I've thought a power on men and things, As my uncle ust to say,-- And ef folks don't work as they pray, i jings! W'y, they ain't no use to pray! Ef you want somepin', and jes dead-set A-pleadin' fer it with both eyes wet, And _tears_ won't bring it, w'y, you try _sweat_, As my uncle ust to say. They's some don't know their A, B, Cs, As my uncle ust to say, And yit don't waste no candle-grease, Ner whistle their lives away! But ef they can't write no book, ner rhyme No ringin' song fer to last all time, They can blaze the way fer the march sublime, As my uncle ust to say. Whoever's Foreman of all things here, As my uncle ust to say, He knows each job 'at we 're best fit fer, And our round-up, night and day: And a-sizin' _His_ work, east and west, And north and south, and worst and best I ain't got nothin' to suggest, As my uncle ust to say. THE SINGER. While with Ambition's hectic flame He wastes the midnight oil, And dreams, high-throned on heights of fame, To rest him from his toil,-- Death's Angel, like a vast eclipse, Above him spreads her wings, And fans the embers of his lips To ashes as he sings. A FULL HARVEST. Seems like a feller'd ort 'o jes' to-day Git down and roll and waller, don't you know, In that-air stubble, and flop up and crow, Seein' sich craps! I'll undertake to say There're no wheat's ever turned out thataway Afore this season!--Folks is keerless tho', And too fergitful--'caze we'd ort 'o show More thankfulness!--Jes' looky hyonder, hey?-- And watch that little reaper wadin' thue That last old yaller hunk o' harvest-ground-- Jes' natchur'ly a-slicin' it in-two Like honey-comb, and gaumin' it around The field--like it had nothin' else to do On'y jes' waste it all on me and you! BLIND. You think it is a sorry thing That I am blind. Your pitying Is welcome to me; yet indeed, I think I have but little need Of it. Though you may marvel much That _we_, who see by sense of touch And taste and hearing, see things _you_ May never look upon; and true Is it that even in the scent Of blossoms _we_ find something meant No eyes have in their faces read, Or wept to see interpreted. And you might think it strange if now I told you you were smiling. How Do I know that? I hold your hand-- _Its_ language I can understand-- Give both to me, and I will show You many other things I know. Listen: We never met before Till now?--Well, you are something lower Than five-feet-eight in height; and you Are slender; and your eyes are blue--