He came back all sad. 
 
 His luck was so bad, 
 
 And this was the trouble, said he. 
 
 That naughty trout 
 
 Just turned round about 
 
 And wiggled his old tail at me. 
 
 Don't you know it is so, 
 
 Like a child we oft go 
 
 To fish in the world for a whale ; 
 
 But the whale it won't look 
 
 At our line or our hook, 
 
 But gives us the wag of its tail? 
 
 ■II- 
 
 A man blindfolded by prejudice may play 
 "blind man's buff" with the truth for a lifetime 
 and never catch it. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 49 
 
 A STEEL PEN 
 
 I was and am a piece of steel,, I 
 
 I could not think, I cannot feel, i 
 
 I could not run, I cannot fly, j 
 
 I do not live, I cannot die. I 
 
 I 
 
 For ages buried in the earth , 
 
 Without desire or thought of birth, 
 
 *Till miners, delving with their spades, j 
 
 Uplift me from my ancient shades. j 
 
 A new career I then be^un ' 
 
 Beneath the circle of the sun, i 
 
 When from out my grave they brought me i 
 
 Lessons thick and fast they taught me. i 
 
 From crusher's teeth to furnace fire, < 
 
 From form of rock to one of wire, ] 
 
 By hammer's stroke and roller pressed, n I 
 
 I to my present state was dressed. ^ 
 
 I never yet have had a joint, j 
 
 Though formed and polished to a point, j 
 
 For I have found since I am older j 
 
 That I was made to fit a holder. ] 
 
 After to a point they brought me, 
 
 A merchant came around and bought me 
 
 And I was held with goods in stock i 
 
 To wait for sale in paper box. ^ 
 
50 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 Many came into that store : 
 The young, the old, the rich, the poor ; 
 And many things by them were bought, 
 But none it seemed my presence sought. 
 
 But at last I'll have you know it, 
 The merchant sold me to a poet, 
 And after that, with great delight, 
 
 I learned to do the things that's "write. 
 
 The poet dipped me down in ink,. 
 Then I could speak, but never think, 
 Though I can cut a master caper 
 And help a man to think on paper. 
 
 Some to steal would feel ashame, 
 I am steel, but not the same, 
 I steal upon the living page 
 And help this living, stealing age. 
 
 For I am sure that many feel 
 That many works are wrought by steel; 
 So broad its use, so great its name; 
 So to be steel is not a shame. 
 
 My brothers are all formed for use. 
 From steeple tall to tailor's goose; 
 From engine strong with furnace red. 
 To needle long with silken thread. 
 
 i 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 51 
 
 Oh I must stop this constant talking, 
 On fancy's legs I oft am walking; 
 But if I stop you know J must 
 Corrode with ink or waste with dust. 
 
 So master mind, you now control me, 
 While within your hand you hold me ; 
 Do not mankind with me abuse, 
 But keep me for a nobler use. 
 
 Write lines with me of living truth, 
 To comfort age and strengthen youth ; 
 Lines to gleam as stars of light 
 'Mid the shadows of the night. 
 
 The mission to us, both is given. 
 
 To show the shining way to heaven ; 
 
 If you but use me for this end, 
 
 Our work on earth God will commend. 
 
 Then when my point is worn away, 
 
 I back to earth will fall to stay ; 
 
 And when your brain shall cease to think, 
 
 Back to the earth you, too, must sink. 
 
 While I am sleeping in the dust, 
 You will be dwelling with the just; 
 God made us both. He knoweth best, 
 He giveth to his creatures rest. 
 
52 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 So let us work from morning sun, 
 And grudge it not when it is done, 
 So we can hail with glad delight 
 The soft, cool shadows of the night. 
 
 JUST LET THEM MURMUR 
 
 If people murmur day by day, 
 Do not stop to tell them nay, 
 Just plod along the narrow way, 
 
 And let them go. 
 You may be right or may be wrong. 
 You may be weak or may be strong; 
 Just do your best and move along; 
 
 Don't let them know 
 That you know that any doubt you. 
 That you know that any flout you ; 
 Or that any talk about you, 
 
 As you plod along. 
 Do not hate, nor do not scorn them. 
 Help if you can, but do no harm them ; 
 Love and kindness both may charm them. 
 
 It can't be wrong. 
 Hand them back some good for evil, 
 Serve the Lord and shame the Devil; 
 Live upon life's higher level 
 
 Of love and right. 
 Live up where the sun is shining. 
 Above the clouds of hate and whining, 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 53 
 
 Up where peace and love are twining, 
 
 Up within the light. 
 Then when death shall fling her shadow 
 You will never feel the sadder, 
 But will only feel the gladder. 
 
 That all is well. 
 You will step with step of gladness 
 From this world with all its badness, 
 From this world of human sadness, 
 
 In peace to dwell. 
 In a world untouched by badness. 
 In a world undimmed with sadness. 
 In a world of peace and gladness, 
 
 Afar from hell. 
 
 TRUE AND FALSE DEMOCRACY 
 
 THE TRUE ; 
 
 ,i 
 
 Democracy, thou noble thing, \ 
 
 That spurns the mandates of a king. I 
 
 Bom within the people's breast, | 
 
 Seeking for them what is best, \ 
 
 Thee we adore. I 
 
 You seek for laws both pure and good, j 
 
 You serve the people as you should ; | 
 
 It is your purpose and delight ^ 
 
 To give the people what is right, ! 
 
 And nothing more. 
 
54 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 You boost no cliques — you serve no kings ; 
 You work no tricks for dirty rings 
 
 To help some scoundrel win. 
 You are made of higher, purer stuff, 
 You seek the right, and that's enough; 
 No dirty boss can run his bluff 
 
 And make you sin. 
 
 THE FALSE 
 
 Thou Demon with an angel's name, 
 Your record is one dirty shame ; 
 
 You tell me hush. 
 Your trail is slick with serpent dime, 
 Your history is a tale of crime ; 
 
 May angels blush. 
 You hold your courts in dens of crime. 
 You pick your tools and set a time 
 
 And bargain for your gains; 
 No man will serve you r.s a tool 
 Except a scoundrel or a fool, 
 
 One without heart and brains. 
 Your party song you long have sung 
 And fooled the people with your tongue, 
 
 You sang their need. 
 You held the office in your claws 
 And raised the taxes with your laws, 
 
 And now they bleed. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 55 
 
 STORM SCARE 
 
 When you see a cloud rise out of the West, 
 Straightway you say, "there cometh a 
 shower." 
 
 But if it assumes a funnel shape, 
 
 You crawl in a hole that self-same hour. 
 
 And when you see the South-wind blow, 
 
 You say, "there'll be heat — 
 The almanac told me so." 
 
 And hastily you retreat." 
 
 Ye fearful ones, you can discern 
 
 The face of a bending sky; 
 Perhaps you yet will live to learn 
 
 That almanacs may lie. 
 
 It oft may rain, and oft may shine. 
 
 And still not do you harm. 
 So don't complain with a constant whine 
 
 For fear there'll be a storm. 
 
 The winds may roar, the rain may pour, 
 
 And dark may be the storm. 
 But the darkest cloud, with thunder loud. 
 
 Is not above God's arm. 
 
56 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 The winds that blow; the flowers that 
 grow, 
 
 Are each within His care ; 
 The lightning's flash, the thunder's crash, 
 
 Before Him doth appear. 
 
 The sparrow small can never fall 
 
 Beyond our Father's care; 
 His creatures all, both great and small, 
 
 His providence doth share 
 
 That mighty arm that rules the storm 
 
 And holds it in its place, 
 Doth keep in view His children too — 
 
 Then trust Him for His grace. 
 
 •II- 
 
 Some flowers are born to blush unseen 
 And waste their fragrance on the desert air; 
 Some men take a horn behind a screen. 
 Then tell their wives they were not there. 
 
 W 
 
 Turn on the water if you will 
 
 And make a thrashing, crashing fuss; 
 But meal comes not from empty mill, 
 
 And sermons are not made of dust. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 57 ; 
 
 TWO PICTURES { 
 
 Some picture life a thorny vale, J 
 
 Where nothing good can e'er prevail, ! 
 
 Where sorrow shrieks in every gale i 
 
 And danger lurks on every trail. 
 A vale as dark as midnight hour. 
 
 Where sweets we eat soon turn to sour, ; 
 
 Where mildew blight doth blast each flower, j 
 
 And need and greed doth feed in power, 
 Where birds of joy never sing, 
 
 Where bitter fountains ever spring, \ 
 
 And on each footpath there doth cling 1 
 
 A serpent with a poison sting ; j 
 Where life with strife is on us thrust. 
 
 Where what is right must waste in rust : 
 And man must live witout a trust. 
 
 And worm-like crawl and fall to dust. 
 
 Some picture life a vale of flowers. 
 
 Kissed by the sun, nursed by the showers, I 
 
 Where goodness reigns with gentle powers i 
 
 Scattering blessings through the hours, | 
 
 A vale of beauty all complete, ! 
 
 Where every bitter has its sweet j 
 
 And flowers linger at our feet j 
 
 To cushion thorns we there may meet, ] 
 
 Where Faith unfurls her banners high, \ 
 
 And love doth whisper never die, j 
 
 And hope points upward to the sky, I 
 
 And sings you'll live there by and by. ! 
 
58 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 THE WAR 
 
 *'A murdered man ten miles away 
 Will hardly shake your peace 
 Like one red stain upon your hand ; 
 And a tortured child in a distant land 
 Will never check one smile today, 
 Or bid one fiddle cease. 
 
 To watch the mouth of a harlot foam 
 For the blood of Baptist John 
 Is a fine thing while the fiddles play, 
 For blood and lust are the mode today; 
 ''And lust and blood were the mode of 
 
 Rome, 
 And men go where Rome has gone." 
 
 O Europe! Europe! land of learning, land 
 of art, the sun of centuries has fallen upon you ; 
 historians have penned your name in honor, the 
 sculptors have chiseled your fame in granite, 
 the world has wondered at your scientific 
 achievements, wise men have praised your 
 schools. Lovers of music have drunk from the 
 lips of your gifted singers; great men have 
 wondered at the wisdom of your philosophers; 
 lovers of men have praised your charity, and 
 lovers of God have admired your costly temples 
 and your religious rites. Adventurers, seeking 
 for pleasure, have climbed your snowclad 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 59 
 
 mountains, sailed your silver lakes, thronged 
 your populous cities, drank out of your crystal 
 fountains, plucked flowers from your emerald 
 vales, and come away, as artists, to paint your 
 grandeur on the spreading canvass or as poets 
 to sing your glory in the temples of song. 
 Strong men have honored you, wise men have 
 praised you, great men have admired you, good 
 men have loved you, all men have respected you. 
 But, alas! alas! an evil hour has come upon 
 you, a dark cloud has overshadowed you; the 
 War Witch of hell has entangled you in the 
 meshes of her enchantment, turning your heart 
 to stone and your blood to fire. The moving of 
 your power has become as the accursed chariot 
 wheels of jaggernaut, crushing under its hellish 
 tread the breaking bones, the quivering flesh, 
 the dripping blood of your own kith and kin. 
 Instead of being an angel of light and mercy, 
 you have become a dark-visaged demon of 
 destruction and death. Instead of putting bread 
 into the mouths of helpless children you are 
 putting the pointed spear and the leaden bullet 
 into the hearts of their parents; you have 
 disgraced your religion by freighting your hot 
 breath with a prayer to Almighty God, while 
 you bathe your hands in the heart-blood of his 
 innocent children. Broken-hearted widows, 
 with starving children, crouch in the night- 
 shadows near where the driven snow mingles 
 
60 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 with the ashes of then' one-time happy homes, 
 while their sobs and sighs are borne out on the 
 pitiless wings of the north winds. Such scenes 
 are enough to chill the heart of humanity, 
 mantle the face of angels with the blush of 
 shame, and cause all th6 heartless Moodhounds 
 of hell to howl for joy. The storm winds of this 
 wicked w^ar have driven the ship of progress 
 back across the seas of a living century. O 
 Europe! Europe! you have sown to the winds 
 and you must needs reap the whirlwind. S^on 
 have stifled education, crippled science, shamed 
 morality, outlawed justice, soiled the skirts of 
 virtue, dishonored the banners of peace, 
 disgraced your religion, slaughtered humanity 
 and mocked at God. Let not an honest world 
 hear you lay claim to knowledge, to virtue, or to 
 religion. Go bury such claims with the bones 
 of your ancestors. Go then and change your 
 modern dwellings into the wigwams of the 
 savage. Burn down your school and church 
 buildings and erect fortresses in their place. 
 Cast away your garments and don your war- 
 paint and breech-clout. Swap your books for 
 the bow and the battle ax. Instead of drinking 
 the communion wine from your silver cups in 
 your solemn Sabbath services cast them aside 
 and drink the blood of your enemy from the 
 white skull of a war victim. Instead of singing 
 the songs of Zion in the house of God yell the 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 61 
 
 war-hoop in your dance at the camp-fire. Let 
 your outward appearance be in harmony with 
 your inward spirit. For instead of standing 
 before the world in the light of civilization and 
 Christianity you parade in the garments of the 
 Dark Ages, illuminated with the hellish fires of 
 hatred, ignorance, superstition and death. But 
 while the morning sun shines on the land of 
 Europe with its carnage and blood may it ever 
 cast its evening light upon our beloved America 
 sitting at the feet of Jesus, in her right mind, 
 and clothed in the garments of love and peace, 
 while in the language of Henry Timrod, our 
 sleeping Southern son, we pray : 
 
 "Let every sacred fain 
 Call its sad votaries to the shrine of God 
 And with the cloister and the tented sod 
 
 Join in one solemn strain. 
 
 "He who till time shall cease 
 Will watch the earth, where once, not in vain 
 He died to give us peace may not disdain 
 
 A prayer whose theme is Peace. 
 
 "Peace in the quiet dales 
 Made ranky fertile by the blood of men. 
 Peace in the woodland and the lowly glen 
 
 Peace in the peopled vales. 
 
62 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 "Peace in the whirring marts, 
 Peace where the scholar thinks the hunter 
 
 roams ; 
 Peace, God of peace ! peace, peace, in all our 
 homes, 
 
 And peace in all our hearts." 
 
 IF YOU WOULD 
 
 If you would climb up in life 
 Above the worry and the strife. 
 Above the fog cloud and the rain; 
 Then do not murmur nor complain. 
 Just wait — and smile — and push. 
 
 If you are seeking honest gain. 
 Your seeking will not be in vain; 
 Just work along from day to day, 
 Some good is sure to come your way 
 If you — stick — to your bush. 
 
 Do not drown yourself in tears. 
 Do not dim with grief your years, 
 Do not cross the bridge of sighs ; 
 But look and see the star-lit sky 
 Then laugh — and wait — and push. 
 
 II 
 
 Don't kill a bird for its song, nor marry a 
 woman for her beauty. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 63 
 
 OCTOBER 
 
 October's come with golden sheaf, 
 With tints of crimson on the leaf. 
 
 The west wind drives the rain. 
 The autumn hay crop now is lost 
 
 With soaking showers and biting frost 
 That fixed our peas j nd cane. 
 
 Dark clouds go scudding 'cross the sky, 
 The summer birds do southward fly 
 
 Where winter birds all hatch. 
 
 The autumn wind doth howl and blow 
 
 'Cross fields of cotton white as snow, 
 And undug 'taters in the patch. 
 
 Our summer duds are laid away, 
 To wait some brighter, warmre day. 
 
 The hearth fire brightly gleams. 
 Dark shadows dance upon the wall. 
 
 While rain in torrents outside fall 
 To swell the sluggish streams. 
 
 No bird its mate doth kindly call. 
 
 While rain througout doth blindly fall, 
 
 The moon won't shine one little bit. 
 The farmer looks up toward the sky. 
 
 And mournfully heaves a pensive sigh, 
 And says, "I wish this rain would quit." 
 
64 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 RUB THE RIGHT WAY 
 
 You rub a cat the right way, 
 
 It will show but cushioned paws; 
 You rub a cat the wrong way, 
 
 It will scratch you with its claws. 
 You treat a man the right way. 
 
 You will make of him your friend, 
 You treat a man the wrong way, 
 
 He will hate you to the end. 
 
 — U— ■ 
 
 John Sherman did one great truth tell 
 When he remarked that war is hell. 
 If such be true, then we all know 
 There^s hell in Europe and Mexico. 
 I thank the Lord I do not dwell 
 In either place if they are hell. 
 I'd rather have a bed of straw 
 And live in peace in Arkansas. 
 Where women smile and babies sleep 
 And war's hellhounds never creep. 
 
 ■II- 
 
 Some folks talk so much 
 About the things they've got 
 
 If you'll examine them 
 Their upper jaw is sot. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 65 
 
 WHAT IS POETRY? 
 
 Itis— 
 
 The tongue of eloquence — 
 The spirit of music — 
 The soul of sentiment — 
 The light of liberty— 
 The song of peace. 
 
 Without it 
 
 Ambition would be an eagle without wings, 
 Art, a painter without a brush, 
 The soul of sorrow would weep in silence. 
 And the cause of justice and mercy would 
 
 fail for want of an advocate. 
 Literature would robe itself in the mist of 
 
 night, shadows 
 Without a moon-beam, or star-gleam to 
 
 fringe its garments. 
 Religion would stammer for want of a 
 
 tongue. 
 And love would droop in the dungeon of 
 
 silence. 
 
 Poetry 
 
 Sounds the alarm of danger, 
 Tunes the bugle notes of combat, 
 Unfurls the banners of war. 
 Garnishes the monuments of heroes, 
 Sings the symphonies of peace, 
 
66 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 Chimes the bells of joy, 
 
 Paints the rainbow of hope on the storm- 
 clouds of sorrow, 
 
 And gilds the altars of Christianity with 
 the light of heaven's glories. 
 
 A frog in a bog saw a dog on a log, 
 
 And at him got thoroughly disgusted; 
 It's sad for to tell the fate that befell 
 
 That frog that did swell and swell till he 
 "busted." 
 So when you get mad at a man or a lad. 
 
 Don't swell up and seek to strike him, 
 But think of the frog that lived in the bog. 
 
 Lest you swell up and burst just like him 
 II 
 
 If you can't be a king 
 And make lots of money 
 
 You can sing and grow fat. 
 You can laugh and be funny 
 
 U 
 
 Never load a cannon to shoot a gnat, , 
 
 Nor burn your house to burn a rat, j 
 
 Nor lose your head to save your hat, \ 
 
 Nor any other thing like that. j 
 
 Sin is sin in garments black or white 
 Sin is sin in either day or night; 
 
 Sin is sin, ever wrong, never right; 
 
 Sin as sin we should never fail to fight. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 67 \ 
 
 THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH ] 
 
 \ 
 
 Under a spreading white oak tree, \ 
 
 The village blacksmith stands, j 
 
 With one big patch upon each knee \ 
 
 And coal dust on his hands, 
 He puffed his smoke and told his joke 
 
 To please the village bands. ; 
 
 His hair is crisp, and black, and long, \ 
 
 His face is like the tan, | 
 
 He sings aloud a witty song ; | 
 
 He is a funny man; ] 
 
 He cracks old chestnuts every day, ; 
 
 Then winks his eye at Dan. ] 
 
 Week in, week out, from morn *till night. 
 
 He helps his bellows blow; i 
 
 But they can never blow like him. 
 
 For want of wind you know ; j 
 
 His yarns he never ceases to tell \ 
 
 'Till the evening sun is low. i 
 
 ■\ 
 
 The children coming home from school 
 
 Look through his open door; 
 They stop to watch him act the fool, \ 
 
 And hear him laugh nnd roar; \ 
 
 They hear him tell some great big lies, 1 
 
 Then ask him to tell more. ] 
 
68 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 He goes on Sunday to the church, 
 
 And sits among the boys, j 
 
 Outside beneath an elm tree 1 
 
 He seeks his Sunday joys; \ 
 
 He talks aloud among the crowd, i 
 
 The service he destroys. \ 
 
 The people hear his sounding voice, 
 
 But not from Paradise; • 
 
 The fathers call away their boys 
 
 To give them some advice ; j 
 
 They tell them that the blacksmith \ 
 
 Has sure not acted nice. 
 
 The blacksmith rising from his seat, \ 
 
 His homeward way pursues, ; 
 
 A big cold dinner then he eats 
 And drinks a mug of booze ; 
 
 He crawls in beneath the sheets, 
 And then he takes a snooze. 
 
 The night goes on, the day doth break, , 
 
 He rises from his bed; j 
 
 He tells his wife he has an ache j 
 
 Somewere about his nead; \ 
 
 He thinks it is the bread she bakes 
 On which he has bee i fed. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 69 
 
 Before he starts to find his shop, 
 
 She tells him what she thinks; 
 If his aches he wants to stop 
 
 He'd better stop his drinks ; 
 He stops and lo ! he meets a cop, 
 
 Who nabs him in a wink. i 
 
 Then to the court he takes his sport, I 
 
 To answer for his crime; \ 
 
 He feels so bad, he looks so sad, j 
 
 The judge looks so sublime; - 
 
 Ten dollars and the cost, says he, • 
 
 Is what you get this time. ; 
 
 i 
 
 The blacksmith stands inside his door, »j 
 
 While loud his anvil rings, j 
 
 He tells his ugly jokes no more, I 
 No vulgar song he sings. 
 
 To cause a vulgar crowd to roar i 
 
 He's quit such naughty things.. < 
 
 i 
 
 The blacksmith goes to church today '] 
 
 He sits inside the door ; ^ 
 
 He hears the people sing and pray, ^ 
 
 And hears the deacon snore ; i 
 
 i 
 
 He says he was a bad m.an once, j 
 
 But he is bad no more, i 
 
70 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 His shop is now a decent place 
 Beside that white oak tree ; 
 
 He has no smut upon his face, 
 No patch upon his knee ; 
 
 It is a work of saving grace, 
 It keeps him from his spree. 
 
 His neighbors give him work to do 
 To help him all they can ; 
 
 The children talk of him as new, 
 A one made over man. 
 
 No time to lose, no cash for booze. 
 He never winks at Dan. 
 
 Pray in the morning twilight, j 
 
 In the dawning of the day, j 
 That you may think and talk right 
 
 And walk right in the way. 
 
 Pray when the twilight shadows .\ 
 
 Darkens the setting sun, ), 
 That God in love and mercy. 
 
 May pardon the wrong youVe done. ;^ 
 
 'i 
 o i 
 
 It's hard sometimes 
 
 To make some rhymes 
 And hold yourself up funny, 
 
 When you are over run with work 
 
 if 
 And under run with money. < 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 71 
 
 CROSSING THE LINES 
 
 Riding with my friend one day along a 
 public highway, I remarked, **Do you see any- 
 thing running across the road before you?" 
 "Nothing/' said he. "Strange," I remarked, "for 
 the county line between Independence and 
 Sharp Counties runs across the road just ahead 
 of us." Hundreds of people cross this line with- 
 out thought or knowledge cf it, and so with 
 many other lines of separation. One time we 
 crossed over the line separating the blank of 
 Infancy from the territory of Knowledge and 
 Memory, but who is able t=) mark the line of 
 separation? Who can remember and tell us 
 the first thing they do remember? Again, 
 multiplied thousands cross daily over the lines 
 that separates youth from manhood and woman- 
 hood. 
 
 There is a place, we know not where, 
 
 A time, we know not when, 
 Where women left their girlhood days, 
 
 And boys give way to men. 
 
 Again we cross over the line between 
 youthfulness and old age, and know not when 
 we cross. Oliver Wendell Holmes has well said 
 that, "Old age will walk with man as his com- 
 panion for five or ten years v/ithout man recog- 
 
72 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 nizing his presence or owning his acquaintance. 
 These things exchange places so silently, so 
 quietly, that for days, or weeks, or years, we 
 fail to note the changes. These lines run not 
 straight, but zizgag, so that two walking side by 
 side, one crosses before the other. 
 
