Hand in hand to the dawn, dear, We go to the gates of day. Where the sweet light beckons on, dear, And the roses line the way; And whether the clouds are heavy Or whether the skies are blue, A song on the lips of love, dear, And a light in the eyes of you! Hand in hand to the dawn, dear, We go through the happy years, Where the feet of the joys have gone, dear, And the smile of the gold appears; And whether the fates are friendly And whether the blossoms few, The touch of the hand is brave, dear, And a song in the heart of you! Hand in hand to the dawn, dear, We travel the dusty road, With the bruise of the battle's brawn, dear, And the weight of the labor's load; But whether we lose or conquer, And whether the rose or rue, A song on the paths we go, dear, And a smile on the face of you! Hand in hand to the dawn, dear We go to the gates of day, Where the sweet light beckons on, dear, And the roses line the way; And whether the clouds are heavy, Or whether the skies are blue, A song on the lips of love, dear, And a light in the eyes of you! Caught on the Fly. A man is what he is, not what he heaps around him. When life passes into the rocking-chair existence, it has no energies for combat. To have one friend who believes in you is more than to be a favorite of extreme good fortune. Little Sermons. Untempted virtue is frequently only undeveloped vice. When a man's religion brings a long face, he simply got fooled in the article he found. So many people think heaven must be up yonder because they have never tried to find it here below. You Sang to Me, Dear! I. You sang to me, Dear, in the morns far away, When the birds of the spring sang the matins of May, And the songs that you sang to me then were as sweet As the whispers the daisies lisped low at your feet. II. You sang to me, Dear, in the noons far away, When the fairies of joy sang the love-songs of May, And the touch of your hand was as tender and true As the longings of love in the dear heart of you! III. You sang to me, Dear, in the nights far away, When the dews of the dusk kissed the rose-lips of May, And the dews of your lips were as soft as the dew, And your eyes were as bright as the stars over you! IV. O, the morn and the noon and the night, when your lips In the sweetest of raptures brought sorrow's eclipse! They have died with the years on the deserts of men, Yet your heart to my heart sings the love-songs again! V. And the blossoms still bloom on the beautiful way Where the dews of the dusk kiss the rose-lips of May, And the noon and the night from the far away shore Sing the songs that you sang, to my heart evermore! Caught on the Fly. A bar-room full of laughter is more attractive than a home used for rag-chewing.