What matters it, Dear, though the burdens be sore? In the Valleys of Rest we shall weary no more, And the music of mirth with its solace shall sing All the songs of delight the beatitudes bring! II. Nevermore shall the days with the sorrows be sad Where the love-roses bloom and the joy-mornings glad-- Where the violets dream through the east and the west Of the beautiful lands in the Valleys of Rest! III. There the heart from its grief in a moment shall cease, And the soul hush its cries in the cadence of peace, And the life with the laughter of rhapsody blest Shall rejoice through the years in the Valleys of Rest. IV. O, the dear dreams that fled down the deeps of the past That await with their welcomes our coming at last; And the lips of our love that our lips never pressed Smiling there for their own in the Valleys of Rest! V. O, the raptures that stay for our glorified feet When the joys of the past and the future shall meet,-- When the hopes of the years shall return from their quest For the love-crowns of life in the Valleys of Rest! VI. Ah, the days, Dear, the days with their griefs and their glees Sail away on swift ships o'er eternity's seas; But at last we shall anchor with Love for our guest On the Paradise shores by the Valleys of Rest! The Ignorance of the Court. They tell a good story over at Guthrie at Judge Burford's expense. Recently, an old Tennessee darkey, charged with stealing chickens, was brought into court for trial. The facts were all against him. He had no attorney, and when the Judge asked him if he wanted an attorney appointed to defend him, he declared that he did not. "But you are entitled to a lawyer," the court explained, "and you might as well have the benefit of his services!" "Yoh Honah would jes' a'pint me some ob dese hyah po'ah white trash lawyehs," the old darkey replied, "an' he wouldn't do me no good. Ef it's jes' de same to you, jedge, I'd ruthah depen' on de ignorance ob de couht!" The Quest for Joy. I. A phantom I follow forever through all of the shadow and shine, Whose face is fair as the blossom, whose form is as warm as the wine; Whose lips are as sweet as the dewfalls that velvet the mornings of June, And eyes as the deep stars of Autumn that glow in the glories of noon! II. A phantom I follow forever! Yet never on ocean or land Have I heard the sweet voice of her music or leaped at the thrill of her hand, And never, ah, never a greeting she gives that is tender and kind, As I follow through mazes of beauty where flowers in her foot-steps I find! III. A phantom I follow forever! What matter though careless of me, She drifts to the sands of the desert and sails on the wave-tossing sea? With foot never parched by the barrens, with boat never broken by storm, I follow, I follow her passing and clutch at the wraith of her form! IV.