 The question is sometimes asked, when 
 does the child cross the line into moral account- 
 ability? That line is unmarked by an age limit. 
 There are so many things to be reckoned with, 
 such as natural endowment, mroal training, 
 dominating environments, etc. Some cross years 
 before others, some never cross years before 
 before others, some never cross. Like Florida 
 and Canada crossing the line from winter to 
 summer — 
 
 One is fanned by the south breeze. 
 
 The other by the northwinds blown; 
 One hovers near to the tropics. 
 
 The other the frozen zone. 
 One has the flowers of orange. 
 
 The blushing, blooming rose; 
 One has the frost of winter 
 
 Wrapped in unmelting snows. 
 
 The line between wakefulness and dream- 
 land is passed in an unconscious state. We 
 know when we are traveling towards it, we 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 73 
 
 know after we have passed out of it; but the 
 wisest know not when they enter nor while they 
 pass through. 
 
 It is a great blessing that the hand of a 
 merciful Providence has hidden these things 
 from our eyes, so that we have a painless tran- 
 sition from the one state to the other. Men 
 dread old age, they shiver at the thought of 
 stepping into the land of sunset shadows, and 
 yet multitudes find more real pleasure there 
 than they were ever able to find before. 
 
 Life in youth is a tree, clad with bloom and 
 leaf; Life in middle manhood a tree with green 
 clusters of unripe fruit; Life in the dawn of old 
 age a tree with clusters of ripened fruit. Life 
 in old age may stand as a tree without leaf or 
 fruit, but through its boughs we may look and 
 see the laughing stars on the face of heaven. 
 
 Sometime, somehow, somewhere, we will 
 all cross that mysterious line that separates this 
 world of dust, and toil, and weariness from the 
 land of the now unseen hereafter. I am per- 
 suaded we will pass it without taking thought 
 or knowledge of the passing. It will be a con- 
 scienceless, quiet transition 
 
 From the life of pain and sorrow, 
 
 From the life of toil and grief. 
 Where the work unfinished falters, 
 
74 BROWN SCRAPS ; 
 
 And the northwinds hurl the leaf j 
 
 From the tree of its early budding i 
 
 To leave the branches bare, ; 
 
 Where rivers of grief are flooding i 
 
 The face of the valleys fair. j 
 
 Into the sunlight harbor, * 
 
 Onto the golden shore, 
 Into the fields of glory, i 
 
 Where mortals weep no more, ' 
 
 Where the thought of the bygone sorrow ^ 
 
 Will be a forgotten story,. 
 Where the ever-coming morrow \ 
 
 Will fill and thrill with glory. > 
 
 DIFFERENT PREACHING 
 
 Some men preach about Christ; 
 
 Some men preach about creeds. 
 Some men preach about the world, 
 
 And some about the world^s great needs. 
 
 Some men preach against the dance ; 
 
 Some about Aaron and his calf. 
 Some men, when they get a chance. 
 
 Preach about an hour and a half. 
 
 m 
 
 If your padlock's weak or lame 
 It tempts the thief to pick the same. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 75 
 
 THE SUNDAY HUNTER 
 
 A boy named Digs had some bad habits; 
 One was on Sunday he would hunt rabbits. 
 His little dog "Pen" whose full name was 
 
 Penny, 
 Treed rabbits and rabbits, a very great many. 
 
 One day he went out with his little dog. 
 That soon went to barking and scratching a 
 
 log, 
 *T11 get you," said Digs, "you cotton-tail 
 
 sinner, 
 ril skin your hind legs and have them for 
 
 dinner." 
 
 He ran his hand in and thought he would get 
 
 him, 
 But it was a snake that sure enough bit him. 
 He gave a loud squall at the top of his breath 
 And jerked his hand out scared almost to 
 
 death. 
 
 He cried and he cried and then he cried 
 
 more. 
 His hand that was bitten was swollen and 
 
 sore. 
 He said to his mother, "I know why this pain, 
 ru never go huntin' on Sunday again," 
 
76 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 THE HERO AND SHERO 
 
 The Hero told of shot and shell 
 And how his foes around him fell 
 
 On fields of running blood. 
 His comrades give a knowing wink 
 And then they took another drink 
 
 And struck for home through mud. 
 
 The Shero stood beside the gate, 
 And waited for the Hero late, 
 
 The clock struck from the tower. 
 "To stay this way it is a shame, 
 He'll hear from me about the same. 
 
 This is the midnight hour." 
 
 She stood, and stood, until she knew 
 She saw a form come into view. 
 
 Then cried out loud and shrill: 
 Who is it on this street so late. 
 Who cometh here unto my gate, 
 
 Tell me, is that you, Bill? 
 
 Yes, it is me, my dearest dear, 
 I'm glad to meet you waiting here, 
 
 Now listen what I say : 
 I started home — yes, very soon, 
 I walked so fast — I left the moon. 
 
 And then I lost my way. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 77 
 
 Oh Bill, and did you get my hat, 
 The fifteen dollar one at that, 
 
 I showed you at the store? 
 Just let me think — one little bit, 
 I think I did that hat forget, 
 
 Oh dear, don't weep no more. 
 
 The Shero took him by the beard, 
 
 A thump or two the night winds heard, 
 
 That made them stop their roar. 
 The Shero then went to her bed. 
 The Hero held is aching head. 
 
 Outside the kitchen door. 
 
 ■P- 
 
 A bald head man lay down to sleep. 
 
 Upon his downy bed. 
 
 A bold house fly began to creep j 
 
 Across his shiny head. \ 
 
 I do declare I want to swear , 
 
 When things like this do come ; i 
 
 But as I can't — ^I guess I shant, '.] 
 
 I guess I won't — by gum. I 
 
 By the by Til swat the fly j 
 
 Before he further creeps. i 
 
 He slapped his ear — he shed a tear, j 
 
 And then he fell asleep. { 
 
78 BROWN SCRAPS ! 
 
 i 
 
 DONT BORROW SORROW FROM I 
 
 TOMORROW ; 
 
 When the sun is bright, I 
 
 And the skies are blue, 
 And the day looks glad, 
 
 As the days oft do. 
 And the birds sing with a charm, i 
 
 Don't shadow the light 
 That shines in view, ] 
 
 Grow gloomy and sad, 
 As some oft do ■ 
 
 In fear of a coming storm. ^ 
 
 i 
 
 Some fear the rain, ■ 
 
 That never will fall, j 
 
 And look for troubles, j 
 
 That never will call, I 
 
 They think they will call tomorrow. \ 
 
 They look with spirits i 
 
 Both sore and sad. \ 
 
 They trouble with trouble | 
 
 They never have had, i 
 
 And out of it build their sorrow. 
 
 \ 
 Be glad for the good, ] 
 
 That come,'; your way. 
 Be glad for the sun, j 
 
 That shines today, } 
 
 And makes the old earth warm. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 79 ] 
 
 Don't dread the cloud, j 
 
 That may rise tomorrow, 
 
 Dread is the road, 
 That leads to sorrow. 
 
 Hope, gives the world its charm. 
 
 \ 
 
 Hope and the world looks bright, j 
 
 Dread and the world looks blue, , 
 
 Hope and your heart grows light, 
 
 Dread and the world dreads you. \ 
 
 Hope, there's a God above you, \ 
 
 His promise is broad and true, 
 Hope and the world will love you. 
 
 And heaven will swing in view. 
 
 THANKFULNESS 
 
 Thanksgiving Day is near at hand 
 When all the people in all the land 
 Are called upon to look to heaven 
 And offer thanks for mercies given. 
 I thank the Lord for what Tve got ; 
 I thank Him for what I am not. 
 I thank Him much as you may know 
 That I don't live in Mexico, 
 Where they all have so many spats 
 And all outfight Kilkenny cats. 
 I'm glad I live this side the sea. 
 Where we have peace and liberty. 
 
80 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 Though lands are high and money scarce, 
 
 I*d rather walk than ride a hearse. 
 
 Fm glad I am no German man 
 
 Named "Shon/* **Shacob," Fritz or Hans. 
 
 For this I say, it is one fright 
 
 To think how Germans have to fight 
 
 To gain and hold a high position 
 
 To gratify a king's ambition. 
 
 I'm glad our nation now can sing 
 
 No man can rule us as a king. 
 
 God save the poor in every land 
 
 Who must obey the stern command 
 
 Of some vain wretch whose greed for power 
 
 Would kill a nation in an hour 
 
 And with his power would build up thrones 
 
 Drenched in blood, and fenced with bones. 
 
 And curse his country through the years 
 
 With widow's wails and orphan's tears, 
 
 And never stretch his hand to save 
 
 A son or brother from the grave. 
 
 When they got married 1 
 
 The preacher pronounced them one — I 
 Then began the fuss and fun. 
 
 Lasting oft from sun to sun, ] 
 
 And throughout their life it run * 
 
 Just as fierce as when begun, ; 
 
 Fighting over which was the One. i 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 81 
 
 BOOKS 
 
 Before me sets a wooden desk without 
 brains to think or heart to feel the pulsations of 
 this great throbbing current of life about us. 
 
 Yet within its precincts are imbedded star- 
 beams from the world's mental galaxy. 
 
 Wave murmurs coming into us from the 
 great ocean of human thoughts. 
 
 Books, books, big and little, thick and thin, 
 old and new, wise — unwise and otherwise. 
 Brain echoes sounding from the pen points of 
 
 Bards, Patriots, Nobles, Sages, 
 The thinkers of all ages 
 Whose words form historys' pages 
 And time's great volume make." 
 
 Books, books, books, so many links in the 
 golden chain that binds together in one great 
 compact all nations and all ages. Books are the 
 telescopes through which we look in the deep 
 dark vaults of the hidden past and behold in 
 wonder — the mind stars of the old world's great 
 thinkers. 
 
 Stars that gladden our hearts and inspire 
 our spirits with their brilliant scintillations. By 
 the light of books we see this world rocking in 
 
82 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 the cradle of infancy. When the brow of 
 morning was unveiled with mist — beauty free 
 from deformity — music without discord — and 
 virtue untainted with vice. When he who 
 formed the earth and swung the stars and 
 scooped out the oceans, condescended to come 
 down through the avenues of his mercy and 
 walk and talk with man while the soft, south 
 winds lingered amid flowers and toyed with the 
 vines in the cool shady bowers of happy Eden. 
 Before the song of bird hai ever thickened in 
 the cold throat of death, or the petals of the 
 flower faded in the fingers of decay. 
 
 Through this glass we see gather the storm 
 clouds of sin over which play the lightnings of 
 God's judgments writing with fingers of fire 
 the sentence of death. 
 
 There is a sound coming out from that old 
 desk. Listen! what is that murmur that grows 
 from a whisper to a whirlwind. It is the bugle 
 notes of Alexander's men marching from Mace- 
 donia — of Napolen climbing the Alps — of Wel- 
 lington charging 'neath the banner of Britian to 
 meet the man of iron destiny on the bloody field 
 of Waterloo — of Washington and his noble crew 
 fighting for life and liberty, for home and native 
 land. With the shouts of triumph we hear min- 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 83 
 
 gled the screams of anguish, the sighs of sorrov/, 
 and the sad, sad wails of death. 
 
 Oh History, History with your sad, sad wail. 
 
 That makes us loathe the past and dread 
 tomorrow ; 
 Your lips do tell us such a sad, sad tale. 
 
 That burns our hearts with flames of 
 sorrow. 
 We cannot trace on time's great face 
 
 The reasons why for so much sorrow, 
 Unless it's right for the world's dark night 
 
 To pave the way for its bright tomorrow. 
 The fires that burn in the bowels of earth 
 
 Have made it quake with eruptive powers, 
 And give our islands their glad birth, 
 
 The home of birds and fruits and flowers. 
 And so from battle fields of blood, 
 
 On which has frowned dark indignation. 
 Has gathered the better things for good — 
 
 Religion, science and education. 
 Let us live today in such a way. 
 
 Shunning crimes which the past did fetter 
 That he who reads of us may say, 
 
 "I see the world is growing better." 
 
 I dream the angel of fancy enters my room. 
 He touches that old desk with his wand and 
 converts it into a telephone. I hear a hello 
 
84 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 coming from the past to the present. I grasp the 
 receiver and listen. There is a din of voices — 
 who are they? One is Adam. He tells me he 
 has lost Eden but has afew good things left: 
 
 Eve his wife for association, 
 The world his field for cultivation, 
 The sun-crowned days for occupation, 
 The sweet, calm nights for meditation. 
 A promised Christ for consolation, 
 A life to come in anticipation. 
 
 We hear the mother's silver laugh ring out 
 as Eve watches Abel gambol with his lambs in 
 the meadow, while Cain wades through his 
 clover fields and Seth catches his sun perch 
 from the waters of the Euphrates. Silence 
 reigns. 
 
 Time flies, sadness sighs 
 New stars hover in the skies, 
 Sin gains, death reigns. 
 Till through the flood, 
 The world is slain. 
 
 Oh, such a din of noises comes down the 
 wire of time. 
 
 Hark, hark, it is the Ark, 
 
 Floating 'neath the c'torm cloud dark, 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 85 
 
 Listen at the wild waves splashing, 
 O'er the mountain tops now dashing, 
 Waves so high had never been, 
 Waves of Judgment washing sin. 
 Wailing waves beneath the cloud. 
 The world's great funeral grave and 
 
 shroud, 
 Hark, hark, all is dark. 
 Nothing saved except the Ark. 
 
 Next I hear a trumpet call, 
 Then I hear a hammer fall, 
 As a structure rise3 tall, 
 It is Babel's polished wall. 
 
 But the builders were not wise. 
 As they built it toward the skies, 
 Babel's wall soon must fall; 
 It was human, that was all. 
 
 I listen. The Campbells are coming. The 
 tinkle of their silver bells is borne on the even- 
 ing breeze to Isaac in the field of meditation. 
 
 He don't retreat, 
 He goes to meet 
 The coming Campbells 
 In the street, 
 
86 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 Though the bells chimed long ago, 
 With their silver notes so low, 
 
 One thing that made their chimes so sweet 
 It was because two lovers meet. 
 
 Time doth come and time doth go. 
 And from these two a nation grow. 
 
 I put my ear to the phone and I hear the 
 cries of that nation as they are driven by their 
 Egyptians taskmasters to build the pyramids of 
 ancient fame — again I hear them chant the 
 songs of deliverance on the banks of the Red 
 Sea and sing the songs of contentment on the 
 vine clad hills of Palestine. Other nations speak 
 to us and other men tell us of their achieve- 
 ments. 
 
 Greece tells us of her temples of art, 
 And Rome of her western civilization. 
 Columbus of his new world, 
 With its rivers, lakes and fountains. 
 With its valleys, hills, and mountains, 
 Galileo speaks of constellations; 
 Harvey teaches circulation; 
 Nev/ton sings of gravitation; 
 Magellan, circumnavigation ; 
 Christ proclaims to every nation. 
 The glad news of free salvation. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 87 
 
 And now old desk, you've made me chatter j 
 
 About your books and bookish matter. '. 
 
 Solomon, our wis-e old friend, \ 
 
 Said of book-making there's no end. : 
 
 So while old Time has day and night, 
 
 And this old world has wrong and right. 
 
 The pen will move the mind indite, I 
 
 And living men will think and write. \ 
 
 Poets will write of life and love, ] 
 
 Prophets tell of worlds above, 
 
 Let the lawyer talk of laws, 
 
 Itemizing clause by clause; 
 
 Let doctors tell us of disease 
 
 And the drug to give U5? ease ; 1 
 
 Let science tell us of her arts 
 
 And fiction writers touch our hearts; | 
 
 Historians bring to us the past, j 
 
 Of what did bless and what did blast. | 
 
 Some will believe and some willl doubt 
 
 them, ] 
 
 But the world can't do without them. ' 
 
 You may fix a lie so ?t can fly. 
 To hold and prop it you may try. 
 To show and blow it you may cry, 
 But folks will know it by and by. 
 And when they know it, it will die. 
 
 ' II 
 
 Don't^cry for the pie you ate yesterday. 
 
88 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 DON'T KICK 
 
 Don't go kick a man 
 
 That is wounded and sore. 
 
 He's been kicked enough, 
 Please kick him no more. 
 
 He may have gone wrong, 
 That's brought him his shame, 
 
 It may not be long 
 
 'Till you'll do the same. 
 
 Don't kick with your foot, 
 But lift with your hand. 
 
 It's lifters, not kickers 
 That are in demand. 
 
 For you 
 The stars shine as brightly. 
 The dew falls as lightly, 
 The birds fly as sprightly, 
 The flowers bloom as sightly 
 As for anyone else — 
 
 Don't grow grouchy. 
 
 II 
 
 Life is a good thing 
 
 If with goodness you fill it. 
 Life is a bad thing 
 
 If you let baduess kill it. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 89 
 
 GONE BUT NOT DEAD 
 
 (In Memory of R. B. Bellamy) 
 God gave a noble soul 
 To live, and love and wait, 
 To warm our hearts with love, 
 To point our hopes above. 
 And then pass through the gate, 
 But not the gate of death. 
 Men worthy of the name 
 Live on — ^they nevar die. 
 Their spirits pass away 
 Into a brighter day. 
 We'll meet them by and by. 
 Our memory holds them dear, 
 The look, the voice, the smile. 
 Though they from us have gone, 
 Their words and deeds live on 
 We'll meet them afterwhile. 
 
 
 If you want to kill en-or expose it. 
 To drive darkness from a room, 
 Don't try to sweep it with a broom ; 
 The way to make it takes its flight 
 Is just to strike it with a light. 
 Truth is the great ancedote for error — ^the 
 light that drives it. 
 
 II 
 
 You cannot help another without helping 
 yourself, 
 
90 EROWN SCRAPS 
 
 SISTER HYSTERICS 
 
 Old Sister Hysterics 
 
 Lay sick in her bed, 
 A pain in her stomach, 
 
 And one in her head. 
 
 She sent for the preacher 
 
 The Bible to read, 
 Its message of comfort 
 
 To her in her need. 
 
 The preacher, he came. 
 
 With sad solemn look, 
 
 Saying, "Where will you have me 
 To read in the book?" 
 
 "Go read me that chapter 
 Where Moses did call 
 
 Out of the whale's belly 
 To David and Paul. 
 
 "Saying down in this whale, 
 And down in this sea, 
 
 Pm almost persuaded 
 A christian to be." 
 
 P. S. — He never found it, or hadn't the last 
 time I heard from him. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 91 
 
 GIVE 
 
 It's a good thing to live, 
 
 For life is worth li\ 
 
 Ifs a good thing to give, 
 
 '1 
 For life is worth living ; i 
 
 When things are worth giving. ,: 
 
 Give God your heart's trusts, \ 
 
 He watches and feeds you ; 
 Give the world a good lift, 
 
 For it's children now need you. 
 
 Give your fears to the wind, \ 
 
 Let it blow them away; 
 Trust the Lord and do good. 
 
 And be happy each day. I 
 
 .1 
 
 OLD SAYING 
 
 There is a saying that long has been, ] 
 
 "Truth crushed to earth will rise again." 
 But one thing we must understand. 
 
 It can't without a helping hand. 
 
 Another thing we've sung for years. 
 
 That error 'mid her worshippers 
 
 "Will writhe and die in pain," 
 
 But error never did that trick ; 
 
 'Till some one hit it such a lick, 
 It could not live again. 
 
 So if you want to live that song. 
 
 Go lift the truth and kill the wrong. 
 
92 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 LOVE ON 
 
 Love on, though many prove untrue 
 And fail to heed thy kindness; 
 
 Stand for the right — love with delight, 
 Though others hate in blindness. 
 
 We know it's best — for love is blest, 
 Hate is the soul's dark fetter; 
 Then work and pray — and love each day, 
 For loving hearts grow better. 
 
 JANUARY 
 
 January bold and dauntless 
 
 Scales old Winter's rugged height 
 With his spangled garments gleaming 
 
 In the irridescent light; 
 And he walks with step magnetic 
 
 While we hear the joy bells ring, 
 As they greet the happy New Year, 
 
 Whom they honor as a king. 
 
 May we enter this new year 
 
 With will and purpa=;e strong and clear, 
 So that when its course has run. 
 
 Our conscience may exclaim, well done, 
 
BUOWN SCRAPS 93 
 
 ARKANSAS GONE DRY 
 
 The very best and brightest state 
 
 That's numbered with the forty-eight 
 
 Her star doth gleam as bright as gold 
 Upon on Glory's silken fold. 
 
 The time is near at hand when not only her 
 own children, but strangers in a strange land 
 will prize her as 
 
 A STATE 
 
 Whose mountains steep, and valleys deep 
 Have fruits and grain all growing 
 
 With sunlit hills and sparkling rills 
 Where fatted herds are lowing. 
 
 Her rivers hold the rarest pearls. 
 
 Bright diamonds in her mountains. 
 
 With wealth of soil, for all who toil 
 And health within her fountains. 
 
 Within this land a people stand — 
 To know them is to love them ; 
 
 Hunt soon or late, througli any state. 
 You'll find no folks above them. 
 
94 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 But there has been one awful sin 
 
 Within this state to revel. 
 Why call its name, you know the same; 
 
 It is the Whiskey Devil. 
 
 He's blown his breath, likes fumes of death, 
 Within her vales and mountains. 
 
 He stoled her wealth and wrecked her health 
 With flowing poisoned fountains. 
 
 He's sent his flood of tears and blood. 
 With sighs and heartaches blended, 
 
 He's had his time of blood and crime. 
 Thank God, his rule :s ended. 
 
 We'll drive him out with song and shout; 
 
 He must give up his station. 
 The time's not late when every State 
 
 Will drive him from this nation. 
 
 **Did Dod dive us the babe?" 
 Said little blue-eyed Jack. 
 ^'If he did, I'll phone him 
 To tum and take him back, 
 To take him back to hebun, 
 De place he ought to be 
 'Till he dits dun dat squallin' 
 And grows as big as me. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 95 
 
 LITTLE MAUD 
 
 Out in the silent city, 
 
 Where many loved ones sleep, 
 Out where the moonbeams glitter 
 
 On stones by the grassy heap. 
 Where the songbirds sing in gladness 
 
 From their cool and leafy bowers. 
 Where southwinds sigh in sadness, 
 
 And dark clouds weep in showers, 
 There little Maud is sleeping 
 
 The sleep of the silent blest. 
 While God her soul is keeping 
 
 In the home of endless rest. 
 
 The God of all grace 
 That giveth the race 
 
 Knoweth best when it is run. 
 He, too, knoweth best 
 The time to give rest 
 
 His will, not ours be done. 
 II 
 
 When rest is won by labor done 
 Life's current runs a placid river. 
 
 Labor and love, laws from above. 
 Give blessings that flf)w on forever. 
 
 No law yields a greater benediction than la- 
 bor's law to the true servant. 
 
96 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 TO THE DEVOUT SOUL 
 
 God whispers in the breeze that blows, 
 Writes his purity in the snows ; 
 Walks in silence through the night, 
 Greets the world in morning light ; 
 Rides the ocean and the storms. 
 Holding clouds within his arms; 
 He laughs within the brook that flows. 
 And blushes in the opening rose ; 
 Smiles in the sunbeams as they fall, 
 Scattering blessings over all ; 
 Speaking from the earth and sky, 
 *Tear ye not," for "it is I." 
 
 ■e- 
 
 Some bright, giddy girls, l 
 
 With sweet, kiddy curls, i 
 
 Went out with some "sports" for a ride ; 
 
 Their mothers said no, . 
 
 But the girlies would go, \ 
 
 And now their disgrace they can't hide. 
 
 ^ i 
 
 A man named Smith * 
 
 Went out forthwith j 
 
 And bought himself a mule; j 
 
 He carried a bag ] 
 
 To near his hind leg, ' 
 
 And now he sleepeth cool. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 97 
 
 ELD. WILLIAM TUCKER'S GOLDEN 
 WEDDING 
 
 Eld. William Tucker and wife's welcome 
 address at their golden wedding, written by 
 Eld. J. L. Brown for the occasion 
 
 We gladly welcome you today 
 
 Within the precints of our home 
 
 We take this method for to say, 
 
 To each of you, We're glad you've 
 come. 
 
 Your presence fills us with delight 
 And comfort on our pilgrim way, 
 
 Like star-beams on the brow of night 
 Or sunbeams on th-o crown of day. 
 
 Our life has had its smiles and tears. 
 Its days of joy and time of cares, 
 
 Its bitter and its sweet. 
 
 In cloudy nights and sunny morn 
 
 We've plucked our roses and our thorns 
 That grew about our feet. 
 
 All through our race God gave his grace 
 
 For He rules above us; 
 We thank His name, He gave the same 
 
 And gave you all t-^ love us. 
 
98 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 Now fifty years have by us sped 
 
 Since our two lives in one were wed, 
 Our two hearts beat as one. 
 
 Along these years we've walked to- 
 gether, 
 Through iSunshine and through cloudy 
 weather, 
 And will 'till life is done. 
 
 The dew of youth was on our brow, 
 The morning sun lit up life's hill. 
 
 The evening shadows greet us now. 
 But yet we love each other still. 
 
 We sit beside our cottage door 
 
 And hear the wild birds sing of love, 
 
 And angels from the distant shore 
 Seem calling to us from above. 
 
 Some day they'll come with wings of light 
 And heaven's glory will unfold. 
 
 They'll take us where there is no night. 
 And where no one is ever old. 
 
 As one by one your work is done 
 
 And sweet rest to you is given. 
 We hope to meet you, one by one. 
 With a glad smile in heaven. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 99 
 
 Within that bright and sunlit clime 
 
 They never know the flight of time ; 
 
 Within that land beyond the sky 
 
 We'll meet but never say goodbye. 
 
 The above, though written by another, fully 
 expresses our feelings. 
 
 WILLIAM TUCKER, 
 Bauxite, Arkansas. 
 
 THE HOG 
 
 (Psalms 51:10; Acts 15:9: Ephesians 2:10) 
 
 Feed him on milk, 
 
 Dress him in silk, 
 And call him a beautiful name ; 
 
 But ril tell you, Bud, 
 
 He'll root in the mud. 
 And act the hog just the same. 
 
 Don't think it amiss 
 
 Because he does this, 
 And call him a horrid bad creature; 
 
 For he is no dog. 
 
 He's only a hog, 
 And follows the bent of his nature. 
 
100 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 If he had a sheep's heart, 
 He'd do a sheep's part, 
 And down in the mud wouldn't wallow ; 
 But as he is no lamb. 
 He can't act like them. 
 For nature's the thing that we follow. 
 
 So the nature of sin 
 
 Forever has been, 
 To root in the mud with the devil ; 
 
 From sin to depart 
 
 It takes a new heart, 
 To lift to a higher clean level. 
 
 Man may do his part, 
 
 But can't change his heart, 
 
 This power to him is not given ; 
 He may look up and pray 
 For a clean heart today, 
 
 And God can answer from heaven. 
 
 Bad dogs may bring their master grief j 
 
 Because they will not run a thief. \ 
 
 And men in office oft do the same ; ] 
 
 They help the theives to catch their game. i 
 If you're a man and not a goat. 
 
 Be sure and think before you vote. \ 
 
 II : 
 
 Home is a place where men and women j 
 
 have their best friends and their worst manners. \ 
 
BKOWN SCRAPS 101 
 
 LIFE'S LESSONS 
 
 This lesson learn within the school of life : 
 
 The better things pick up and learn to 
 prize, 
 The evil things will only bring you strife, 
 
 Heartaches and tears of sorrow to your 
 eyes. 
 
 Look on the rose, its fair beauty drink in, 
 
 But do not heed the sharp and pointed 
 thorn ; 
 Heed not the gloom and darkness of the night, 
 It will soon fade beneath the blush of the 
 morn. 
 
 The unkind words that fall from lips of men 
 Have not the power their evil to impart 
 
 Unless you stoop to take them up — and then 
 They rove as burning arrows in your heart. 
 
 While some will frown with strong and bitter 
 hate, 
 Heed not their frown, it cannot do thee 
 harm, 
 If you have friends to smile, let that create 
 
 Within your heart sweet music and a charm 
 
102 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 I 
 So you will find these better things will be, I 
 
 A bright faced angel happy, sweet and 
 
 strong, j 
 
 That strength and beauty will bring to thee, j 
 
 And make your life a sweet and pleasant j 
 
 song. \ 
 
 DIRT AND CROOK 1 
 
 God made man out of the dirt, j 
 
 He gave him life and made him pert; [ 
 
 A crooked rib took from his side | 
 And made a woman for his bride. 
 
 Say what you will \ 
 
 Man by sin is badly hurt, i 
 
 Yet in him we see the dirt, '] 
 
 And she is crooked still. ' ^ 
 
 *i 
 
 Man thinks he's lord but he is not, 
 
 That is, if he a wife has got ; I 
 
 She crooks around in such a way ' 
 
 That she leads him day by day, ] 
 
 At least that's what some people say ; ! 
 
 "She bosses," but he knows it not. j 
 
 If Christian Science believes there is no 
 matter, then it's no matter if you don't believe 
 Christian Science, 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 103 
 
 60 YEARS OF AGE 
 
 (December 7, 1913.) 
 
 I am not old, though I am gray, 
 Though sixty years have passed aw?iy, 
 Like autumn leaves before the blast, 
 So swift these sixty years have passed. 
 
 Passed like shadows o'er the plain, 
 Passed with their sunshine and their rain, 
 Passed with their pleasure and their pain, 
 I cannot call them back again. 
 
 So many stand within these years, 
 That's blest me with their smiles and tears, 
 And though the years cannot remain. 
 These friends will come to me again. 
 
 While standing in the morning sun, 
 When life's brief day had just begun. 
 Old age then seemed so far away— ^ 
 A misty mount in twilight gray. 
 
 The hours dragged slow in life's first morn. 
 
 An age from snow to growing corn. 
 
 And at the ripening of the plum 
 
 It seemed that Ghristmas would not come. 
 
104 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 But one by one they came and went, 
 And soon the morn of life was spent, 
 The bloom of Spring its work had done, 
 And ripened fruit in summer sun. 
 
 The morning hours passed slow but soon, 
 They passed away with power of noon. 
 And now the noon has passed us by. 
 The sun hangs low in Western sky. 
 
 The summer's green has turned to brown, 
 The leaves of autumn tumble down. 
 These tell us as time passes by, 
 That night and winter both are nigh. 
 
 And though there's darkness in the night. 
 And sadness in the summer's flight, 
 Yet let me say there is a power. 
 That makes me glad this evening hour. 
 
 Though sixty years have passed away, 
 
 And in their flight have turned me gray. 
 Yet this one word I wish to say, 
 Please do not call me old today. 
 
 For life means live, it don't mean die. 
 Live here below or up on high — 
 It is a journey oft that bends, 
 But this journey never ends, 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 105 
 
 IVe seen the sun sink in the west, 
 Like a wearied man to rest, 
 Darkness would veil the sea and shore. 
 As if that sun would shine no more. 
 
 When winter winds have made their call, 
 Tve seen the flowers fade and fall. 
 Beneath the sweep of winter's breath. 
 They seemed to fall asleep in death. 
 
 The sun went down but not to die. 
 It soon ascends the Eastern sky. 
 And with its light as king of day, 
 It drives the night so dark away. 
 
 When springtime comes, 
 And southwinds blow. 
 And sunbeams melt 
 Old winter's snow. 
 
 The flowers in sleep doth not remain, 
 They wake to bud and bloom again, 
 They fling their beauty 'neath the sky. 
 That tell us they did not die. 
 
 He, He who drives away the night 
 And gives us back again ^he light 
 Who sends the sunbeams in their glow 
 To pielt away old winter's snow, 
 
106 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 And gives the sleeping flower its birth, 
 To spring anew fresh from the earth, 
 In bright sweet beauty for to wave. 
 In triumph o'er its winter grave. 
 
 The Star of Hope hangs in our sky, 
 To tell us we shall never die, 
 Though back to dust v/e fall again, 
 But in that dust we'll not remain. 
 
 Beneath that Star of Hope I stand. 
 Within a life that God has planned, 
 And tell you that this life is good, 
 If we live it as we should. 
 
 I look back o'er these sixty years 
 Full of toil, and strife, and tears ; 
 I look and tell you once again, 
 Though life is brief, its not in vain. 
 
 God leads us in His chosen way. 
 Up steps of night to gates of day ; 
 He gives us toil then gives us rest. 
 Why this is so God knoweth best. 
 
 Rather than Adam would live alone, 
 He took a woman made out of bone. 
 While poor Eve did the best she could, 
 §he took a man made out of mud, 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 107 
 
 AUGUST 
 
 August, the eighth daughter of old Mother 
 Year, is now the reigning Princess. She wears 
 the royal colors and moves with stately grace 
 close on th« steps of her flower crowned sister, 
 July. The gold of the whea':, the purple of the 
 grape and the scarlet of the poppy are woven in 
 the folds of her flowing robe*;. Every dew-drop 
 sparkles like an emblazoned gem in her morn- 
 ing crown. 
 
 While millions of moonbeams dance like 
 silver winged fairies to the katydid's summer 
 song, while rustling fields of corn wave their 
 tassled banners of welcome, truly the poet may 
 sing, 
 
 "Out in the fields summer heat gloweth. 
 Out in the fields summer wind bloweth. 
 Out in the fields summer friend showeth, 
 Out in the fields summer com groweth. 
 
 But in the winter. 
 When summer heat is dead. 
 And summer winds have sped. 
 And summer friends have fled, 
 Only summer corn remaineth 
 
 In pones of white bread.*' 
 
 Life holds what we put in it, or what we 
 ^llpw God QX the Deyil to put in for us, 
 
108 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 WILL POETRY EVER DIE? 
 
 Not while the rivers run down to the seas, 
 Not while the south winds sing through the 
 
 trees, 
 Not while the clover blooms nod to the bees 
 And star beams drop down from the sky, 
 Drop down on the roses that sparkle with 
 
 dew, 
 Drop down on the ocean all garnished and 
 
 blue. 
 Drop down on young lovers pure-hearted and 
 
 true, 
 With affections that never can die. 
 
 Not while the north wind driveth the cold. 
 Not while the autumn paints purple and gold. 
 Not while a patriot is noble and bold. 
 
 Willing to dare and to die ; 
 Not while the spring brings the bud and the 
 
 leaf. 
 Not while the summer puts grain in the sheaf, 
 Not while a mourner is saidened with grief. 
 
 Or the polar star hangs from the sky. 
 
 Not while a song bird sings from its nest. 
 Not while a sunset is gold in the west. 
 Not while a mortal has hope of a rest, 
 A rest tjiat will come by and b^ ; 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 109 
 
 Not while a true thought shall throb in the 
 brain, 
 Error thrashed from it like chaff from the 
 grain, 
 Truth wove into song will live and remain. 
 For poetry never will die. 
 
 TO THE DISCOURAGED MUSE 
 
 Is it not sad to be a poet. 
 
 And yet the world not seem to know it ; 
 
 Or, if to know, to only scorn 
 
 The gift of soul in nature born? 
 
 To have the finer feelings branded 
 A trifling thing, all undemanded ; 
 To pile, to heap upon it scorn. 
 To try to crush so soon as born. 
 
 But such is life within this world, 
 The gold with lead and brass are hurled, 
 And diamonds sparkling pure and bright 
 Are hid in caves as dark as night. 
 
 O kindred spirits, don't complain. 
 Though this world your gifts disdain ; 
 Keep up your courage — don't be pining, 
 Behind the clouds the sun is shining. 
 
110 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 Time soon will brush the clouds away, 
 Will move the night r.nd bring the day, 
 And time which brings the sun to view 
 Will recognition bring to you. 
 
 Or if you live a life obscure, 
 Want and hardships both endure. 
 This lesson learn, oh, know it best. 
 There is a world where poets rest. 
 
 Then 'mid the green and shady bowers 
 Where silver mists enshrine the flowers, 
 And music sweeps the jasper sea, 
 God has a home of rest for thee. 
 
 DEAR LITTLE JOE 
 
 Dear little Joe was bound to go 
 And get his ma a flower 
 
 He stumped his toe on a grubbin' hoe 
 And then he cried an hour. 
 
 The mother of Joe tied up his toe 
 
 With turpentine and sugar, 
 But the little wag tore off the rag. 
 And eat it up — ^the booger. 
 
 II 
 
 Give the world a lift, a laugh and a song. 
 Help, and don't hinder as you pass along. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 111 j 
 
 A man named Jones, | 
 
 With blood and bones, j 
 
 Went out to milk a cow, j 
 
 She gave a kick i 
 
 That made him sick | 
 
 But he's some better now. \ 
 
 Sigh not for the day that is past and gone 
 With its happy bloom or its thorn or sorrow, 
 But hope for the day that is coming on 
 And bury your gloom with thoughts of to- 
 morrow. 
 
 There are Jones', Smiths and Browns, 
 
 Perhaps one thousand score, i 
 As each year rolls around. 
 
 There are born ten thousand more. 
 
 II : 
 
 A bird may fly so very high j 
 
 That no gun may bring it down, ] 
 
 And yet it may, perchance some day, j 
 
 Go in a trap set on the ground. I 
 
 Large fish are sometimes found in shallow 
 waters, and men noted for jreatness are some- 
 times found splashing about in shallow theories. 
 
 If men would drink like dogs, then all 
 would remain sober. 
 
112 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 A peart little boy with overmuch joy 
 Tried to hop on a moving train 
 
 But now he doth beg around on one leg 
 The other one don't remain. 
 
 II 
 
 Oh me, cried she — that cook Tve got, 
 There is no tea — within this pot; 
 Can't be said he — you have forgot 
 There is a T in every pot. 
 
 
 It's one thing to work, it's another thing to 
 worry. There are more lives being worn out 
 with worry than with work. 
 
 Motion does not produce life — but life | 
 
 produces motion. Is that — your notion? \ 
 
 -11 i 
 
 Good things don't go to the good alone, J 
 
 For bad dogs oft get a good bone. | 
 
 II • . 
 
 Don't judge a man by what he needs, i 
 
 But judge him by the books he reads. i 
 
 ^ i 
 
 Some bad writers should call a halt. 
 Or give us shortness, sense and salt. 
 
 Man wants but little here below — 
 Just all that he can get, you know. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 113 
 
 EVOLUTION 
 
 From whence came man, what^s the 
 
 solution? 
 We have the plan, cries Evolution; 
 Nature made man as now she has him, 
 From a spark of protoplasm. 
 This living germ, this human bud, 
 Could only wiggle in the mud ; 
 A shapeless albuminous grain, 
 A wiggling link in life's long chain, 
 A thing dividing, just alive, 
 One dividing into five ; 
 The weak ones living, but not all. 
 The weakest ones went to the wall. 
 For Nature ruled that of the five. 
 None but the fittest ^.hould survive. 
 They took their food within their side. 
 They lived and eat and multiplied ; 
 These links within this living chain. 
 Reached upward to a higher plane. 
 Till man appeared a legged worm, 
 Evoluted from a germ; 
 They say that life kept up her trail. 
 Until it reached wings, legs and tail; 
 Wings from the sides, legs from the 
 
 bottom. 
 For that's the way we now have got 'em 
 Man left his wings and tail behind, 
 
114 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 Perhaps he swapped them for his mind, 
 
 Man cannot flutter, switch nor fly, 
 
 But he can mutter, walk and lie ; 
 
 He first was' tame, but he got spunkey, 
 
 When evoluted to a monkey; 
 
 He walked around upon four feet, 
 
 He eat to live and lived to eat; 
 
 Doing things that come to hand. 
 
 Like climbing trees or digging sand. 
 
 Moving on in perfect ease. 
 
 Eating fruit and scratching fleas, 
 
 While walking on his feet behind. 
 
 He changed his brain and made his mind 
 
 So this is how the monkey caught 
 
 His better brain and better thought. 
 
 But though he thought he could not tell. 
 
 The thoughts that in his mind did dwell. 
 
 But nature did assist the matter. 
 
 With different sounds his tongue did 
 
 chatter ; 
 And with the jabber of his jaw. 
 He gave to sound a line of law, 
 And thus did Evolution reach 
 The primal plane of numan speech. 
 If this be true as such they say 
 Why not some monkey speak today? 
 Why not some monkey on his trail 
 Learn to talk and lose his tail ? 
 If someone now the same should do, 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 115 
 
 Then Evolution might be true, 
 
 For there's a law that's ever been — 
 
 What nature's done, she'll do again. 
 
 If nature did — ^then nature can — 
 
 Change a monkey to a man ; 
 
 Unless old nature gets about it. 
 
 Men with brains will stop to doubt it; 
 
 They'll hold the Bible statement true. 
 
 For Evolution will not do. 
 
 One thing alone would give it shape. 
 
 The Dude appears a tailess ape ; 
 
 One of two things he ought to gain. 
 
 A switching tail or thinking brain. 
 
 For while he does not switch or think, 
 
 He imitates the "missing link" 
 
 For man or ape he will not do. 
 
 He seems a mixture of the two. 
 
 Yes he's a man — he has man's shape. 
 
 But oftimes acts much like the ape. 
 
 There is no link that comes between. 
 
 He is a man but soft and green ; 
 
 Soft as the mud, green as the rose. 
 
 There's not much to him but his clothes. 
 
 II 
 
 Keep out of madness. 
 Pray out of sadness. 
 Work against badness, 
 Cultivate gladness. 
 
116 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 HOW 
 
 When Fancy plumed her wings for flight, 
 I with my pen began to write, 
 
 Her visions grave or gay; 
 From out the depths of sober thought 
 These are the visions that I caught, 
 
 I can but write that way. 
 
 Do angels help to guide the train 
 That rushes through the living brain? 
 
 I mean the train of thought ; 
 I know we think and think again. 
 How link by link we make the chain, 
 
 I never yet have caught. 
 
 I know some times within the mind, 
 A brand new school of thoughts I find 
 
 That seem to be at home ; 
 I stand them up, row after row. 
 And write their names before they go 
 
 And call the same — A Poem. 
 
 U— 
 
 Some men have more mouth than brains. 
 
 So they fill it up with liquor. 
 Some men have more heels than brains. 
 
 You know them — as a kicker. 
 
 Never kick a dog because you dislike his 
 master. 
 
1 
 
 BROWN SCRAPS 117 j 
 
 FIFTY YEARS ] 
 
 (Lines composed and read by the writer at 
 the iGolden Wedding of Mr. and Mrs. John 
 
 Barns, at Jamestown, Ark., Sunday, December j 
 
 19, 1915.) \ 
 
 I 
 
 Fifty years — fifty years I 
 
 Means a long time ago ; i 
 
 Warm summers of sunshine, i 
 
 And cold winters of c-now. 
 
 Fifty years — fifty years \ 
 
 Like a phantom has fled. 
 
 Since your life into union i 
 
 Was woven and wed. l 
 
 \ 
 
 You stood on the mountains j 
 In the strength of your youth, * j 
 
 You drank from the fountains' '[ 
 
 Of rich love and pure truth. \ 
 You cared not — you feared not 
 
 The hard toils of the day, ! 
 
 Your good health was your wealth, ' 
 
 And your hope was your stay. ] 
 
 In the long years ago. 
 
 In the flush of life's morn, ' 
 
 You looked for the roses \ 
 
 But expected no thorn. ] 
 
118 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 But life is a compound 
 With its bitter and sweet; 
 The rose blooms about us, 
 While the thorns pierce our feet 
 
 The spring with its sunshine 
 Put your life into bloom ; 
 The blast of the winter 
 Oft filled it with gloom. 
 You've laughed in the sunshine, 
 You've sighed in the gloom. 
 You've smiled at the cradle 
 And wept at the tomb. 
 
 The Lord has been leading. 
 You made him your guide. 
 No strength ever needing 
 But what he'd provide ; 
 He led you and fed you 
 And guarded your way ; 
 He leads you and feeds you 
 And keeps you today. 
 
 Flowers of your springtime 
 Have all withered away, 
 The leaf of your summer 
 Has dropped to decay; 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 119 
 
 But clusters of autumn 
 Hang low on the vine 
 To rest you and bless you 
 With strength of their wine. 
 
 The spring time of your life 
 Had its troubles to meet; 
 The long day of summer 
 Had its dust and its heat; 
 
 But autumn — cool autumn, 
 Brings its joy and its rest; 
 You take it, you make it. 
 Your brightest and best. 
 
 A preacher who said he did not have to 
 study to preach, said all he had to do was to 
 open his mouth, and the Lord would fill it, was 
 correct. 
 
 It is a truth I do declare. 
 He sure would fill it up with air; 
 He'll do that much for a braying mule, 
 And sure he will for a braying fool. 
 
 Some men would not appreciate a hickory 
 nut tree unless they could find hammers grow- 
 ing on it to crack the nuts with. 
 
120 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 THREE WAYS TO SCATTER NEWS 
 
 There are three ways to circulate the news, 
 
 To scatter out our thoughts, to send abroad 
 our views ; 
 One is little clatter traps, connected by a wire 
 
 On which we clink the thoughts we think 
 With lightning feet of fire; 
 
 It takes your news and .spreads your views 
 To make men weep and laugh. 
 
 This thing of wire and electric fire 
 We call a 'Tel-e-graph." 
 
 Another way is at our choice 
 
 To send abroad the human voice 
 
 Through which the news is known. 
 In it you speak a word today, 
 
 'Tis heard one thousand miles away, 
 This is the *'Tel-e-phone." 
 
 The third's the best of all the rest — 
 
 More beautiful than all. 
 Without a wire, without a fire, 
 
 It missies not a call ; 
 It has two ears through which it hears, 
 
 A tongue that runs with ease. 
 To give your views or scatter news, 
 
 'Tel-a-woman" if you please. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 121 
 
 THE THREE ISLANDS 
 
 Three islands stand upon life's sea, 
 
 Three and no more. 
 You ask me where these islands be 
 
 And what their shore. 
 
 One is the rocky isle of "Now," 
 
 This present time. 
 It is not beautiful somehow — 
 
 Not so sublime. 
 
 As one that glimmers in the light 
 
 Called "Bygone Days," 
 Where memory ofttimes takes her flight 
 
 And sings its praise. 
 
 From Isle of Now, so bleak, so cold, 
 
 We stand and gaze 
 Upon that island girt in gold — 
 
 Sweet Bygone Days. 
 
 That isle was once the Isle of Now, 
 
 Its walks we knew; 
 But then we did not know somehow 
 
 What time would do, i 
 
122 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 The shadows cast a purple hue 
 
 Upon that shore. 
 Time lends enchantment to the view 
 
 Unseen before. 
 
 We watch that isle beneath the skies, 
 
 In evening light; 
 The tear-drops gather in our eyes 
 
 Like dews of night. 
 
 We cherish in sad memory 
 
 The looks and ways 
 Of those with whom we used to be 
 
 In Bygone Days. 
 
 We turn and look thro' light of morn — 
 
 What do we see? 
 An isle of Sea of Time unborn, 
 
 Of "Yet-to-Be.^^ 
 
 The isle where nothing yet is made 
 
 To laugh or cry, 
 Save tracks in sand of fancy's shade 
 
 Beneath a sky. 
 
 A sky all decked with stars of gold 
 
 And rainbow light, 
 Where death has turned no victim cold 
 
 Nor gathered night. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 123 
 
 No shadow there of death or pain 
 
 Waits to destroy 
 The hopes that in the soul remain 
 
 Of life and joy. 
 
 Here Faith and Hope point out the way 
 
 To that green isle 
 We look and see the better day 
 
 In Afterwhile. 
 
 We know there'll be a better time 
 
 When life is o'er, 
 When these three isles as one sublime 
 
 Shall form one shore. 
 
 There we shall meet our lost and own, 
 To part no more ; 
 No night nor death will e'er be known 
 Upon that shore. 
 
 Then let us live by Faith and Love 
 
 While time goes by. 
 In hope of that bright world above 
 
 That's drawing nigh. 
 
 •II- 
 
 I'll tell you a few things hard to beat, 
 'Taters and 'possum and chicken meat. 
 
124 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 THOUGHT ON THANKSGIVING 
 
 The hair clad hog, an ugly brute, 
 
 With a long nose, called his snoot, 
 Under oak trees roots and roots 
 
 For the oak trees' acorn fruits; 
 Going without manners, hat or boots, 
 
 For neither one his nature suits ; 
 That never looks up to the trees at all 
 
 That grow the acorns before they fall. 
 You need not blame him for his pranks, 
 
 He was born a hog, in hoggisjh ranks. 
 
 Some men there be who live that way. 
 
 They toil and dig from day to day. 
 They seek to fill their bellies full 
 
 And clothe their bodies in cotton and 
 wool 
 And each man's leg they try to pull. 
 
 They are full of trick3 and full of pranks 
 But never are they full of thanks. 
 
 They seek to hoard up all they can 
 And never give thanks to God or man — 
 
 If you want to love them the way you 
 can 
 Is to love a hog, or hoggish man. 
 
 When the rain is falling, don't fume and fret ; 
 If you don't go in it you won't get wet. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 125 
 
 THE DEPOT CROWD 
 
 Did you ever note a Depot crowd waiting 
 for a train? 
 The many people that you meet but 
 never meet again, 
 Some going east, some going west, 
 To wire brier of the cuckoo's nest? 
 
 You find perhaps a sample here 
 
 Of every kind of folks — 
 The highest fliers, the biggest liars, 
 
 And the slowest polks. 
 
 You see the Drummer with liis grip, 
 
 His bosom round and fat. 
 With a "Pard" long, slim and hard, 
 
 But equal on a chat. 
 
 The Maiden fair, with crimpled hair, 
 
 Just starting off to school, 
 With her sweetheart to watch her start 
 
 Just grinning like a fool. 
 
 A mother small with three young chaps. 
 You think them all she has, perhaps or 
 all she ever had, 
 
 'Till through the door five others more 
 Come clinging to their dad. 
 
126 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 One has his hat, one hai3 his cat 
 And one has torn his shirt; 
 
 You hear their cries, you see their eyes 
 Just peeping through the dirt. 
 
 You do not know the mother's name, 
 She calls her partner "Josh ;" 
 
 You heave a sigh and wonder why 
 They all forgot to wash. 
 
 Next comes, perhaps, a dozen chaps, 
 From fourteen down to ten; 
 
 All out from school, from under rule, 
 They think themselves grown men. 
 
 They want their tickets for the train, 
 They have the baseball on the brain. 
 They are going out down south, 
 
 They constitute the second nine, 
 Each one is trying hard to shine. 
 
 With cigarette in his mouth. 
 
 p- ' - ■ t •• • 
 
 With legs across they sit and smoke, 
 The smart one tells a funny joke, 
 The circle then all laugh; 
 You think and wonder anyhow 
 If their mother is a cow, 
 Her offspring acts the calf. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 127 
 
 No, no, perhaps these very chaps 
 Have parents kind and good; 
 
 Their fault has been, it is a sin, 
 
 They have not ruled them as they should. 
 
 We wonder what these boys will make, 
 The sort of road each one will take 
 To honor or disgrace 
 Three things there be to guide their course 
 To better things or things that's worse 
 To fit them in their place. 
 
 One is the temper bom within, 
 Gold, or silver, iron or tin. 
 The disposition of the mind. 
 The gold when purged away from dross, 
 Will find a gain, and not a loss, 
 By purging its refind. 
 
 This gold may wallow in a bed 
 With zinc or copper, tin or lead. 
 But it will still be gold; 
 There is within a silent power 
 
 That constant works from hour to hour 
 Its beauty to unfold. 
 
128 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 Though Franklin made h tallow dip, 
 He did not down with tallow drip, 
 He was not tallow all the same ; 
 His genius caused him soon to slip 
 From tallow shop and tallow dip 
 To courts of honor and of fame. 
 
 Columbus had an humble birth, 
 
 His family had no wealth nor worth, 
 But Genius him out-hurled; 
 It caused his mind to understand 
 That God had formed another land, 
 He sought and found a world. 
 
 Abe Lincoln with his gluts and maul 
 Inside this world looked poor and small. 
 For him none seemed to care ; 
 But Genius gave to him a lift, 
 A nation's great and highest gift, 
 The presidential chair. 
 
 Blest be the one who has a mind 
 A big and better place to find, 
 A will to dare to be ; 
 There's room up at the top, you know. 
 For those who to that tpp will go, 
 Reader, there's room for thee. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 129 
 
 The second power is that of home 
 That clings to man wheree'r he roam 
 "»- On the broad land or sea; 
 
 It puts its stamp on gold or tin 
 Of virtue's law or law of sin 
 That all can read who see. 
 
 Home, oh home, what mighty power 
 Lurks within thy grasp each hour. 
 Who weighs thee as they should? 
 Thou art the base, the cornerstone 
 Of nations and the nation's throne 
 For evil or for good. 
 
 If you will think, you know, of course. 
 Each home doth form a unit force 
 A part that makes thee whole ; 
 Another thing you too may think, 
 A chain's no stronger than its link 
 Be that chain iron or gold. 
 
 A nation is a chain of links. 
 
 The last are homes each one distinct, 
 A power behind the throne; 
 When homes in France forsook their God 
 The nation soon was bathed in blood, 
 This fact to all is known. 
 
130 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 In homes where children disobey 
 And each one walks in his own way 
 To scorn, to curse, to hate ; 
 To such the time will shortly come 
 To ply the torch or throw the bomb 
 To curse and wreck the State. 
 
 Let him who prays his nation's good 
 Learn how to pray just as he should 
 For blessings on the homes; 
 For while the homes are good and pure . 
 A righteous nation will endure, 
 On each a blessing comes. 
 
 God save the homes throughout our land. 
 From Rum and Rome's accursed hand! 
 Let sober truth prevail ; 
 Should superstition chain the mind 
 And rum the peoples' reason blind 
 Our nation could but fail. 
 
 God save the homes from greed of gold J 
 May virtue for it ne'er be sold! 
 Keep each from being vain; 
 If in the brain truth holds the light 
 And in the heart love holds the right 
 Our nation will remain. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 131 
 
 i 
 
 But the third power that has it^ station ; 
 
 Is found within association, i 
 
 The ones with whom we walk ; ! 
 
 The mind is made like plastic wax, \ 
 
 Things passing o'er it leave their tracks | 
 
 In deeds— in thought — in talk. 
 
 ! 
 Man is made a social creature, 
 
 He acts as pupil and as teacher, | 
 He gives and gets again; 
 The good and evil both impart, 
 
 An impress that will touch his hearty j 
 
 And there will long remain. ' 
 
 To illustrate to every youth, ; 
 
 That what I say is living truth, i 
 
 We'll stop and try this plan: ^ 
 Put ten red apples, ripe and fine. 
 Close together on a line — 
 It's plain you understand — 
 
 Then let another person go l 
 
 And put one rotten in that row — \ 
 
 Just one, not any more; . ] 
 
 In a few days if you will go | 
 
 You'll find all rotten in the row, 
 
 Yes, rotten to the core. j 
 
132 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 So in the home and in the school 
 
 You'll note the working of this rule : 
 The bad affects the good; 
 Our children's friends we should select, 
 In doing so we may protect 
 And duty says we should. 
 
 THE GOAT 
 
 Old Lady Tongue-Lash had a note 
 
 On Jones, and it was due. 
 A dun to him at once she wrote 
 
 And told him what to do. 
 
 And then she went to him next day 
 
 And told him he must pay the note. 
 
 'The debt," he said, **I cannot pay," 
 Unless you'll buy my billy-goat." 
 
 "If you cannot pay your note, 
 
 Nor sell to me a cow, 
 Then I will buy your billy-goat 
 
 And drive him home just now." 
 
 Old Billy was not like a cow. 
 
 But in one way, I utter; 
 But when she started home with him 
 
 Old Billy turned to butt(h)er. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 133 
 
 WHO EVER SAW? 
 
 Who ever saw a cawing crow 
 From neighbor unto neighbor go 
 And caw until his throat would crack 
 About his neighbors being black? 
 Nobody. 
 
 Whoever saw a 'possum walk 
 And to some other 'possum talk 
 And at some other 'possum rail 
 Because he wore a naked tail? 
 Nobody. 
 
 Who ever saw one small pole cat 
 Hunt up his neighbor for a chat 
 And tell him with a knowing wink 
 About a neighbor that did stink? 
 Nobody. 
 
 Whoever saw a mortal stand 
 Against his neighbor in the land 
 And talk about his sins he knew 
 And he himself a sinner too? 
 Everybody. 
 
 II 
 
 Never imagine that thero are only two peo- 
 ple in the world and that you are both of them, 
 fpr it i^ure hurts a fellow to be twins. 
 
134 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 THOUGHTS ON THE NEW YEAR 
 1911 
 
 Out in the midnight shadows, 
 In the grave of timci now fled. 
 
 Shrouded in night, buried from sight, 
 The past old year lies dead. 
 
 Out in the world of sunshine, 
 
 Out in the world of shade, 
 Out in the lengthening chain of time 
 A New Year's link is made. 
 
 The new, like the old, is fleeting, 
 
 Its race will soon be run, 
 If we give it some good as each one 
 should 
 
 That good must sojn be done. 
 
 Don't keep your old hen 
 
 'Till she's a tough old creature. 
 
 And cook her up then 
 
 That she may stuff a preacher. 
 
 ■m- 
 
 The nod of a truthful man is better than 
 the affidavit of a professional liar. 
 
 One verse of Scripture practic^4 is better 
 than a whole chapter reacJt 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 135 
 
 THREE NEEDFUL THINGS 
 
 Three things we need within this life, 
 This vale where sun and shadows dwell 
 
 Three things to help us in the strife, 
 That good within our lives may tell. 
 
 One is a purpose of the soul 
 
 Fixed on some object good and high, 
 That we may live to bless the world 
 
 As day by day times passes by. 
 
 To live a life so high as this 
 
 We need the Holy Spirit^s power, 
 
 If not we fail for want of strength 
 
 To keep us through temptation's hour. 
 
 We need the guiding hand of truth, 
 God*s truth to point us to the way, 
 
 That we may shun the walks of sin 
 And reach by faith the gates of day. 
 
 II 
 
 We have some big bugs in the town, 
 And June bugs in the summer; 
 
 But the worst bug I have found 
 Is a humbug drummer. 
 
 You don't have to be beautiful in order to be 
 useful. 
 
136 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 HOW I WRITE POETRY 
 
 I get my paper, pen and ink and sit down 
 
 on a chair, 
 I then begin to think and think, and then I 
 
 write with care. 
 The thoughts the child, the words the dress 
 The first into the last is pressed. 
 Without the words you'd never know 
 The many thoughts that come and go. 
 With thoughts on mind and ink on pen 
 Our toughts can find their way to men. 
 So many words we can rehearse 
 That sound alike they make a verse. 
 Some men have thoughts,but not the words; 
 We think of them as wingless birds. 
 Compelled on earth to ever stay 
 Because they cannot fly away; 
 While others have a supple tongue 
 They learn to use while very young. 
 It flutters like a weather vane. 
 Propelled by wind and not by brain. 
 The brain's the bird, the tongue's the wing 
 To lift it up and help it sing. 
 To be a poet consists in more 
 Than jingling words in lines of four. 
 To be a poet is oft to feel 
 The thoughts of God through nature steal. 
 The poet's brain and heart ciotl^ swi|T| 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 137 
 
 In thoughts of God and love for Him, 
 
 The word is but the burning light 
 
 That trobbing heart and brain ignite. 
 
 Then if to write you do aspire, 
 
 Go get your heart and brain on fire. 
 
 Then let the fire burn on your pen 
 
 And write your thoughts in words to men. 
 
 THE CROWN OF THE YEAR 
 
 "Thou crownest the year with thy good- 
 ness." — Psalms 65:11. 
 
 As the waveless bosom of the rock-girt lake 
 cast back to our vision the shadowy form of the 
 over-hanging sky with its thousand stars of glit- 
 tering light; or, as the cave in the rock of the 
 mountain base catches our voice and throws it 
 back to us in soft echo whisper. So all the works 
 of God, from the sun in mid-heaven to the tiny 
 glow-worm that sparkles upon our footpath 
 speak to us of God, of His greatness and good- 
 ness. "The heaven declare the gloiy of God, 
 the f irmanent sheweth His handiwork ; day un- 
 to day uttereth speech, night unto night sheweth 
 knowledge." 
 
 The Odd Fellow wears a chain of three 
 |inlk3, eacli linH representing a principle belongs 
 
138 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 ing to that order; but God gives us a chain of 
 four links in each year that we live — Spring, 
 Summer, Autumn, Winter. Love, mercy and 
 kindness are inscribed on each link,- for he 
 crowneth the year with His goodness. 
 
 SPRING 
 
 The soft south winds of the humid spring 
 The thought of His goodness to us bring; 
 Te robe of His beauty doth appear, 
 For in His goodness He crowns the year. 
 
 SUMMER 
 
 Bright summer comes with fruit and flowers, 
 With forest green and shady bowers; 
 The light of His mercy doth appear. 
 For He in His goodness crowns the year. 
 
 AUTUMN 
 
 The fruit of Autumn hangs ripe and low; 
 Bright tints of gold on the forest glow ; 
 From whispering winds we seem to hear 
 That He in His goodness crowns the year. 
 
 WINTER 
 
 At last when Winter, that ^tern old king. 
 His treasures of snow and ice doth bring. 
 In his glacial records this truth is found, 
 God in goodness the year hath crowned. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 139 \ 
 
 DROUTH AND WAR ^ 
 
 WeVe had a winter hard and cold ' j 
 
 On man and beast; 
 Our cribs and larders did not hold 
 
 Much for a feast; i 
 
 Our surplus meat and grain were sold 
 
 To folks out east. : 
 
 'i 
 The drouth hit us so hard you know; 
 
 It did not rain, ! 
 
 For over ninety days, and so 
 
 It cut the grain ; 
 The price of cotton went so low \ 
 
 It gave no gain. 
 
 The Southland suffered 'neath this blow, i 
 
 Not West nor East, j 
 
 For they a bumper crop did grow ; 
 
 On which to feast. 
 With grain so high and cotton low 
 
 Our woe increased. i 
 
 ,j 
 Combines and trust put in their power 
 
 In graft and greed 
 They raised the price of meat and flour 
 
 And other feed. i 
 
 It was enough to make one sour ■ 
 
 And blue indeed, \ 
 
140 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 Their ships could take away the grain 
 
 And get the gold, 
 But our cotton must remain 
 
 And not be sold. 
 A scheme they had to make a gain, 
 
 A lie they told. 
 
 The bankers, too, let down the blind 
 
 And closed the door; 
 They said the folks were so behind 
 
 They'd lend no more. 
 For money is both deaf and blind 
 
 Toward the poor. 
 
 The man of greed is too intent 
 
 On gain and loss 
 And how to make a big per cent 
 
 On smallest cost. 
 And tell the folks who owe the rent 
 
 To come across. 
 
 Many merchants good and kind 
 Would helped the poor 
 
 If some way they could but find, 
 Some open door, 
 
 But they were so far behind 
 They bought no n;ore» 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 141 
 
 While some good men with heart and brain 
 
 Were in the land 
 That had some cash without the rain 
 
 At their command 
 That propped some men beneath the strain 
 
 And helped them stand. 
 
 Some sent their food to Belgium's shore 
 
 To help their need, 
 And turned their neighbors from their door 
 
 Without their feed; 
 Some helped the home and foreign poor, 
 
 True friends, indeed. 
 
 These were the things we had to face 
 
 When winter came; 
 We needed money, grit and grace 
 
 To meet the same ; 
 We knew not how to run the race, 
 
 We felt so lame. 
 
 But somehow we have made it through ; 
 
 Now it is spring. 
 Although we knew not what to do, 
 
 We met the thing. 
 God has been good to me and you. 
 
 His praise we sing. 
 
142 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 The grass is growing on the hill 
 
 And in the woods, 
 The cows will eat now to their fill — 
 
 At least, they should. 
 We soon shall hear the whippoorwill 
 
 In happy mood. 
 
 The wheat is looking fresh and green, 
 
 And budding corn 
 Across the fields may now be seen 
 
 At early morn. 
 A brighter day has come, I ween, 
 
 And hope is born. 
 
 Hope is the thing that makes us strong | 
 
 To will, to do ; t 
 
 Hope sings the sweetest sort of song ■ 
 
 To me, to you ; > 
 
 Hope tells us it will not be long 
 'Till we shall view. 
 
 Things changed to a better grade 
 
 With corn and wheat, 
 With bumper crops that we have made 
 
 And things to eat, 
 And all our old debts met and paid 
 
 And corn and meat. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 143 
 
 To feed us through another year 1 
 
 And cash to buy j 
 
 The shoes and clothes we need to wear, 
 
 With cotton high, ; 
 
 Hope tells us bid our doubt and fear 
 A long good-bye. 
 
 For He who leads us day by day ] 
 
 O'er vale and hill, ] 
 
 And kept and fed us all the way. 
 
 Will lead us still ; ^ 
 
 He has not let us starve nor stray, 
 Nor never will. 
 
 THE BIOGRAPHY OF A DIME 
 
 i 
 
 One sunny day along the way | 
 A man was briskly walking; 
 
 The man was scared becaus*e he heard - 
 
 Something near him talking. ] 
 
 He stopped to see what it could be I 
 
 That talked while he was walking; ] 
 He found in time it was a dime, 
 
 Down in his pocket talking. \ 
 
144 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 It is no crime to hear a dime, 
 It was too small to fear it; 
 So talk away and say your say, 
 I'll walk along and hear it. 
 
 I am a dime, that is no crime, 
 Therefore, I am not crying; 
 Tm good to take a ginger cake, 
 Of which there's no denying. 
 
 Long years ago I dwelt quite low 
 Before a miner caught me; 
 When with his pick he gave a lick, 
 Out from the earth he brought me. 
 
 I felt the shock, I quit the rock. 
 
 And left my old dark prison; 
 
 I've swapped the night for days of light, 
 
 I'm glad that I have risen. 
 
 I soon was sold along with gold. 
 Which that rough man collected ; 
 I have my worth upon the earth, 
 I am not now neglected. 
 
 I have my gain but have no pain. 
 Though through the fire turning; 
 I find my loss was only dross, 
 I'm better by the burning. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 145 
 
 Fm what I am by Uncle Sam, 
 Who fixed his stamp upon me; 
 It is a fright how day and night 
 His nephews hunt and run me. 
 
 They love me much, they love my touch, 
 Just why they have not said ; 
 Whether for my worth upon the earth, 
 Or for my woman's head. 
 
 When I was sent out from the mint 
 I had a bunch of brothers. 
 We stood in rank inside a bank 
 Along with many others. 
 
 A farmer sold a load of corn. 
 And for the same received a check ; 
 I went with him that autumn morn, 
 I think I paid for just a peck. 
 
 The farmer gave me to his boy 
 Because the boy had been so good. 
 To slop the sows and milk the cows 
 And chop and saw and bring in wood. 
 
 That farmer lad was truly glad 
 When he did hold me in his hand ; 
 He said he knew what he would do, 
 As' I was now at his command. 
 
146 BROWN SCRAPS j 
 
 J 
 He dropped me down 'mid spools and 
 
 things, ; 
 
 Such as marbles', tops and strings, ! 
 And kept me there 'till it was handy 
 To swap me off for wax and candy. 
 
 I then went down into the town, ' 
 
 To where there was a barber; i 
 
 The merchant gave me for a shave ; 
 And left me in that harbor. 
 
 It was his rule to act the fool ! 
 
 By getting drunk and frisky; I 
 
 So he was soon in the saloon ] 
 To trade me off for whiskey. 
 
 I left that place in deep disgrace. 
 
 Where fools were drunk and kicking; \ 
 
 I went one day to help to pay i 
 
 A farmer for a chicken. | 
 
 The farmer had a son in school, | 
 
 He was a splendid "feller;*' \ 
 So me he took, to buy a book, 
 A Webster blue-back speller. 
 
 The man with books was good in looks, i 
 But when he'd talk he'd stutter; 
 
 He swapped me off for something soft, ] 
 
 It was a pound of butter. ! 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 147 
 
 Now on the farm I feel no harm, 
 With plows, and saws, and axes ; 
 The other day my boss did say 
 I helped to pay the taxes. 
 
 A dime as such isn't very much, 
 But yet enough to "f oiler;" 
 But when men will save up ten, 
 They sure save up a dollar. 
 
 Then save your dimes, one by one, 
 *Till you get ten times twenty; 
 To waste your dimes is sure a crime, 
 To save them leads to plenty. 
 
 The farmer said, I went to bed. 
 And dreamed I was out walking; 
 And it appeared that then I heard 
 A dime unto me talking. 
 
 But now it seems it was a dream. 
 And as a dream I give it, 
 But sure it brought a truth I caught 
 How dimes alive might live it. 
 
 ■II- 
 
 If you don't want a blind tiger to catch your 
 
 goat, 
 You'd better be careful how you cast your 
 
 vote. 
 
148 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 THE FAMILY TROUBLE AND HOW IT WAS 
 FIXED 
 
 A woman got sad and then got sadder, 
 A man got mad an then got madder, 
 Their boy got bad and then got "badder." 
 The woman was sad because the man was 
 
 mad and spanked the lad. 
 The boy was bad, and sad, and glad. 
 Because one hadn't and one had spanked the 
 
 lad. 
 The woman said, "Child, go to bed, 
 Before your father kills you dead." 
 Then she looked sad, saying, *T wish I had 
 Never married a man so bad." 
 Then the man got mad and then grew madder 
 Saying, "You can sigh and look much sadder. 
 But if that boy grows much "badder" 
 I'll hang him up on the smokehouse ladder." 
 Then he looked at the boy and he looked 
 
 "badder," 
 Then he said, "I wish, by Ned, that I'd never 
 
 had her." 
 Then the boy in bed stuck up his head 
 
 And said, "Now pap and mother, 
 I'll bet a cow if you was .single now 
 
 You would want to marry each other. 
 We've all been mad and all done bad. 
 
 An all have been a-lying. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 149 
 
 If I was dead upon this bed i 
 
 You'd both be 'round me crying." i 
 
 The woman cried, "We all have lied; I love : 
 
 you both with joy." \ 
 
 The man, he smiled upon his child and called . 
 him, "his dear boy." 
 
 He said, "My wife, you are my life, j 
 
 I cannot live without you." I 
 
 The woman said, "My own dear Fred, - 
 You know I do not doubt you." 
 
 WHERE MORTALS JOSTLE MORTALS 
 
 How sweet to step aside 
 From the sickening whirl 
 
 Of the busy, rushing tide 
 
 Of the phantom chasing world. 
 
 Where mortal jostles mortals, 
 On the push and rush and strife ; 
 
 Where selfish greed doth never heed 
 The better things of life. 
 
 Where the eye is filled with fashion, 
 And the heart is seeking fame ; 
 Where the dirty sewers of passion 
 Are washing out all shame, 
 
150 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 Where purity and honor 
 
 Is in the market sold, 
 For power and position, 
 
 For office, or for gold. 
 
 Where men that are immortal 
 
 Doth never stop to tell 
 Whether on the way to heaven, 
 
 Or on the road to hell. 
 
 How sweet to step aside 
 To a cool and shady nook. 
 
 To pass away a quiet day, 
 And up to heaven look. 
 
 There to stay and there to pray, 
 
 That grace to us be given. 
 That when this world has passed away 
 
 Our home may be m heaven. 
 
 W 
 
 Two men may differ and both be wrong, 
 but two men can't differ and both be right. 
 
 # 
 
 If the sun hurts your eyes, better shut your 
 eyes and not try to snuff the sun out. 
 
 P 
 
 If things that last long are valuabje then 
 30|ne serpipns are worth mucji, 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 151 
 
 WHEN I GROW BIG 
 
 Fm litle now, but dou*t you know 
 I will get big, because I grow? 
 Oh, yes, I will be grown some day 
 And have all things to come my way. 
 
 When I get big as Uncle Joe, 
 Across the sea I then will go. 
 And bring some new things into view. 
 Like old-time sailors used to do. 
 
 When I sail the wide sea over 
 Some new world I may discover. 
 For such a world there now may be 
 Hid out somewhere across the sea. 
 
 A world where folks may all go bare. 
 And wear no clothing 'cept their hair, 
 And where they have no pesky rule 
 To make the children go to school. 
 
 A world where there can live no *'hants" 
 To frighten boys who tore their pants. 
 And where we hear of no disgrace 
 Because one fails to wash his face. 
 
152 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 A world where we will never meet 
 Such words as "Johhny wash your feet/* 
 Or, "Johhny, get out of that bed 
 And wash your face and comb your 
 head." 
 
 When Mr. Crusoe was a boy 
 
 He never had one speck of joy; 
 
 His mother sure was ;;ever good, 
 
 But made him bring in chips and wood. 
 
 She made him wear his shoes and hat 
 And would not let him tease the cat. 
 And when he'd want to take a walk, 
 Or to the visitors would talk. 
 
 She'd say, "My child, you must stay in. 
 You must not go where you have been," 
 Or, "Oh, my son, you are too young; 
 A little boy must hold his tongue." 
 
 One day a thought got in his head 
 That made him jump clear out of bed. 
 He dressed himself and drank his tea 
 And rode a shipwreck o'er the sea. 
 
 Now, it is clear to every mind 
 That Crusoe made a lucky find. 
 He surely struck a lucky streak 
 To haye two Fridays every week, 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 153 
 
 I want the new world that I seek 
 To have six Sundays every week; 
 But we will have no laws on game, 
 So we can hunt each day the same. 
 
 We'll load our guns and bait our hooks 
 And hunt for bears j\nd fish in brooks. 
 Newspaper men will print a tale 
 And tell all how I hooked a whale. 
 
 And how I shot my big airgun 
 And killed a big bear on the run, 
 And how one June day I did go 
 And catch nine panthers in the snow. 
 
 And how I made some lucky shots 
 And struck three leopards in their spots, 
 And how one lion shook his mane 
 When I tied him with a chain. 
 
 But ril be good to all the poor, 
 ril go and buy a candy store, 
 Then Til go up and down the street, 
 Giving to all a candy treat. 
 
 But on mean boys FIl work a trick; 
 ril feed 'em candy till they're sick. 
 So nasty drugs they'll have to take 
 To cure them of the stomach-ache, 
 
154 BROWN SCEAPS 
 
 But pretty girls, with deep blue eyes 
 I'll feed on candy, nuts and pies, 
 And if their mothers won't talk back 
 I'll give to them the paper sack. 
 
 When I am big, oh, won't I swell? 
 Now I've told you, but don't you tell, 
 For should dad hear he'd break the 
 
 stitches 
 That hold together my new breeches. 
 
 Now, friend, good-bye, I'm glad I met 
 
 you; 
 My mother calls, and sure, I bet you, 
 That she wants me to slop that pig, 
 I guess I will, for I ain't big. 
 
 WHAT IS HOME? 
 
 It is to a large degree what we make it. It 
 is not like Roman Catholic doctrine, for it has 
 no place for Paradise and Purgatory. It is either 
 Heaven or Hell in minature. Good husbands- 
 make good wives and good wives make good 
 husbands as a rule; but it is not always so — 
 Woe be to the home where the mother teaches 
 the children to disregard and disrespect their 
 father; or wher^ the father is unworthy of their 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 155 
 
 love and confidence. Woe be to the home, 
 that is cursed with a drunken father or a scold- 
 ing, grumbling mother. Woe be to the home 
 where members of the family have no love for 
 and no confidence in each other. Blessed is the 
 home where God rules, where education illumi- 
 nates, where love cements, where unselfishness 
 presides, where cleanliness brightens, where law 
 and order prevails; where shadows from the 
 black-winged raven of jealousy never fall; 
 where the vulture of greed never perches ; where 
 the nightingale of happiness sings her sweet 
 songs, and the Dove of Peaco coos in gladness. 
 
 IF YOU WISH 
 
 If you wish to see the sky. 
 Lift your vision up on high 
 
 To the dome where the vtars abound. 
 
 Now this truth Fd have you know, 
 If your vision falls below 
 
 It will find but the dark cold ground. 
 
 It takes two to xx.ake a quarrel, but a fel- 
 low can get mad by himself. 
 
 It's not the largest bircj that sings the 
 sweetest song. 
 
156 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 THE PROVERB 
 
 Iron sharpeneth iron, so a man sharpeneth 
 the countenance of his friend. — Proverbs 27:17. 
 Did you ever take your old dull plow to the 
 shop, rust-covered, dubbed and gapped, and 
 take it home keen and ready for service? What 
 worked the change? 
 
 The smith within the fire cast it, 
 Then he to the anvil passed it. 
 After it received its heating, 
 By the hammer got its beating. 
 In the slack tub made the wetter 
 Coming from it much the better. 
 As one iron sharped the other. 
 Mind on mind doth act, my brother 
 By look or deed, by word or letter, 
 To make it worse, or make it better. 
 
 NOVEMBER DAYS 
 
 Jack Frost creeps in in the still of the night 
 While the winter star-beams glow. 
 
 And he spreads his mantle all cold and white 
 And fresh as the driven s-now. 
 
 The sycamore tree with his bare white limbs 
 
 Points up to a leaden sky. 
 And the beetling cliffs look dark and grim 
 
 As the winter days dray/ nigh, 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 157 
 
 The katydid has left its tree. ] 
 
 Since the summer hours have flown, i 
 
 But the cricket sings his song in glee, 1 
 
 Made warm by the old hearthstone. i 
 
 The children laugh with hearts as free 
 
 As the cricket that sings his song, , 
 
 Caring naught for the days, how cold they be. 
 
 If "Santa" but comes along. i 
 
 The katydid may be cold and stiff. 
 The rose be dropped from the thorn, 
 
 Much more than these is the Christmas gift 
 They will get on the Christmas morn. 
 
 They do not sigh for the days gone by. 
 Nor the things in them they've lost, 
 
 Hope throws a charm that keeps them warm 
 Despite the wind and the frost. 
 
 Let us to them turn and from them learn 
 
 To hope for the coming day; 
 Not stop and sigh for the days gone by,, 
 
 For we can't go back that way. 
 
 Good things through motives oft go amiss. 
 Like Judas with his traitor kiss. 
 
 P 
 
 A fellow can be a big fellow and still not 
 be twins'. 
 
158 BROWN SCRAPS I 
 
 MAGNOLIA 
 
 Down in the State , 
 
 Near the southwest line \ 
 
 Where the giant oak | 
 
 And the feathery pine 
 
 In the Southern breeze doth sigh 
 
 Where the cool dark spots 
 
 In the days are made t 
 
 By the china trees j 
 
 With their dark cool shade, \ 
 
 In this August month am I. 
 
 Under the fig trees we can eat \ 
 
 Figs as ripe and pure and sweet ■ 
 
 As grow in Palestine. 1 
 In the orchards we can seek 
 
 The sweet soft peach with its red ripe , 
 
 cheek i 
 
 And the purple grapes on the vine. | 
 
 'i 
 
 Why should these folks not happy be 
 
 Sitting under their vine and own fig tree j 
 
 While the heated hours go by i 
 
 Eating melons as large and fine | 
 
 As ever grew on a melon vine, I 
 
 While the wind in the pine tops sigh? | 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 150 
 
 If this you doubt, just come ye down 
 And look about Magnolia town 
 And you will find it so. 
 Another thing you too will find 
 A people just as good and kind 
 As any place you'll go. 
 
 I love the fruits both large and sweet 
 That God in his goodness gives to eat 
 Through the force of nature's law. 
 I love the oak and the whispering pine, 
 I love the rocks and the clustering vine 
 And the folks of Arkansas. 
 
 BETTER WHISTLE THAN WHINE 
 
 There is a good lesson 
 
 Wrote down in this line: 
 
 It's better my brother, 
 
 To whistle than whine. 
 
 There is war in Europe, 
 
 And prices are high; 
 But grunting and groaning, 
 
 Won't help you to buy. 
 
 The drouth got your corn. 
 And your cotton is low; 
 
 But whining and pining. 
 
 Won't help it you know. 
 
160 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 Your barn may be empty, 
 Your horses look thin; 
 
 But sighing and crying, 
 
 Won't fill up their skin. 
 
 When things are not moving, 
 Along as they should; 
 
 Mumbling and grumbling 
 Will do them no good. 
 
 If the sun is not shining. 
 
 You know that it must; 
 
 And whistling, not whining, 
 Will strengthen your trust. 
 
 For whining can't scatter 
 
 The clouds from your sky; 
 
 Then say it don't matter, 
 I'll whistle, or try. 
 
 Because a clock may just strike one 
 Do not think its work is done. 
 For if its works are good and true 
 It will run on and strike two, too. 
 
 e 
 
 A sermon preached from notes may not be 
 
 a noted sermon 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 161 
 
 DIFFERENT FEATHERS 
 
 Roosters may crow and Crows may roost 
 And neither one the other boost; 
 They may not roost nor crow together, 
 Because they have a different feather; 
 They need not use their pointed bill 
 Trying each other for to kill. 
 Because some spurs the crow may lack, 
 While many roosters are not black; 
 They aren't alike, nor like the owl. 
 Not one is beast, but each is fowl ; 
 And while alike, they've never been. 
 
 Yet it is true they are some kin. 
 While this is true both day and night. 
 They'd better fly than peck and fight. 
 Now after this my friend, you've heard. 
 Please try to be a better bird. 
 
 It is not right to do Wright j 
 
 If Wright is a man. i 
 
 It is right to do right \ 
 
 Each time that you can. ] 
 
 It is easier to do write I 
 
 Most any old day ; 
 
 Than it is to do right — ^ 
 
 Now, what do you say? 
 
162 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 WHO IS HE? 
 
 He lives in the country, 
 He lives in the town, 
 A neighbor to Smith 
 And a neighbor to Brown ; 
 He's as rich as a Croecus 
 And as poor as a mouse 
 As quick as a cricket 
 And slow as the douse; 
 He helps as a friend 
 Or brings you to sorrow ; 
 He is ready to lend 
 He is ready to borrow, 
 He's red-headed, black-headed, 
 White-headed, and bald; 
 He's low up — he's high up. 
 He's slim up — he's tall ; 
 He's a man that loves peace. 
 He's a man that sings songs 
 He's a man that loves fusses. 
 He's a man that says "cusses ;" 
 He's a man that oft smiles, 
 He's a man that's oft sad; 
 He's a man that's oft good. 
 He's a man that's oft bad ; 
 To show him's to know him, 
 In the mansion or cot; 
 He's the man we've all been — 
 He's **The Man Who Forgot." 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 163 
 
 SHALL WE HELP THEM? 
 
 We stand today facing a large army of 
 beggars. Gray haired parents that have looked 
 on the manly forms of their boys that grew up 
 about them as pleasant plants until the simon of 
 death — ^the whiskey curse fell upon them, under 
 which they withered and died; and nothing 
 today remaina save the moands of earth, the 
 cold, dishonored graves, to tell the world that 
 they have been. 
 
 Besides these parents stand a group of 
 women. They are widows, sad-faced and broken 
 hearted. They were once happy wives. They 
 reigned as queens within their homes. They 
 leaned upon the strong arm of a loving husband 
 and smiled upon a group of rosy-faced children. 
 Their homes were Heaven in minature, until an 
 evil hour came, and the husband became wed- 
 ded to another — ^the drink habit. Under it he 
 staggered; he fell; he perished. Today these 
 homeless widows stand with feeble bodies and 
 crushed spirits, fighting as best they can to keep 
 the wolf of hunger outside their doors. Some of 
 them perhaps have been forced to sell their 
 virtue to buy bread for their starving children. 
 God in heaven pity them in their sad, sad plight! 
 
 Near these stand another group of sad-eyed 
 women — women who have traveled through 
 
164 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 great tribulations. Their fathers, husbands and 
 their sons have been entangled in the Devil's 
 fish-net, the saloon, and for crimes committed 
 while crazed by drink, they are today in dis- 
 grace behind prison walls, while within them 
 rages an appetite, and over them hangs a power 
 stronger than death and darker than the grave. 
 
 Back of these women stand an army of 
 children — neglected . — cold — hungry — growing 
 up in rags, ignorance and vice. These children 
 are robbed by the saloon traffic. With blood- 
 less faces and bony fingers they are looking and 
 reaching for help. 
 
 What shall we do? Shall we help them, 
 or shall we help the Whiskey Demon to con- 
 tinue its curse upon them? 
 
 Shall we sanction the work of the brewer 
 and the distiller as they ply their trade to curse 
 our nation? 
 
 Shall we fellowship the saloos man, while 
 he runs his man-traps to entangle and curse our 
 boys and wreck our homes? 
 
 Shall we fold our hands and sleep, while 
 this black-winged vampire of hell sets upon the 
 bosom of our nation, fattening itself upon the 
 life blood sucked from the quivering flesh of 
 humanity ? 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 165 
 
 Shall we bow in submission before King 
 Alcohol, whose drink is the tears of nations and 
 whose music is the groans of death? 
 
 Shall we sell him our honor for his bloody 
 tax money, or shall we rise in strength of our 
 Christian manhood and drive him from our 
 land? 
 
 I hear the army of gray haired fathers and 
 mothers pleading by the graves of their sons for 
 us to send the demon away. 
 
 Broken hearted wives, and famished children 
 are pleading to be saved from its power. 
 
 Shall we heed them? Shall we hear their 
 cry? Shall we grant their request? 
 
 Yes ! Yes ! A thousand times yes ! 
 Let our answer go back 
 
 To them in reply. 
 As loud as the thunder 
 
 That peals from the sky; 
 As deep as the ocean, 
 
 As strong as the wave, 
 By prayer and by ballot. 
 
 We are coming to save. 
 
166 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 THE RICHES OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 Call no man poor though he may be 
 From weight of stocks and bonds both free. 
 If he has friends known by the score 
 He is indeed quite rich, not poor, 
 He has far more than they who hold 
 Their trust in dust of shining gold. 
 Give me my friends, though they be poor 
 And live inside some cottage door. 
 If they be true, it is enough ; 
 It*s better far than sordid stuff 
 That moves the serf, that rules the knave 
 And haunts the miser to his grave. 
 Give me my friends, for they are more 
 Than ships on sea or lands on shore. 
 Their love and friendship has a power 
 To help me in life's darkest hour. 
 Sweet comfort from their words I borrow 
 To soothe me in my deepest sorrow 
 And chase the shadows from my way 
 And point me to the brighter day. 
 They help me in temptation's hour. 
 They fill and thrill with that dear power 
 That sounds in words, that gleam from eyes 
 Like sunbeams from the summer skies, 
 That warms the earth from winter's gloom, 
 That bringeth birth to leaf and bloom, 
 gach wor4 and deed thrills an^ impart^ 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 167 
 
 Love's healing balm to aching hearts, 
 Like wilten flower on desert plain 
 That drinketh in the summer rain 
 And from the blessings of the shower 
 Gathers afresh new life, new power 
 That makes it nod and smile again 
 A thing of beauty on the plaib. 
 Lord, help us keep our friends now old. 
 More pure and precious far than gold, 
 And as through life we wend our way 
 Add new ones to the list each day. 
 Much virtue in them may we find. 
 And to their faults may we be blind, 
 For soon of each it may be said 
 That they are sleepng with the dead. 
 So in this world of sin and blindness 
 Let us show them love and kindness. 
 Lord, help us when we leave this plain 
 To meet and greet our friends again, 
 Where none will suffer, none will sigh. 
 And love and life will never die. 
 
 OPTIMISTIC 
 
 Do not sorrow nor be sad, 
 This world is not so full of bad 
 
 But where there's good. 
 Though dark and stormy be the night, 
 
168 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 The wings of time bring in the light. 
 
 Thank God, you should, 
 That every night gives place to day. 
 For God is ruling all the way. 
 
 He rules in might. 
 The upas tree he will cut down. 
 The poison shade take from the ground. 
 
 And plant the right, 
 And after all our toil and strife 
 In this poor polluted life 
 
 We shall be free, 
 And by the crystal fountains stroll. 
 And tread the highways paved with gold 
 
 And rest beneath the tree. 
 With golden fruit and fluttering leaf. 
 That gives all life and heals all grief 
 
 Throughout eternity 
 
 DON'T DO IT 
 
 If things come not your way as you thought 
 
 they would. 
 If folks have their own way and claim that 
 
 they should. 
 Don't stop and quit striving, don't balk on the 
 
 way; 
 Each cloud has its silver, each dog has its day, 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 169 
 
 Do(n't growl and grow sour, don't sigh and 
 
 look sad, 
 Do all in your power to laugh and be glad. 
 For after the storm-cloud the sun will shine 
 Then keep up your courage and whistle, don't 
 
 whine.. 
 
 Don't swap faith for doubting, don't give 
 
 hope for fear, 
 Don't swap love for hatred, nor smiles for a 
 
 tear. 
 Then your heart will beat lighter and your 
 
 life will be true, 
 And the world will grow brighter because 
 
 you passed through. 
 
 LET THE WIND BLOW 
 
 There is an old saying. 
 
 No older than true ; 
 And it should bring comfort 
 
 To me and to you. 
 If the wind keeps blowing 
 
 As it will or would, 
 **It's a bad wind that never 
 
 Blows somebody good." 
 It may blow as a zephyr, 
 
 Or blow as a gale, 
 
170 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 To cool down a fever 
 Or strengthen a sail; 
 
 It may howl on the ocean, 
 Or laugh through the wood; 
 
 It's a bad wind, a sad wind 
 That bloweth no good. 
 
 INDEPENDENCE 
 
 You can call me poor, you can call me more 
 
 A fanatic or a fool 
 You can work about and cast me out 
 
 By sticking to this "Rule." 
 But where'er you go Til have you know 
 
 My conscience is at eai^. 
 ril have you note when'er I vote 
 
 ril vote just as I please. 
 Vm standing pat as a Democrat 
 
 On Liberty's solid log. 
 Fll never budge, Til never fudge. 
 
 Nor vote for a yellow dog. 
 If a poodle pup can so crawl up 
 
 And get upon our ticket 
 I'll live and stand, with vote in hand 
 
 Where I can help to kick it. 
 If a drunken sot falls in our pot 
 
 Though loud for him men hollow 
 Without a doubt I'll cut him out 
 
 He §tink3 too bad to swallow. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 171 
 
 IN LOVING MEMORY OF ELDER WILLIAM 
 TUCKER 
 
 (A tribute to the noble qualities of his life, 
 in an acrostic on his name.) 
 
 We have known no better man 
 In all the circle of our friendship. 
 Loving in disposition of heart, 
 Lowly in disposition of mind, 
 Inspired seemingly to think and do the 
 
 right, 
 Always humble, always cheerful. 
 Minding not the petty things that fret so 
 
 many lives. 
 
 Truthful in his utterances. 
 
 Unflinching in the spirit of his faith. 
 
 Courageous as a lion. 
 
 Kind and gentle as a lamb. 
 
 Earth among her children finds few his 
 
 equal. 
 Resting from his labors, his works follow 
 
 him. 
 
 W 
 
 It's not the largest bird tjiat sings the 
 sweetest isong. 
 
172 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 DEATH 
 
 Swift as the wind, cold as the iceberg, 
 heartless as the granite, dark as the night shad- 
 ows moves the messenger Death amid the ranks 
 of all living. Unloved and uninvited, his knock 
 is heard at every door; his shadow is thrown 
 across each path, and darkens every hearthstone. 
 Money cannot buy him, kings cannot flatter him, 
 beauty cannot bewitch him, music cannot charm 
 him, love cannot melt him, power cannot bind 
 him. He heeds no prayer, he fears no rank, he 
 regards no station. Priest and prophet, king 
 and courtier, judge and juror, the gray-haired 
 man and the robust youth, the diamond prince 
 and the tattered beggar, the ripened scholar and 
 the unlettered peasant, the smiling maiden and 
 the weeping babe — all, yes, all alike, hear his 
 voice, feel his iron grasp, and pass on and out 
 at his biddings. He breathes upon them and they 
 wither like the leaf in the north wind. They 
 sleep their dreamless sleep in his prison house — 
 the still, cold grave. 
 
 Will they sleep there f orevere ? No ! Ten 
 thousands times No ! 'Cry it from the mountain- 
 tops, echo it through the valleys, fling it across 
 the seas, sing it to the four winds, tell it to the 
 stars, shout it to the heaven.?. If a man die he 
 phall live again! 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 173 
 
 Death is great, but God is greater, and God 
 has promised that Death shall be swallowed up 
 in victory and that the time will come when 
 there shall be no death. Therefore when we pass 
 through the valley and shadow of death we may 
 fear no evil. 
 
 CHRISTMAS MORN 
 
 Gone the light — on the night 
 For the day — on the way 
 
 Swiftly sped. 
 In a room — through the gloom 
 Came a child — meek and mild 
 
 To her bed. 
 
 On her knees — hear her please, 
 Hear her pray — hear her say, 
 
 "Give me light." 
 The prayer done — ^the little one 
 Drops her head — on the bed 
 
 For the night. 
 
 Angel band — near her stand 
 In the night — clad in white 
 
 'Neath a screen. 
 Watch her eyes — in surprise. 
 Hear her pray — then away 
 
 All unseen. 
 
174 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 By her cot — is a grot 
 
 By her bed — ^near her head 
 
 In the wall. 
 Up on high — in the sky 
 Stars of night — let their light 
 
 Through it fall. 
 
 Look she cries — at the skies, 
 See the things — with the wings, 
 
 See them fly; 
 Coming out — all about, 
 Hear them sing — hear them shout, 
 
 *Neath the sky. 
 
 It is night — yet it's bright 
 All the way — as the day 
 
 In its morn. 
 Watch them fly — up so high. 
 Hear them sing — of the King, 
 
 Christ is born. 
 
 Shepherds near — also hear, 
 Falling down — to the ground 
 
 They behold 
 Angels singing — sweet and loud. 
 Forms floating — like a cloud, 
 
 Bright as gold. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 175 
 
 Look, oh look — ^just over there, 
 Watch, oh watch — ^that silver star, 
 
 All so bright; 
 See it swing — hanging down, 
 Just above — King David's town, 
 
 With its light. 
 
 Gone the light — on the night 
 Do not fear — go your way, 
 
 Get you down; 
 Go and see — Christ the Lamb, 
 He is born — in Bethlehem, 
 
 King David's town. 
 
 Then the song — ^floats along 
 On the cloud — long and loud 
 
 O'er Judea'3 hill; 
 With its notes — loud and clear 
 Unto men — ^f ar and near. 
 
 Peace, Good will. 
 
 At the ending — of the years. 
 One the echo — almost hears. 
 
 Sounding still. 
 Every coming — Christmas mom, 
 Thoughts anew — of it are born, 
 
 Peace, be still. 
 
176 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 I MUST SIGH 
 
 Though the world may laugh for gladness 
 While my heart is full of sadness, 
 
 I must sigh ; 
 Though some one somewhere may love me, 
 Thousands think themselves above me. 
 
 And they pass me by. 
 
 The ways of some are bright and sunny. 
 Life to them is sweet and funny 
 
 And I hear them cry: 
 Stop your sighing and you pining, 
 Dark clouds have a silver lining. 
 
 You will see them by and by. 
 
 The truth of this Fm not denying, 
 Yet I cannot stop my sighing, 
 
 You ask me why. 
 The silver clouds are far above me,. 
 Far away like those that love me, 
 
 And their silver's next the sky. 
 
 A GNAT 
 
 A gnat lit on an ox's horn, 
 And to the ox did say: . 
 
 "If my weight cannot be borne 
 ril have to fly away." 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 177 
 
 The ox made not a reply, 
 In pleasure or in scorn ; 
 
 He never knew the gnat was nigh, 
 Much less upon his horn. 
 
 Some little folks, much like the gnat, 
 Feel large in church and state. 
 
 While neither one knows where they're at. 
 Much less to feel their weight. 
 
 THE VOICE OF BEREAVEMENT 
 
 No flower grows — in winter snows 
 
 To tell us it is spring ; 
 We find no charm — in winter's storm, 
 
 No bloom — nor bird to sing. 
 
 There sings no lark when it is dark 
 To make the old world glad; 
 
 When north winds call and sear leaves fall 
 Old mother earth looks sad. 
 
 So while I write — around is night, 
 
 My heart is sad and sore ; 
 A new grave keeps a form that sleeps, 
 
 I'll meet on earth no more. 
 
178 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 A child is gone, a dear, dear, one — 
 
 A solace and a stay. 
 Who through the years helped share my 
 cares, I 
 
 And helped me on life's way. 
 
 One time so small — left as my all 
 
 To drive away the gloom. 
 When she who smiled upon her child 
 
 Went to the silent tomb. 
 
 The sunshine in her childish heart 
 
 Did love revive — and hope impart 
 
 To this poor heart of mine. 
 
 Beneath its charm I bore my loss, 
 
 I took my place and bore my cross — 
 How can I help but pine? 
 
 Since she no more upon this shore 
 
 Will ever call my name. 
 Out from my sleep I wake and weep, 
 
 I cannot help the same. 
 
 And yet I weep not without hope 
 
 My faith doth grasp a larger scope, 
 
 It goes beyond the grave ; 
 
 For He who called my child away 
 
 Will give her back some bright sweet day 
 He has the power to save. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 179 
 
 My years have numbered most three-s<iore, 
 My boat is drifting near the shore 
 
 Where evening shadows fall ; 
 
 My day of toil will soon be done, 
 
 I'm near the hour of setting sun, 
 When I shall hear the call. 
 
 I then like her shall pass away 
 Into a long and brighter day, 
 
 Where all is peace and rest ; 
 
 God holds my time within his hand, 
 
 I move or rest at his command. 
 He knows what time is best. 
 
 TODAY 
 
 The dawn of each new day, like an angel 
 of mercy drops within your palm the golden key 
 of new opportunities. Grasp it while you may, 
 use it while you can, and while the stars are 
 fading and the feathered songsters are warb- 
 ling notes of gladness at the gates of day, com- 
 mune with thine own heart and put your feeble 
 hand into the hand of the loving Father who 
 stands ready to hear thee, willing to lead thee. 
 
180 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 able to save thee, and out of the inner chamber 
 of your secret soul and let this prayer ascend : 
 
 Father of Mercy, hear me, I pray; 
 
 Lead, oh, lead me, through this new day. 
 
 I never will return this way 
 
 To mend the deeds, or words I say. 
 
 Rule in my heart, rule in my brain. 
 
 That in them there may rest no stain 
 
 Of evil thoughts or base desire, 
 
 In memory's urn to burn as fire. 
 
 Lift my poor feet that they may stand 
 
 Upon the plains of Beulah land. 
 
 I ask not power, I ask not gold, 
 
 But for an hour that I may hold 
 
 A helping hand to some poor soul 
 
 That's striving hard to reach the goal. 
 
 Help me to seek, help me to find, 
 
 The poor, the weak, the halt, the blind, 
 
 That I may help them in their need 
 
 Their bodies and their p.ouls to feed 
 
 Some word, some deed to them impart 
 
 To light their way to cheer their heart. 
 
 In other words, I ask to be 
 
 A worker for mankind and Thee. 
 
 I love to live, I live to love. 
 
 And work like Him who lives above. 
 
 Then help me. Lord, to v/alk today 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 181 
 
 Along the straight, the narrow way. 
 
 Let not my duty go undone 
 
 Until the setting of the sun, 
 
 And when the hour shall lose its light 
 
 In shadows of the silent night, 
 
 And I shall rest in slumbers deep, 
 
 While angels near their watch shall keep. 
 
 May they but sing in soft refrain 
 
 He lived today, but not in vain. 
 
 I* 
 
 The bird can fly, but cannot swim. 
 Because there is no fin in him. 
 The fish can swim, but cannot fly, 
 He has no wing, he need not try. 
 God fits up each and every one 
 To do the work He'd have done ; 
 He's fitted me and fitted you. 
 To do the work He'd have us do; 
 To do the work that He'd have done ; 
 Lord help us know and help us be 
 Willing to work as pleaseth Thee. 
 
 Two men may differ and both be wrong, 
 but two men can't differ and both be right. 
 
182 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 ADDRESS OF WELCOME 
 
 Delivered to the Farmers' Institute Held in New- 
 ark, Arkansas, December 15, 1913 
 
 Gentlemen — There are two things that pre- 
 sent themselves to public speakers: First, who 
 they are to speak to; second, what they are to 
 say. An old colored man going into court as a 
 witness, turned his back to the jury, and deliv- 
 ered his testimony to the judge. The judge told 
 him to speak to the jury. The old man turned 
 around and remarked, "Good momin', gentle- 
 men." 
 
 I am glad to say to you "Good morning 
 gentlemen." I am glad to welcome you to our 
 town; I am glad that I have been selected to 
 extend to you this word of welcome ; I am glad 
 
 That they thought good to call on Brown 
 To bid you welcome to our town. 
 
 We may not be able to treat you as well as 
 we desire, or as well as you deserve ; but I can 
 assure you that if Noah was still living in that 
 wonderful craft which he built we could excel 
 him in one thing — he could only inivte you into 
 his old ark, while we can invite you into our 
 New-ark. We live in an age of progress. Some 
 one in speaking of the advantages of the preser^t 
 pyer the past, said : 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 183 
 
 "Our fathers took a lantern, 
 When they took a stroll ; 
 
 But we snatch down the lightning 
 And hang it on a pole." 
 
 Newark has not hung it yet, but she has 
 sentenced it to hang, and expects to gladly wit- 
 ness its execution. 
 
 Science and art are great factors in the 
 world's progress — ^science teaches us to know 
 things, art shows us how to do things. 
 
 There is no broader or better field for their 
 operations than the field of agriculture. Mother 
 Nature has locked up in her storehouse wonder- 
 ful treasures for her children. Science teaches 
 them where to find the key;art shows them how 
 to open the door that leads to these treasures. 
 
 We are glad to welcome you, gentlemen, 
 into our midst, for we are cure that you have 
 brought along some of these keys to distribute 
 among us, so that when you shall have gone 
 away we will be better able to take these keys 
 and pick our locks — of cotton. 
 
 We do not expect you to teach us every- 
 thing, for the word "finite" is engraved across 
 the arQhway gf eyery human life. Science ha^ 
 
184 BROWN S€RAPS 
 
 accomplished great things, but still greater 
 things remain to be accomplished. Mr. Edison 
 has his limitations. Hie has never been able to 
 discover a method by which a man would be 
 able to walk on one leg while the other leg 
 rested, nor to milk a cow by lightning. But some 
 have been kicked by the cow while milking and 
 imagined lightning was in the neighborhood. 
 Mr. Edison has never been &ble to reduce wet 
 water to a dry powder, so we could put it into 
 capsules and carry it in our vest pockets, doing 
 away with the private drinking cup. 
 
 Eli Pekins reported him as working up a 
 method by which he could extract the heat from 
 fire, leaving the fire harmless, while he could 
 ship the heat out in flour barrels to be used for 
 cooking purposes. I think the experiment was 
 a failure, though I am willing to admit that men 
 in Memphis, Little Rock, and even our neighbor 
 town, Newport, have shipped some kind of hot 
 stuff into our town which has dazed and stag- 
 gered some of our citizens. 
 
 Mr. Burbank brought out some new varie- 
 ties of potatoes, but he never brought out one 
 that would hoe and dig itself. If he had, the 
 people of Newark would use np other kindt 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 185 
 
 Some people oppose "book larnin'" in farm- 
 ing, but many things can be learned from the 
 pen of writers. Years ago I read an article on 
 farming. The writer said to put fence posts out 
 with sharp ends up, so that boys climbing onto 
 the fence to argue would soon come to the point. 
 He said never plant corn over ten feet deep, and 
 I never have since I read that, and I have always 
 made corn enough to do me — with what I could 
 manage to buy. 
 
 The spirit of Mother Eve is upon her child- 
 ren. They are seeking to know more today than 
 they knew yesterday. Farmers are not an excep- 
 tion to this rule. 
 
 Farmers are made as well as born, 
 
 And many seek to know 
 How they may grow three ears of corn 
 Where one was wont to grow. 
 
 In reaching out after kowledge they some- 
 times fall victims to deceivers. An old farmer 
 read an advertisement, "Send a dollar and learn 
 how to keep your horse from slobbering." The 
 dollar went and the information came back, 
 "Teach him to spit." 
 
 But that farmer has not "yit" 
 Taught hii& horse just hpw to spit, 
 
186 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 But he came out about as well as the one 
 that bought the patent hen's nest called "The 
 Hen Perswader.'* It was a double-deck cohcern, 
 the lower part being a cushioned basket, the 
 upper part shaped like a wash-pan, with a hole 
 in the center, so that an egg dropping into it 
 would roll through the hole and fall into the 
 basket out of sight. The purpose of the inventor 
 was to fool the hen, which, after laying, would 
 come off the nest, look back and see no egg. 
 Thinking she had failed to lay, she would go 
 back and lay again. Keeping this up all day, one 
 hen would supply a whole family with fresh 
 'eggs. Well, the fellow said he tried the nest 
 with a young pullet that had just reached the 
 laying stage in life. You know there is a stage 
 in the life of a hen called the laying stage, when 
 she begins to lay, while there is a stage in this 
 life of some men called the lying stage, when 
 they begin to lie. 
 
 This pullet pulled on to this nest one day, 
 Beginning to cackle and thien to lay. 
 So when the day its. course had run 
 And twilight shadows hid the sun. 
 The thought came to the farmer's mind 
 To look and see what he could find. 
 Just thirteep eggg he found bejow- — ■ 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 187 
 
 Unlucky number, all do know. 
 
 No hien he found about that nest, 
 
 For she had laid herself to rest. 
 
 Nothing from the nest he gathers 
 
 But ten toe nails and a bunch of feathers. 
 
 We may doubt the hen reaching such a lay- 
 ing stage; but we do not doubt her would-be 
 owner reaching such a lying stage. For hens 
 are like women in one thing — they are hard to 
 fool. Though Bill Nye tells us. that when he 
 kept a hennery he had one hen to set on a door 
 knob six weeks trying to hatch a hotel. 
 
 We are glad you men are going to teach us 
 some things about raising chickens. Women 
 learn a great deal about chickens from poultry 
 journals, but the editors of such journals somie- 
 times make mistakes. A woman wrote and asked 
 if one mother hen could care for ten chickesns. 
 He answered, "No, ten chickens are too many 
 for one hen to suckle." My wife is anxious to 
 hear your talk on chickens. She likes chickens — 
 so do I. Her favorite is the Barred Plymouth 
 Rock chicken; my favorite is the fat fried 
 chicken. As the colored preacher said, "Chicken 
 am my favorite vegetable." The best way I 
 have ever found to raise a chicken is to raise it 
 with a dining fork, 
 
188 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 Sam Jones said colored people are good 
 hands to raise chickens, but that they never raise 
 them until they get half-grown. 
 
 Another thing women are interested in is 
 the cow. An old lady kept a cow, bringihg up 
 her butter yield, higher and higher, until one 
 morning she went to milk her and the cow 
 actually turned to butt(h)er — because she had 
 been dehorned and could not hook her. 
 
 This thing of dehorning cattle is a new thing. 
 I remember the first dehorned cattle I ever saw 
 was about 20 years ago. I thought when I saw a 
 carload of them that they were a big bunch of 
 muleys. Now we not only dehorn cattle, but 
 saloon men all over the State are kicking be- 
 cause the good people are going to take the 
 Going bill and dehorn their customers, thus de- 
 priving them of their personal liberty — 
 
 So that a man, although freeborn. 
 Can't whip his wife, nor take a horn. 
 
 Talking about live stock, it takes feed to 
 make live stock, and farms to make feed. We 
 people are lovers of the soil — 
 
 We love old Mother Earth, 
 And some do love her so. 
 
 They will not scratch her with a plow 
 Nor hit her with a hoe. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 189 
 
 But all are not so sentimental. They like to 
 tickle her with these instruments 
 
 And make her give and give again 
 The fleecy staple and the golden grain. 
 
 Some of our citizens fear neither the farm 
 nor the plow, for they will sleep in the fields 
 beside the plow without the thought of fear. 
 
 There have been two great problems before 
 our farmers: One was what to do with their 
 old fields; the other was what to do with the 
 boys. Time and nature seem to solve these 
 problems. The two have come together, for I 
 have seen all the boys of a neighborhood meet 
 in an old field and toil all day. You may ask, 
 "Did they make anything?" "Did they raise 
 anything?" "Yes, sir; they made diamonds — 
 baseball diamonds, and they raised yells that 
 would make a Comanche Indian go and take a 
 back seat while he turned green with envy. 
 Yes, our boys can do things. The Corn Club 
 boys make double the amount of corn made by 
 their fathers. They know how to raise other 
 things besides corn. Some of them will work 
 even after their fathers have gone to sleep ; they 
 will go over in their neighbors' fields and 
 "raise" watermelons. 
 
 But I have said enough. I don't want to do 
 
190 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 likeBurdette's man that put his mouth to talking 
 and went off and forgot it. But I do want to 
 bid you welcome to our town. 
 
 We have no latchstring on our door, 
 For the latchstring is no more. 
 The latchstring man lost his job, 
 Another fellow made a knob. 
 So while the latchstring is no more 
 There is a knob on every door. 
 Turn that knob where'er you roam, 
 Walk in and make yourself at home. 
 
 DESTINY 
 
 On the forest bosom 
 
 There is born a flower, 
 Pushed into being 
 
 By an unseen power 
 That fixed its place 
 
 'Neath the vaulted sky 
 Where the wild birds sing 
 
 And the Southwinds sigh, 
 Where the sunbeams sweep 
 
 Like a gold gilt sea 
 O'er grass clad vales, 
 
 O'er crag and tree. 
 That blushing flower 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 191 
 
 With its lovely hue, 
 Fanned by the winds, 
 
 Kissed by the dew, 
 Doth live and blush 
 
 'Neath the summer sky, 
 While the shadows creep 
 
 And the days pass by. 
 
 But alas, its beauty 
 
 Is born to fade, 
 Like an evening hour 
 
 'Neath the twilight shade; 
 Though the sunbeams laugh 
 
 Or the Southwinds sigh. 
 It is doomed to wither. 
 
 It is doomed to die ; 
 The power that formed it 
 
 Ordained it must 
 In silence pass 
 
 To the vale of dust. 
 
 A human bud, a human flower, 
 
 Pushed into life by the self-same power, 
 
 To live and love and hope and sigh. 
 
 On the fields of life while the years go by 
 
 To climb the hills on the road 'of life. 
 
 To grind at the mills of human life ; 
 
 Like the forest flower to die it must, 
 
192 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 And mingle back with it's mother dust 
 In the vale of silence there to lie, 
 While creeping ages pass on by. 
 
 But Faith and Hope and Love doth stand, 
 A brilliant group and an angel band. 
 To soothe the heart, to dry the tears 
 And bid us wait the coming years. 
 They sing of one, a mighty friend. 
 That will go with us to the end ; 
 That when our bodies droop and die 
 Will lift our spirits 'bove the sky. 
 The soul immortal never must 
 Die and mingle with the dust. 
 There is a home, they call it Heaven, 
 And to the soul that home is given. 
 They tell us in the by and by 
 That friend is coming from the sky. 
 With angel guard and trumpet sound, 
 To fright the seas and shake the ground. 
 Then earth's sleeping millions must 
 Awake and leave their beds of dust; 
 For death no longer can remain 
 Our souls in them will live again. 
 And give these bodies formed of clay 
 A life that will not pass away. 
 Our souls in them will live again. 
 Both immortal will remain. 
 Eternal ages passing by 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 193 
 
 Will never see them fade or die. 
 Thank God for faith, for hope, for love, 
 That points us to that home above, 
 Where none will sin, where none will sigh, 
 Where none will faint, where none will 
 
 die. 
 Our loved and lost upon that shore 
 Will meet us there to part no more. 
 No clock will strike the passing hour. 
 No frost will blight the blooming flower, 
 No night will close the gates of day. 
 No form in death will pass away; 
 We'll sing while passing to that shore, 
 *Tm going home to die no more." 
 
 WAR— THE DEVIL'S UPAS TREE 
 
 War is the Devil's upas tree, that has 
 stretched its black and poisoned shadow across 
 every age, and every nation. Its roots reach 
 down to the foundation of Hell, and are warmed 
 by its fires, while they feed on the gold, the 
 ashes, and the blood, of a misguided, mistreated 
 humanity. 
 
 The sap of the tree runs hot in anger, greed 
 and lust. It stretches its gaunt limbs across the 
 nameless graves of earth's slaughtered millions. 
 
194 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 Every quivering leaf bears the record of a crime 
 penned in blood and tears so deep, so dark, the 
 rains of centuries cannot erase them. It's fruit 
 is the fruit of Sodom, full of wormwood, ashes, 
 and death. In the gloom of itr. midnight shadow 
 gather the ghostly forms of the dead years to 
 mourn their loss, to curse their fate, and deride 
 their folly, while all about them swing and 
 sweep, and quiver, the sombre branches of the 
 tree, as they dance to the music of the night 
 winds, that sobs with grief, that pleads with 
 pity, that curses with anguish, that shrieks with 
 sorrow, that yells with pain, and howls with 
 despair. Echo sounds — falling from dead lips 
 and dead ages. 
 
 Is this the tree that humanity needs? Shall 
 we build our altars under it and bring our sacri- 
 fices to it? Shall we teach our maidens to sing 
 its honors and our young men to feed it with 
 their blood? Shall we burden our people with 
 taxation — pour out our nation's gold to build 
 about this tree a mighty wall lest its branch 
 should wither or its fruits should fail? God 
 forbid ! , 
 
 Divine experience crieth: Whatsoever a 
 man soweth that shall he also reap. Gal. 6 :7, 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 195 
 
 Divine wisdom crieth : The tree is known 
 by its fruits. Matt, 7 :20. 
 
 Divine justice crieth: Cut it down; why 
 cumbereth it the ground? Luke 13:7. 
 
 The world's best citizenship and America's 
 most noble statesmen are crying out: Behold, 
 now the axe is laid unto the root of the tree. 
 Matt. 3:10. 
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE IN 1908 
 
 'Tis Christmas time ; the stars hang out 
 God's lanterns in the northern sky; 
 
 The crescent moon is sinking, soon 
 Behind the mountains wild and high. 
 
 Dark shadowsi stand in forest glades, 
 Like sombre spirits of the dead. 
 
 That wake from sleep, but not to weep, 
 Because their lease of time has fled. 
 
 The moaning north winds seem to wake. 
 From slumbering couch of frozen snow, 
 
 And from it's icy fetters break. 
 
 O'er cloud-capped hills and vales below. 
 
196 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 No song bird lifts a trembling note, 
 
 To freight the wind with thoughts of life. 
 
 With clenching claws *neath feathered 
 throat. 
 It holds its perch amid the strife. 
 
 Was this the kind of night when they. 
 In Judea's hills beheld the star, 
 
 And h^ard the voice of angels sing, 
 The songs of glory from afar? 
 
 When He who from His lofty throne. 
 Stooped down into this world of night, 
 
 That He might claim us for his own. 
 And lift us up to life and light. 
 
 No wonder angels tuned their harps. 
 And sang beneath that winter sky — 
 
 "Peace on earth, good will to men." 
 That song on earth will never die. 
 
 Though centuries past have gone to sleep, 
 Between the time of now and then. 
 
 Yet time will never fail to keep. 
 That song alive in hearts of men. 
 
 Some folks are kicking at everybody and 
 then wondering why somebody kicked them. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 197 
 
 THE NEGRO'S VISION 
 
 The looked for meeting day had come, 
 The congregation met together, 
 
 A thing they never failed to do, 
 Regardless of the wind or weather. 
 
 White folks shiver at the cold, 
 
 And talk about the wretched weather. 
 While the darkies, young and old. 
 
 Congregate themselves together. 
 
 They do some things that seem quite odd, 
 Some pepole laugh and talk about them. 
 
 Yet with great zeal they serve their God, 
 Excelling some that seem to doubt them. 
 
 Of course we know they are black sheep, 
 Their skin from them has not departed, 
 
 But they are better off a heap, 
 
 Than some white sheep that are black 
 hearted. 
 
 I do not claim that all are good, 
 I know just what I am about — 
 
 They have some bad as well as good, 
 Some black inside as well as out. 
 
198 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 These black inside ones sometimes reach, 
 For places where they don't belong, 
 
 They sometimes pray and sometimes preach 
 And oftimes help to r^well the song. 
 
 So on this day of which I speak, 
 
 They had an old man for a teacher, 
 
 A young man came that day to seek 
 A place among them as a preacher. 
 
 With derby hat and umbrella, 
 
 And long-tail coat and boots a shining, 
 
 He stood erect a dandy fellow. 
 
 And spoke with voice soft and whining. 
 
 "Brudders and sisters, one and all. 
 
 You knows Fse neber been to college, 
 
 But I feels I has a call — 
 
 God to me has give dis knowledge. 
 
 "De Lord has called me to dis work, 
 I feel, I know, it am His choice. 
 
 And from dis call I will not shirk, 
 I seen a sign but not a voice. 
 
 "In de vision of de night. 
 
 Three bright letters I did see. 
 
 Shining brighter dan de light, 
 Dere was written — G, P. C. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 199 
 
 "Yes, dis vision I did see, 
 
 I saw it once, I saw it twice, 
 And de interpretation h'i, 
 
 Of dese letters, Go Preach Christ. 
 
 "Now as dis vison I did see, 
 Not only once, but once again,, 
 
 I'se come this mornin* unto thee. 
 To ask to be ordained." 
 
 The old man, looking hard at him, 
 
 Said, "Other proof, sir, we demand it. 
 
 Your vision like your gift is slim, 
 I see you do not understand it. 
 
 "The Lord His work doth understand, 
 And when a preacher He is pickin' 
 
 He'll not run to call a man. 
 
 That's run so much to catch a chicken. 
 
 "G stands for go, we see that well. 
 
 P stands for preach, also for plow, 
 C stands for corn, as well as Christ, 
 
 Do you understand it now? 
 
 "That G. P. C. says, "Go Plow Com," 
 That is the meaning of the letter. 
 
 That is your call, sure as your're born. 
 Because that you can do it better. 
 
200 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 "C stands for corn, also for cotton, 
 P stands for plow, also for pick. 
 
 As sure as T will stand for trottin,' 
 Or another T for tick. 
 
 "That G. P. C. in vision bom, 
 I hope will never be forgotten. 
 
 It means, my brother. Go Plow Corn, 
 Or else it means to Go Pick Cotton. 
 
 "Now don't you see my brother, dear, 
 That to preach is not your station. 
 
 For that vision is so clear. 
 
 It calls you to the old plantation." 
 
 STICK TO YOUR BUSH 
 
 Stand and fight for the right. 
 Through the shadows of the night; 
 Let me say, come what may, 
 God will crown you in the day. 
 
 Sins may press you, and distress you, 
 Sorrows sweep like tempest's blast; 
 God will lead you, God will feed you, 
 And will crown you at the last, 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 201 
 
 SIXTY ACRES OF CORN 
 
 Written in Reply to a Distillery 
 Man's Article 
 
 Sixty acres of corn they say will produce, 
 Over twelve thousand gallons of juice; 
 Twelve thousand gallons of juice for men's 
 swallows, 
 Will bring the whiskey men thousands of 
 dollars. 
 
 Twelve thousand gallons of whiskey you take, 
 And one thousand druakards with it you 
 make. 
 
 One thousand drunkards in one year's time, 
 Will, beyond question, be guilty of crime. 
 
 One thousand crimes from ten thousand 
 sprees. 
 Will bring the lawyers five thousand in 
 fees; 
 Then on the court dockets you read the 
 reports. 
 Of thousands in fines paid into the courts. 
 
202 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 Out of one thousand drunkards , ten 
 murderers you'll find, 
 Who murder their fellows while out of 
 their mind, 
 Five then at least of this murderous gang, 
 Will be found guilty, and therefore will 
 hang. 
 
 So five wood workmen will therefore erect, 
 Five wooden gallows to hang thembyneck; 
 
 The five men now hung and the men that they 
 killed, 
 Call for new coffins by them to be filled. 
 
 The judge and the jury that help try the case, 
 The sheriff and jailer that hold them in 
 place, 
 The men that makes scaffolds and coffins 
 you see, 
 All get employment out of the spree. 
 
 Also the grave-digger who digs up the mold. 
 
 Is aided by whiskey to gather in gold ; 
 So the pure whiskey vender his country so 
 loves, 
 With heart soft and tender (?) helps f olkg 
 as above, 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 203 
 
 He helps to make money, he helps to make 
 crime, 
 He*s helping the Devil the most of his time ; 
 He helps the old father to look on his child, 
 Chained down by the demon, now drunken 
 and wild. 
 
 He helps the old mother, with tears on her 
 face. 
 To look on her boy in shame and disgrace, 
 He helps the poor drunkard to ruin his life, 
 To mistreat his children and rob his own 
 wife. 
 
 He helps to drag men down to a level. 
 
 That makes them act like an incarnate 
 devil ; 
 He may help some pocket with money to 
 swell. 
 By crowding the docket with victims for 
 Hell. 
 
 AGITATION 
 
 God agitates this world with strife.. 
 
 And keeps it moving, full of life 
 With lightning flash and breath of storm. 
 
 He keepg it living, bright and warm* 
 
204 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 The winds across the ocean sweep, 
 And stir the waters wide and deep, 
 
 This agitation you call strife, 
 Within the waters keep the life. 
 
 Should wild winds stop forever more, 
 And stillness reign from shore to shore, 
 
 The power of death would calmly creep. 
 And hold dominion o'er the deep. 
 
 So in the sea of human thought. 
 
 Hard mental battles must be fought. 
 
 And should these battles not endure, 
 The aea of thought would be impure. 
 
 It is not wrong, it is but right,, 
 To hunt the truth and for it fight, 
 
 Fight for the day against the night. 
 Drive out the dark, let in the light. 
 
 DON'T BORROW SORROW 
 
 One thing never borrow — 
 
 That is coming sorrow ; 
 Just wait 'till the days come by, 
 
 Don't cross the bridge of tomorrow, 
 
 Nor feed on last week's sorrow; 
 Let the troubles past all die, 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 205 
 
 THE SALT RIVER PACKET 
 
 (After Democratic Primary in Independence 
 County, Arkansas, 1900.) 
 
 On March the tenth, when all were gay, 
 A sturdy packet sailed this way. 
 
 And anchored near the ballot shore. 
 To get her crew when counts were o'er 
 
 Salt river is the steam, you know. 
 Where candidates do of times go, 
 
 Many a fond and brilliant dream, 
 Lies buried in that briny stream. 
 
 So on the day that I have stated, 
 Many on this boat were freighted, 
 
 A calm, cool breeze did make them shiver, 
 As they started up Salt River. 
 
 Of course we all had friends you know. 
 Who did regret to see us go ; 
 
 They did their best, you understand. 
 To keep us all safe on the land. 
 
 Their votes were good enough to do, 
 They only failed because so few; 
 
 We did not sdgh; but gaily laughed. 
 As we went sailing on this craft. 
 
206 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 A tune of hope we all were humming, 
 About a brighter day that's coming; 
 
 There was on board a jolly crew, 
 
 Their names I'll mention now to you. 
 
 You know of course we had the honor, 
 To have on board good Captain Warner, 
 
 As he had made the trip before, 
 
 He knew the stream from shore to shore. 
 
 He was captain; Hail was clerk; 
 
 Tom Raney helped to do the work; 
 While Lige Matheny standing near. 
 
 Helped them keep the records clear. 
 
 Mr. Reed, both fat and funny. 
 As collector, counts the money ; 
 
 Said Padgett went, while here he sits, 
 Like one of old named Mr. Schmits. 
 
 John Masner, our bright forerunner. 
 Was smiling still, a perfect stunner; 
 
 He failed to get but little holt. 
 
 Still kept in sight of Thompson's colt. 
 
 Another one also we take, 
 
 'Tis Joseph that did run with Jake ; 
 
 Jake ran so fast it made Joe sore. 
 
 So he now trots with just one Moore., 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 207 
 
 Rufe Baker went along, you know, 
 He claims that Jacob baked his dough, 
 
 It's rather tough, though no reproof. 
 We all like Jake and all like Rufe. 
 
 Judge Arnold, with his pleasant features, 
 Sat between two Baptist preachers ; 
 
 He did not preach, but oft did pray. 
 For votes enough to go with Gray, 
 
 His text would be, if he should preach, 
 "Will Wright's coat-tail is out of reach." 
 
 Brother Goodwin talks so soft, 
 
 About a tail cut smack, smooth off. 
 
 Who made the weapon cut that way? 
 
 He meekly answered, Wright and Gray. 
 Another stood up with the crew. 
 
 He sure is Brown, but is not blue. 
 
 He cannot tell what broke his leg, 
 
 Whether 10 per cent, or a whiskey keg; 
 
 But broke it is, without a doubt, 
 And he is limping now without. 
 
 You know, dear friends, I cannot fudge, 
 On those who run for county judge ; 
 
 They will not kick, though hard I punch, 
 They had ''Old Nick" within their bunch. 
 
208 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 Squire Tomlinson was on our deck, 
 He is not judge by half a peck. 
 
 Of coursie he was not sad and gruffy, 
 But chats away with Bone and Duffey. 
 
 As Rutledge is the oldest man, 
 
 We comfort him whene'er we can ; 
 
 We did not leave him all alone. 
 
 But let him keep with him his Bone. 
 
 The very Bone that he doth take. 
 Is the same Bone he tried to break ; 
 
 The bone that broke was in his back, 
 Caused by a kick from Lindsey's jack. 
 
 Tom Bearing kinder squints one eye. 
 
 And says,"Ah,boys how's that forhigh?" 
 
 They answered back almost a squall 
 That self-same Jack has kicked us all. 
 
 Lige said to Tom, "There is no doubt. 
 But that its Raney now without;" 
 
 "Raney? Yes, this stormy gale. 
 Is cold enough to blow up Hail." 
 
 This storm has blown so long and oft, 
 That our county has a (Wy) cough; 
 
 It'h hard for some now to endure it. 
 
 She'll (Wy ) cough four years before 
 they cure it. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 209 
 
 The sun is sinking in the west, 
 It's time for tired folks to rest, 
 
 While o*er our heads the stars are gleam- 
 ing— 
 Of brighter days we will be dreaming. 
 
 Be honest true and undeceiving, 
 
 Do what is right, and don't be grieving 
 
 Over failures, don't be whining — 
 The darkest clouds have silver lining. 
 
 THE YOUNG ORATOR 
 
 He was there, just out of the woods ; 
 The things of mystery he understood; 
 He was there to "deliver the goods" 
 
 And make the old world wise 
 The rainbows, to him, all were greased. 
 He slid over them with perfect ease, 
 He sniffed the stars and never sneezed, 
 
 Nor stopped to bat his eyes. 
 He told us where the sun doth rise, 
 And how it floats across the sky ; 
 And how a Dutchman eats his pies — 
 
 And other things he told. 
 He dipped his wings in the two deep seas 
 And flopped his tail o'er Mexican trees, 
 And stretched his neck with perfect ease 
 
 And pecked the old North Pole. 
 
210 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 MINISTERIAL EDUCATION 
 
 We stand up firm for education, 
 To help our brethren fill their station, 
 
 As preachers of the written word. 
 
 That their great message may be heard. 
 
 The people of this age demand, 
 That the preachers understand. 
 
 How to preach, and how to pray. 
 And how to teach them every day. 
 
 When God calls for a man to go, 
 
 The way, the Truth, the Life to show — 
 
 That man should study, and should pray, 
 And seek for knowledge every day. 
 
 It's just and right that he should seek. 
 To know the language he must speak, 
 
 That he the truth may plainly tell, 
 
 That speaks of Heaven or warns of hell. 
 
 An education, we admire, 
 
 That gives men light, and vim, and fire ; 
 That makes them leaders of the host, 
 
 By power of truth and Holy Ghost. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 211 
 
 But what some call an education, 
 
 We must call abomination ; 
 That dwarfs a man in brain and heart, 
 
 And make him act the monkey's part. 
 
 That binds him fast in custom's bands. 
 And leads him with tradition's hands, 
 
 And makes him speak in parrot form — 
 Is but a sham, that breedeth harm. 
 
 God bless the first, and help them grow — 
 May our young preachers to them go — 
 
 There gather strength, in mind and heart, 
 In life's great field to do their part. 
 
 THE BEST OLD PLACE I EVER SAW 
 
 The best old place that I ever saw, 
 Is what some call old Arkansas ; 
 Some don't like it; they grumble and fret 
 And say it's a saw with a terrible set; 
 But I can stand them most any day 
 And they can stand me, or else move 
 away. 
 
 If things that last long are valuable then 
 some sermons are worth much. 
 
212 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 JAKE AND BELLE 
 
 (A poem read at the Silver Wedding of Mr. and 
 Mrs. J. P. Magness, Newark, Ark.) 
 
 Twenty-five years of time have fled, 
 
 Since two young lovers wooed and wed; 
 Their names to you I need not tell — 
 
 One was Jake and one was Belle — 
 We think they did make no mistake, 
 
 When Jake chose Belle, and Belle chose 
 Jake; 
 Jake thought that day he would do well, 
 
 To take with him his favorite Belle. 
 
 It's tone was music, soft and sweet. 
 
 That oft had made his glad heart beat; 
 And should you ask him, he w^ould tell. 
 
 That he still loves that same dear Belle ; 
 Belle decided she could take, 
 
 No better one with her than Jake, 
 So through the pathway of these years, 
 
 They've mixed their smiles, and mixed 
 their tears. 
 
 And now with temples tinged with gray, 
 They've reached their silverweddingday, 
 
 And we, their friends, together come, 
 To greet them in their happy home ; 
 
 We are glad they've had these years of joy, 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 213 
 
 We are glad they have their girls and 
 boy — 
 For furnished homes are cheerless places, 
 
 When not lit up with children's faces ; 
 We bring them smiles, unmixed with tears. 
 
 And wish them many happy years. 
 May love and friendship crown their way, 
 
 Until their Golden Wedding day. 
 
 OLD TIME SCHOOL DAYS 
 
 How sweet is the thought. 
 Of the days of our childhood ; 
 When with patches and scratches. 
 We went to the school; 
 Yelling like Indians, 
 Off in the wild woods. 
 Regardless of what 
 Might be etiquette's rule. 
 
 Dame Fashion our souls. 
 Had never polluted, 
 With vici kid shoes, 
 Bought out of a store ; 
 The fashion prevailed, 
 For all the barefooted. 
 And the nicest of kids 
 Had toes with a sore. 
 
214 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 Like soldiers with knapsacks, 
 
 We carried our luncheon — 
 
 Eggs, meat and stewed "punkin," 
 
 And buttermilk white, 
 
 Which we placed on a shelf, 
 
 Made out of a puncheon. 
 
 Where we scotched it, and watched it. 
 
 And longed for a bite. 
 
 Our book sacks, with books, 
 Were not very stuffy. 
 Like book sacks that children 
 Must carry today; 
 The readers we read. 
 Were made by McGuffey; 
 We figured on problems 
 Propounded by Ray. 
 
 We carried a slate. 
 
 On which we made figures, 
 
 With the joint of a cane, 
 
 With pencil in hole ; 
 
 Also made pictures. 
 
 Of ducks, dogs and niggers, 
 
 A hen or a rooster, 
 
 At roost on a pole. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 215 
 
 But while we marked, 
 We watched for the teacher, 
 Lest our new pictures, 
 Fall under his eye. 
 If he moved, we would spit 
 On the form of each creature. 
 And then with our sleeve 
 We would wipe it all dry. 
 
 They needed no watch, 
 AiSi a stop, or beginner, 
 The sun through a crack. 
 The noon hour tells ; 
 Then would the teacher 
 Dismiss us for dinner. 
 Which would produce 
 A whoop and some yells. 
 
 We would spring to the puncheon, 
 And grab for our luncheon, 
 Then make for the spring. 
 At the foot of the hill ; 
 Tom, Dick, and Sally — 
 Around it would rally. 
 And from a big gourd 
 Would drink to their fill. 
 
216 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 "The old oaken bucket, 
 The iron-bound bucket," 
 Into this fountain. 
 Not one time had fell; 
 We drank from the gourd, 
 Then on a stake stuck it — 
 We drank from the gourd, 
 And did just as well. 
 
 No private cup then, 
 About us did rattle ; 
 All drank from one gourd. 
 Throughout the hole terms ; 
 We knew not that science. 
 With microbes did battle, 
 And raging contagion, 
 Was loaded with germs. 
 
 When dinner was over. 
 
 Like bees in the clover, 
 
 We'd swarm to the play-ground. 
 
 And gather our bats — 
 
 Town ball and Bull pen. 
 
 Were games that we played then, 
 
 "^ith marbles, antni-oyer, and cat, 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 217 
 
 "Frog-in-the-mill-pond," 
 And the playing of "base," 
 With "wolf-over-the-river;'* 
 Each had a place, 
 Where young beginnere, 
 Could get in the chase, 
 To settle their dinners, 
 And redden their face. 
 
 No bell did they ring. 
 To call us to study, 
 They knocked on a board. 
 Or knocked on the door; 
 We would wash feet and face 
 Both dusty and muddy. 
 And pin up the place, 
 In our pants that we tore. 
 
 Then off to the house. 
 As blithe and as jolly, 
 As any young folks, 
 You ever did see; 
 John smiling at Katie, 
 Jim looking at Mollie, 
 While each had a hope. 
 Of what they might b^, 
 
218 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 Our seats were logs, split, 
 Standing up on four pegs; 
 On which v/e would sit, 
 And dangle our legs; 
 With books in our hands. 
 Their pages we'd turn. 
 In search of the lessons 
 Assigned us to learn. 
 
 At the end of the day, 
 We knew very well, 
 A lesson "by heart," 
 We all had to spell; 
 The girls v/ith their curls, 
 The boys with toes sore. 
 Had to track to a crack, 
 That ran 'cross the floor. 
 
 The only book used, 
 
 For spellng that day, 
 
 Was Webster's old blue back — 
 
 We spelled horse-back, lamp-black, 
 
 Baker and poker. 
 
 And in-com-pat-i-bil-i-ty — 
 
 But it was a choker. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 219 
 
 If a scholar went head, 
 
 We thought he did well, 
 
 Using Ph and Th, 
 
 His Phthisic to spell; 
 
 If a boy went foot, 
 
 He took it in fun, 
 
 With a glad happy look. 
 
 When the lesson was done. 
 
 But time maketh changes. 
 On things as a rule — 
 So broad are its ranges, 
 It works on the school. 
 If an old time teacher. 
 His methods presented,. 
 We'd pity the creature. 
 And think him demented. 
 
 While in justice and truth. 
 We are bound for to say, 
 These old time teachers. 
 Worked good in their day; 
 For many reaped knowledge. 
 And virtue, and skill. 
 In the log cabin college. 
 That stood on the hill. 
 
220 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 Gone, gone, are those days, 
 With the years that have run, 
 With most of the students, 
 Life's lesson is done; 
 The log house has gone. 
 From it*s place on the hill, 
 The teacher and children 
 Are siilent and still. 
 
 Save a small number. 
 Now feeble and gray. 
 Grouped in the twilight. 
 Night's mantle for day 
 In the vale of their memory. 
 Through the mist of their years. 
 They hear them through echo. 
 They see them through tears. 
 
 At the brink of the river. 
 They hear the glad oar. 
 They shrink not, nor shiver. 
 Nor dread to pass o'er; 
 From life's murky fountain, 
 They fear not to pass. 
 To the top of the mountain. 
 To join their old class. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 221 
 
 GOD'S MILLS 
 
 God's mill grinds slowly, 
 
 To be sure, 
 
 But ownward moveth still; 
 
 And sure as fate, 
 
 Both love and hate. 
 
 Must each pass through this mill. 
 
 The crown of fame, 
 The robe of shame. 
 In it doth each appear; 
 The tyrant's clutch, 
 The beggar's crutch, 
 Alike are passing here. 
 
 The cry of greed. 
 The sigh of need, 
 Doth drop into this mill; 
 Through centuries' flight. 
 In time's dark night, 
 It grinds and ever will. 
 
 There ne'er remain, 
 
 One seed of grain, 
 
 But in this mill must fall, 
 
 For soon or late. 
 
 As sure as fate. 
 
 God's mill will grind out all. 
 
222 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 LIFE 
 
 Life is a thing from heaven lent, 
 By nature up or downard bent; 
 And filled with sadness or content, 
 
 Not both, but one may be ; 
 A mystery deep and undefined, 
 Unfathomed by the human mind, 
 All from one source yet many kind> 
 
 In nature and degree. 
 
 How high is life we cannot tell. 
 
 How broad athwart it's waves may swell, 
 
 While delving down as deep as hell, 
 
 It seems to cover all; 
 Yes this universe of God, 
 By foot of man or angel trod. 
 Around, above, beneath this clod. 
 
 This moving earthly ball. 
 
 God is its source from Him it springs. 
 
 To animate all living things. 
 
 That walks with feet or flies with wings, 
 
 In hell or earth or heaven; 
 From Seraph on his throne of fire. 
 Where angels sweep their golden lyre, 
 To where dark demons can't expire, 
 
 By Him each life is given. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 223 
 
 Oh, God, this life within us bums, 
 A flickering flame that upward turns, 
 A living fellowship it yearns, 
 
 With Thee it's source divine; 
 Within thy plan it runs its race. 
 Oh, feed it with thine oil of grace, 
 Let heaven be it's resting place, 
 
 Heaven bright home of thine. 
 
 For Thou are able Lord to keep. 
 This life of mine while ages sweep, 
 Across creation's mystic deep. 
 
 It's destiny unfold; 
 Then let it rest beneath Thy throne. 
 Where joy in fullness will be known, 
 Where Christ will lead and feed His own 
 
 On pleasures yet untold. 
 
 DON'T SCATTER THORNS 
 
 Don't scatter thorns. 
 
 In Life's highway. 
 
 To pierce the traveler's feet; 
 
 There is pain enough, 
 
 On the way so rough. 
 
 For the pilgrim's soul to meet. 
 
224 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 Let your tongue throw out, 
 It's kindest words, 
 And the face it's sweetest smile; 
 They will fall like light. 
 Through the gloom of night, 
 And help some one awhile. 
 
 We all do wrong. 
 
 As we go along. 
 
 Through this vaie of night; 
 
 It's better to pray. 
 
 As we go our way. 
 
 Than it is to quarrel and fight. 
 
 THE VALUE OF A BOOK 
 
 Did you ever stop for a Avhile to look. 
 
 Or count the price of a noble book? 
 Did you ever consider how much we owe. 
 
 To the books that come and the books 
 that go? 
 They gleam like stars o'er the distant past. 
 
 From oblivion's shadow they hold it fast ; 
 The past and the present together they 
 hold, 
 
 With stronger fetters than brass or gold. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 225 
 
 Books — knowledge, brings of the by-gone 
 ages, 
 The nation's kings, and knights, and 
 sages ; 
 Their laws, their customs, their crimes, 
 their creed. 
 Are all revealed in the books we read; 
 The poets dream in the studied verse. 
 
 They to our minds so oft rehearse ; 
 The songs they sung, with soft refrain, 
 Like murmuring echoes we hear again. 
 
 A bookless world — how sad indeed, 
 
 No pen could measure one-half its need; 
 It's past a dead forgotten sea. 
 
 It's future a vague uncertainity ; 
 A giant, blind, in clanking chain 
 
 With vacant mind and stunted brain ; 
 Or who would wish to live or look. 
 
 Upon a world without a book? 
 
 Some one has defined the Pessimist as the 
 man that predicts a late spring, a dry summer, 
 an early autumn and a cold winter. He is also 
 the man that having choice between two evils 
 takes both. While the Optimist is decribed as 
 having a bump of hope larger than his head. 
 
226 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 TO BE A BOY 
 
 To be a boy — ^to be a boy — 
 With brilliant hopes, and laughing joy; 
 To wish to be — what we have been — 
 Say, tell me, is that wish a sin? 
 
 To be a boy, as glad and free, 
 As singing birds, or humming bee; 
 With heart as pure, and eyes as bright. 
 As gleaming stars on fields of night. 
 
 To be a boy, with feet as bare. 
 As mountain rocks in desert air; 
 Yes, feet unpierced by thorns of strife, 
 That hedge the way of manhood's life. 
 
 To be a boy, with conscience clean, 
 As brooks that dash the rocks between; 
 Where sin hath left no touch of slime, 
 And memory holds no deed of crime. 
 
 Oh, what could give us sweeter joy. 
 Than once again to be a boy? 
 To roam the woods, and wade the streams 
 And revel in sweet childish dreams. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 227 
 
 To seek wild flowers in shaded dells, 
 Drive home the cows, with tinkling bells, 
 To count the stars upon the sky, 
 Or chase the winged butterfly. 
 
 Our boyhood days will come no more, 
 They stand alone — on memory's shore ; 
 To wish, to pray, is all in vain. 
 We'll never be a boy again. 
 
 If we could cross the long ago. 
 
 And all be boys now don't, you know, 
 
 We'd do again as we did then, 
 
 We'd sigh, and wis.h, we could be men. 
 
 A DEAR LITTLE BOY 
 
 (The following lines written for Bro. Alex- 
 ander Tucker, who was mourning the loss of a 
 dear little grandson.) 
 
 God give us a smile, 
 
 For a little while, 
 On the face of a little boy ; 
 
 He was only lent. 
 
 As an angel sent. 
 To fill our hearts with joy. 
 
228 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 But one sad day, 
 
 He went away, 
 The little one to us given; 
 
 God thought it best, 
 
 To give him rest. 
 So he took him up to heaven. 
 
 He left us here. 
 
 In a world of care, 
 
 To tread this vale of sorrow ; 
 But it won't be long, 
 'Till we join the throng — 
 
 We are going home tomorrow. 
 
 Yes, by and by. 
 
 We'll upward fly. 
 To the place of lasting joy; 
 
 And there'll we see. 
 
 And there we'll be. 
 Forever with our boy. 
 
 CONUNDRUM 
 
 What is that running over the hill, 
 Running it is and yet it is still? 
 
 It runs by the farm, it runs by the mill, 
 Though it never did move and never will. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 229 
 
 The rain falls on it, yet it don't melt, 
 
 And while it's frozen the cold is not felt ; 
 
 It sometimes is lost, sometimes it is found, 
 It crosses the river, yet never is drowned. 
 
 And though we all use it, when to travel 
 we go. 
 We say that we take it, though we leave 
 it you Ijiow. 
 For no one is able to cary a load, 
 
 As big and as heavy as one Country 
 Road. 
 
 A PRAYER 
 
 Thou, that kindleth thought. 
 Within the human brain. 
 Whose hand doth touch the spring 
 In fancy's broad domain. 
 
 Let Thy pure spirit come. 
 This day into my heart, 
 And every passion rule, 
 That doth within it start. 
 
 Let my poor brain be filled. 
 Each day with thy pure light. 
 And through it let thy will. 
 Control my hand to write. 
 
230 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 So that its power may thrill, 
 Across the written page, 
 To counteract the ill — 
 And love and truth engage. 
 
 And so unfold that truth, 
 In beauty like a flower, 
 That it may bring its fruit,, 
 Of purity and power. 
 
 THE CANDIDATE 
 
 The time of election, though far away. 
 Is stirring the brains of some today; 
 
 The political asses begin to bray. 
 Wanting to nip official hay. 
 
 They come, they come, the hungry horde. 
 With shaking hand and honied word; 
 
 You cannot run out of their reach. 
 
 You cannot shun their shake or speech. 
 
 You never can their presence shirk — 
 Let patience have her perfect work. 
 
 They'll shake your hand, your back will slap. 
 And try to lead you in their trap. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 231 
 
 You may be old, you may be poor, 
 You may be mad, you may be sore; 
 
 But none of these will e'er prevail, 
 To turn vote hunters from your trail. 
 
 Of course they'll say they are not above you, 
 Or any way, they truly love you; 
 
 And tell you when you come to town. 
 You must be sure and come around. 
 
 They'll tell you why they are in the field — 
 To friends requests they had to yield — 
 
 They knew their fitness for the place. 
 Before they entered in the race. 
 
 They all grew up upon the farm. 
 
 They kissed the sun and hugged the storm, 
 Th-ey've gripped the plow and swung the hoe. 
 
 And raisied stone bruises on their toe. 
 
 Of course they dd not seek for wealth, 
 They quit the farm to seek for health. 
 
 No place for them now has such charm, 
 As the log cabin on the farm. 
 
 They know your folks from Adam down. 
 Both in the country and the town; 
 
 In all their houses they have been — 
 In fact, they are a little kin. 
 
232 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 They'll praise your farm and house and plow, 
 They'll praise your dog and horse and cow, 
 
 Your heart will over run with joys, 
 
 To hear them praise your girls and boys. 
 
 Each one will known he is the man. 
 And you must help him all you can. 
 
 Some cause for which he'll try to rake. 
 In kinship or acquaintance sake. 
 
 My friend, these things we've heard before. 
 And if we live we'll hear them more. 
 
 So when elections come to pass, 
 
 Go show them you don't vote for gas. 
 
 So vote for men that have a heart. 
 To love the right and do their part. 
 
 Men having brains as well as tongue. 
 Whether they be old or young. 
 
 We need true men with records clear, 
 That scoundrels dread and boodlers fear. 
 
 Sober and honest, kind but bold. 
 Who will not bend to rum or gold, 
 
 II 
 
 Some folks are always grumbling about 
 this cold, cruel, wicked old world; but when 
 they get sick they send for a doctor to help them 
 stay in it, 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 233 
 
 THREE FRIENDS 
 
 I have a friend in the hills — Dr. Will Wyatt — 
 He cures folks of their ills — or will try it — 
 Taking them thinner or thicker — 
 Making them weller or sicker — 
 On tonic — and pills — and diet. 
 
 I have a friend in town — we call him Hade — 
 That travels up and down — ^for the trade — 
 By nature he's a hummer, 
 By trade he's a drummer, 
 Traveling winter and summer — 
 To sell the best goods ever made (?) 
 
 Dr. Charles D. Tibbels — I admire — 
 He sings (not treble) — in the choir — 
 If he was fatter — he'd perspire — 
 But that's no matter — of desire — 
 As a doctor he is an eclectic — 
 He rides; o'er the roughest hills. 
 To cure the toughest ills — 
 Some he cures and some he — don't 
 With his powders and his pills — 
 Gets full payment on his bills 
 When he is able tg — collect it. 
 
234 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 YESTERDAY, TODAY AND TOMORROW 
 
 The men of today are the children of yes- 
 terday, and the children of today are the men 
 of tomorrow. Characters that move and impress 
 the world, are full-grown characters. They 
 grew yesterday — today they stand before us. 
 Likewise the characters that will control the 
 world tomorow, are now forming. The poor, 
 vile wretch, who blights the world with his touch 
 today, gathered the vileness in bygone days. 
 His life is but the reflection of his past environ- 
 ments. As Tennyson says, **He is part of all he 
 has met." The profane word, the filthy jest, the 
 vulgar song, that hangs upon his sin-polluted 
 lips, are not freshly gathered. They are leaves 
 from the Tree of Yesterday. They are today's 
 garment, woven on yesterday's loom., 
 
 "For the days of a man. 
 
 Are the looms of God, 
 
 Let down from the place of the sun. 
 
 Wherein we are weaving ever. 
 
 Till the Mystic Web is done." 
 
 The books read, the prayers prayed, the 
 sermons preached, the counsel given, in the by- 
 gone years have not perished. They still live, 
 and bring forth fruit daily in the lives of men 
 and women about us. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 235 
 
 A nameless man amid a crowd, 
 
 That throgned the daily mart, 
 
 Let fall a word of hope and love. 
 
 Unstudied from the heart; 
 
 A whisper on the tumult thrown, 
 
 A transitory breath, 
 
 It raised a brother from the dust. 
 
 It saved a soul from death. 
 
 A germ ! Oh, fount ! a word of love, 
 
 Oh, thought at random cast, 
 
 Ye were but little at the first, 
 
 But mighty at the last. 
 
 This being true, how careful we should be 
 to make pure impressions upon the minds and 
 hearts of the children about us. 
 
 The seed we cast, 
 May grow a tree. 
 That will ripen fruit, 
 For Eternity. 
 
 LfCt us not 
 
 Scatter seeds with a careless hand. 
 
 And dream we ne'er shall see them more. 
 
 But for a thousand years. 
 
 Their fruit appears. 
 
 In weeds that mar the land, 
 
236 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 Or healthful store. 
 
 The deeds we do, the words we say, 
 
 Into still air do seem to fleet. 
 
 We count them ever past, 
 
 But living they shall last, 
 
 In the dread judgment 
 
 They and we shall meet, 
 
 For the sake of children dear, 
 
 Keep thou the one true way. 
 
 In work and play, 
 
 Lest in that world their cry 
 
 Of woe thou hear. 
 
 THREE MINUTE'S SPEECH 
 
 (Answer to a ladies request for a 3 minute 
 speech at a woman^s meeting) 
 
 There is one thing at hand I don't understand. 
 
 It may be for want of head power; 
 Why a woman will limit a man to three minutes 
 
 And then talk herself for an hour; 
 But by your request, I will do my best. 
 
 To make you that little talk ; 
 ril have time to spit, to begin and to quit, 
 
 And then get down and walk, 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 237 
 
 ZEAL 
 
 A friend of mine 
 Called me to note 
 A four line verse 
 Which Pope once wrote. 
 
 Anl so that you 
 May know the verse 
 I will the same 
 To you rehearse: 
 
 "In virtues self 
 May too much zeal be had, 
 The worst of madness 
 Is a Saint run mad." 
 
 When I read this verse 
 My memory did recall 
 What the Ruler Festus 
 One time said to Paul (Acts 26:24) 
 
 Paul was very zealous, 
 Though Paul was not insane ; 
 He had a manly boldness. 
 But no disordered brain. 
 
238 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 Doubtless my friend 
 Put this before my face 
 Thinking these lines 
 Descriptive of my case. 
 
 Because I had displayed 
 On the Polemic field 
 What he perhaps had judged 
 An overheated zeal. 
 
 His judgment may be true, 
 Our selfwe cannot see; 
 I look and judge of you, 
 You look and judge of me. 
 
 So each one has his thought 
 Of what is right or wrong 
 And so by conscience taught 
 We are made weak or strong. 
 
 And so I had my thoughts, 
 And did express my views 
 On gambling laws in Arkansas 
 And joints for selling booze. 
 
 I do not wish to walk or talk. 
 
 So people cannot tell, 
 
 Whether I delight in what is right, 
 
 Or half way work for hell. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 239 
 
 We would not wear 
 
 The name of Saint 
 
 In any place or time 
 
 And then make choice 
 
 To lift our voice 
 
 Or cast our vote for crime. 
 
 The sword of steel 
 
 Unbacked by zeal 
 
 Will never gain the fight; 
 
 Zeal is the power 
 
 In conflict's hour — 
 
 The force that gains the right. 
 
 God grant us zeal 
 
 That we may feel 
 
 To fight against the bad; 
 
 I know we should 
 
 Strive for the good 
 
 Though some should count us mad. 
 
 WEATHER PROPHETS 
 
 Some did sigh 
 Some did cry, 
 Did prophesy 
 A drouth is nigh. 
 You may reply, 
 
240 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 It's all gone by. 
 The cloud is nigh. 
 Beneath the sky 
 The cool winds sigh, 
 'Cross com and rye. 
 The harvest coming 
 By and by. 
 The rain frog croaks 
 From shady oaks. 
 They sing and cry, 
 No drouth is nigh; 
 To tell there is. 
 You tell Si — thing, 
 That most of folks 
 Accept as jokes. 
 
 YOU CAN'T PLEASE THE WORLD 
 
 This world is in pain, 
 And no one can ease it; 
 This world will complain, 
 And no one can please it. 
 
 Talk just as you may, 
 Work just as you will ; 
 Someone will grumble. 
 And kick at you still. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 241 
 
 So decide what is right, 
 And go your own way, 
 Regardless of what 
 They may think or may say. 
 
 You can't please yourself, 
 Do the best that you can; 
 You need not expect, 
 To please some other man. 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN TOP 
 
 (Isaiah XI :9) 
 
 Do you hear that voice, my brother, 
 'Calling so soft and so low? 
 Calling you up to the mountains. 
 Say, will you hearken and go? 
 
 Go where the wild winds are winging, 
 Their way over mountains so free ; 
 Go where the wild vines are clinging, 
 To crag, and to shrub, and to tree. 
 
 Go up, where the birds are singing. 
 Their carols so light and so free ; 
 Go where the mountain brooks springing. 
 Run down with a song to the sea. 
 
242 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 Go up from the low land of sadness, 
 Of suffering, sorrow and strife ; 
 Go up to the mountain of gladness. 
 Where loving and serving is life. 
 
 Go up where the sun of God's morning. 
 Drives backward sin's shadows of night, 
 Where He gives His first kiss without 
 
 warning. 
 And scatters truth's arrows of light. 
 
 Go up from the vale of the devil. 
 Where his fires are parching the sod ; 
 Climb as near as you can to a level. 
 With angels that glorify God. 
 
 Let your voice come down to the low- 
 lands, 
 In tenderness, pity and love; 
 Inviting earth's weary pilgrims. 
 To climb to the mountains above. 
 
 Climb on to the peaks of the mountain. 
 That lift you up close to the sky ; 
 'Till God shall call you up higher. 
 To a mountain where none ever die. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 243 
 
 TOBEY 
 
 (My baby girls' kitten.) 
 
 Two little totsays with shining faces, 
 That keep a racket in various places; 
 That nurses Tobey in such a way. 
 That he looks too delicate most to stay 
 Where two little robust girls oft strives, 
 Against one cat with just nine lives; 
 That keep him most too weak to purr. 
 With no cat-hair and but little fur; 
 The silent wink of his small blue eye. 
 Says, ''I'm so vv^eak I almost die ;" 
 If he could talk, no doubt he would say, 
 "Now Maude and Marie, just run away, 
 For I'm so little, so vv^eak, so poor, 
 I want to rest and sleep some more !" 
 Poor little cat — if he only knew. 
 The thing he has the power to do, 
 I think he would unsheath his claw. 
 And scratch some girls in Arkansas; 
 Then two little girls would quickly know. 
 To put him down and let him go. 
 
 If the sun hurts your eyes, better shut your 
 eyes and not try to snuff the sun out. 
 
244 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 IF YOU HAVE 
 
 If you have a good heart keep, it; 
 If you have a good house, sweep it; 
 If you have a good field, reap it. 
 
 And gather the golden grain. 
 If you meet a good man, choose him 
 For your friend, and don't abuse him ; 
 If you do, you'll doubtless loose him, 
 
 And never find him again. 
 
 TWO LETTERS 
 
 (Letter No. 1) 
 
 Searcy, Arkansas, Dec. 3, 1902. 
 To Rev. J. L. Brown, Charlotte, Arkansas. 
 
 To all our friends, both far and near. 
 We crave your kind attention, 
 
 So please lend us now your ear, 
 While we a subject mention. 
 
 The ladies of the Baptist church. 
 Will hold one day, not distant far, 
 
 If we have been correctly told, 
 A handerchief bazaar. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 245 
 
 So this then is our plan in brief, 
 To help along this enterprize; 
 
 You each shall send a handerchief, 
 Regardless of its kind or size. 
 
 To be without a handerchief, 
 You know is quite distressing; 
 
 From every State let one be sent, 
 *Twill surely prove a blessing. 
 
 LAURA RUSSELL. 
 (Letter No. 2.) Charlotte, Ark., Dec. 10, 1902 
 To Miss Laura Russell, Searcy, Ark. 
 
 I am a friend, not far, but near — 
 At least, Fm close enough to hear — 
 
 And so you get my kind attention. 
 To the subject that you mention. 
 
 I cannot lend to you my ear — 
 I have to keep the thing to hear^ 
 
 Another reason may be plead — 
 Because it's fastened to my head. 
 
 Another also, will you view it — 
 
 It is so made you can't hear through it — 
 
 Another one comes up to view — 
 I think it is too large for you. 
 
246 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 When women speak we men must hear, 
 Or things may happen to our ear; 
 
 As I don't wish to come to grief, 
 ril send to you a handerchief. 
 
 I send you one, without a doubt. 
 
 That's long and healthy, big and stout, 
 
 Thats' able to resist the blows. 
 That comes upon it from the nose. 
 
 I know one day, without a doubt 
 It will get old and be blown out; 
 
 And none will then it want to keep. 
 Though some may say it NOSE a heap, 
 
 J. L. BROWN. 
 
 LINES TO MY WIFE 
 
 When the world looks gloomy, 
 And I am all blue. 
 And friends I once trusted. 
 Have proven untrue; 
 I know there is one, 
 Like the polar star, true. 
 Who never will fail me. 
 And that one is you. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 247 
 
 BE HONEST AND TRUE 
 
 Be honest and true,. 
 
 In all that you do, 
 Treat everyone square, on the level; 
 
 Then truly you may, 
 
 Go out any day, 
 And face the whole world or the devil. 
 
 But if it is seen, 
 
 You are dirty and mean, 
 In everything that you doeth ; 
 
 Then truly, I say. 
 
 You will run away, 
 When no one attack® or pursueth. 
 
 If some one should stray, 
 
 A step from the way. 
 Don't get a hot iron to brand him ; 
 
 He is only a man, 
 
 Then help what you can. 
 By a word or a smile that you hand him. 
 
 WHEN WE QUIT THIS WORLD OF SADNESS 
 
 When we quit this world of sadness. 
 Doubly so through strife and madness; 
 When we reach the land of gladness, 
 
248 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 Brighter than the morning sun; 
 There we'll meet and greet each other, 
 Where no strife will ever bother; 
 There we'll know and love each other, 
 
 And forever will be one. 
 
 Now while here within the sorrow. 
 Waiting for the coming morrow, 
 Let us heaven's sunshine borrow. 
 
 And bestow it on our brother; 
 Let us seek the peace of heaven, 
 Seek to forgive and be forgiven, 
 And not cast the devil's leaven, 
 
 Into the life of one another. 
 
 THE SPRING OF 1907 
 
 (Written April 17, 1907) 
 
 When old March got, 
 
 Her back so hot. 
 
 It seemed old winter. 
 
 Sure was lost; 
 But April come, 
 And changed it some, 
 And now we have. 
 
 Cold winds and frost, 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 249 
 
 The frog of spring, 
 So loud did sing, 
 It seemed he sure, 
 
 Would crack his throat; 
 But now he'll set. 
 Both cold and wet, 
 And never warble 
 
 Forth one note. 
 
 In early spring, 
 
 The wild goose winged 
 
 Her way up north. 
 
 To get her breath ; 
 But if next fall, 
 She does not squall, 
 We'll know its 'cause 
 
 She's froze to death 
 
 The comet's flight, 
 That caused such fright. 
 Before it burned. 
 
 The world you know, 
 Has missed its trail — 
 Or lost its tail — 
 Or else has turned. 
 
 It's fires to snow. 
 II 
 
 Some men pray the Lord to help suffering 
 humanity that wouldn't give a cripple tramp ^ 
 Cpld biscuitt 
 
250 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 JUST LaGRlPPE 
 
 What is this that creeps upon me, 
 That with gripping pain doth stun me, 
 And with chills doth over run me. 
 
 And with fever burns each pore? 
 With my head and back both aching, 
 While each bone feels as if breaking. 
 What disease is this Fm taking? 
 
 Just LaGrippe — and nothing more. 
 
 What is this that keeps me burning. 
 Keeps me aching, keeps me turinng. 
 And for rest doth keep me yearning, 
 
 While I'm sad, and sick, and sore? 
 Like a vise each nerve its gripping, 
 Like a buzz-saw through me ripping, 
 Like an iceberg on me dripping? 
 
 Just LaGrippe — and nothing more. 
 
 Nothing for it I am taking. 
 Stops the burning and the aching. 
 But my frame keeps up its shaking. 
 
 Making me both sick and sore; 
 While with hate I do abjure it, 
 Finding naught of drug to cure it, 
 I must grunt while I endure it. 
 
 Only grunt — and nothing more. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 261 
 
 THE FAMILY EPITAH 
 
 There be four graves nearby this stone, 
 One family in them sleeps alone — 
 A father, mother, daughter, son — 
 Please read the thing that ailed each one. 
 Father drank booze, mother ate snuff. 
 Son smoked cigarettes — that was enough — 
 Daughter wore corsets laced so tight, 
 Squeeed up her vitals, put out her light — 
 If you a new grave want to cram 
 Go act the fool and do like them. 
 
 THE MAIDEN 
 
 With eyes like the azure blue, 
 And lips like a budding rose, 
 With slipper instead of a shoe, 
 That show her ankle and toes. 
 
 She smiles and winks with her eye. 
 While passing a miserable "bum," 
 Then steps in a store to buy 
 Some chocolate drops and gum. 
 
 Then with a giggle and grin. 
 To a tune she shuffles her feet; 
 Beauty with her is no sin. 
 She thinks she has it complete. 
 
252 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 She travels along, and lo! 
 
 Her fellow she happens to meet, 
 
 Her "beauty," her "cutey" her "beau," 
 
 She dodges and turns from the street. 
 
 The dodge takes her form out of sight, 
 She is gone and her face he can't see. 
 But his heart beats high with delight, 
 At the sound of her tee-hee-hee. 
 
 Talk if you will and look wise, 
 Condemn the folly you see — 
 But red lips and bright blue eyes 
 Puts power into tee-hee-hee. 
 
 EXTRACT FROM A LETTER SENT HOME 
 
 In a little Brown cottage, 
 On top of a hill, 
 With its trees and its vines. 
 Where the mocking birds build. 
 Is the place I call home; 
 Tis the lap of my rest, 
 'Tis the home of my family, 
 The ones I love best, 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 253 
 
 THE SUNSET OF UFE 
 
 Th« sun set of life 
 With its hallow of glory 
 Will soon usher in 
 The end of life's day ; 
 We will lay down our pen 
 At the end of life's story, 
 Kiss the old world goodbye, 
 And then pass away. 
 Tht shadows will meet us. 
 The Angels will greet us 
 With songs of sweet gladness 
 And faces of light. 
 While Angels are singing 
 And pearl gates are swinging, 
 With glory bells ringing, 
 We'll bid you goodnight. 
 
 THE END 
 
254 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 ADDENDA 
 
 Within this book some things are mixed, 
 Some words and lines are out of fix ; 
 We hate the presence of the same, 
 But you, dear reader, arent' to blame ; 
 Though the book may not out-live them, 
 We ask the reader to forgive them, 
 We point them out, that you may find them, 
 Please pass them by and never mind them. 
 
 CORRECTIONS 
 Page 23. The last word in the first line 
 should be spelled blue, not blew. 
 
 In sound they are the same — 
 In meaning they are two — 
 As the man with the blue clothes, 
 His blue nose blew. 
 Page 24. In the fifth line, fo should be of. 
 This is simple, all may know, 
 You turn one of you make a fo. 
 Page 28. The word protrate in the sixth line 
 should be portrait. 
 
 A word's a picture of a thought. 
 You spoil the portrait — ^they are naught. 
 Page 29. One line is left out — ^the ninth and 
 tenth lines should read, 
 
 To still a fear 
 To dry the tear 
 Page 63. Line 14, word five, should be 
 warmer. 
 
BROWN SCRAPS 255 
 
 Page 72. Line 11, word five, should be 
 moral. 
 
 Page 72. The words, years before others, 
 some never cross, occur twice — ^they should only 
 occur one time. 
 
 Page 88. Only the first three verses belong 
 to the poem "Don't Kick." 
 
 Page 101. The way the fifth line shouldhave 
 been, "Look on the rose, it's beauty fair, drink 
 in. 
 
 Page 101. The last line in the second stanza 
 should read "It soon will fade beneath the blush 
 of morn." 
 
 Page 101. The second word in the last line 
 of the third stanza is prove, not rove. 
 
 Page 102. Line seven in "Dirt and crook" 
 should read "Yet in him still, we see the dirt" 
 
 Page 105. The last line in the fifth stanza, 
 should read, "And tell us that they did not die." 
 
 Page 108. The last line in the second stanza 
 should read, "Or the polar star hangs in the sky. 
 
 Page 162. Lines sixteen to twenty should 
 read, 
 
 He's a man that loves peace, 
 He's a man that loves fusses, 
 He's a man that sings songs. 
 He's a man that says cusses. 
 
 Page 163. Line four, reads Simoon, not 
 Simon. 
 
256 BROWN SCRAPS 
 
 The reason why this word is so, 
 Is 'cause the printer dropped an o. 
 Page 164. Line twenty should read, saloon, 
 not saloos. 
 
 In the saloon they have a juice, 
 That very soon makes men "saloos." 
 Page 181. Line twelve should read "No fin 
 on him. 
 
 No fish could ever stem the tide 
 If he had his fin inside. 
 Page 181. The line "To do the work that 
 he'd have done, which appears three lines from 
 the bottom of verse, should be omitted — it don't 
 belong there. 
 
 Page 216. The last words in the twelfth line 
 should read, whole terms, not hole term. 
 The printer made this "hole," 
 And then fell in it; 
 I'm not very "holy" 
 But I'm "wholy" ag'in it; 
 The charges that I hold 
 Against it to bring. 
 Is I hold that that "hole" 
 Liked to spoiled the "whole" thing. 
 Page 218. The fourth line in the third stanza 
 is left out — it ought to read, 
 The only book used 
 For spelling that day. 
 Was Webster's old blue back. 
 Which held right-of-way.