St. Tammany farmer. [volume] (Covington, La.) 1874-current, 1884-07-19
PESSLMISM,

1t scarcely is, if all men were like you''
Bright-faced maiden, bright-souled maiden.
What Is this that must hearg
Is thy heart with sorrow laden.
Is thine eye dimmed with tear2
Can IT be that lips so sweetly
Rounded to be kindly kissed,
Could be twisted indiecreerly
To that vile word Pessimist!
Not for thine own Ills thou wecpest;
Softly feathered is thy nest:
When thou wakest, when thou sleepest
Thou art fortuned with the best.
But thy sisters and thy brothers
Pierced with many a wOeful smart
Dying children, ailing mothers,
Fret thy nerve. and stab thy heart.
In the country, in the city.
Goddess deeds, a loveless list
Stir thy blood aud move thy pity,
And thou art a Pcssimist.
Storms and wars and tribulations,
Fevered passions reinless tide,
With insane hallucinations
Mingled travel Ear and wide.
Can there be an Eye inspecting
Things so tumbiing in pell-mell,
With u cool control directing
Such a hotbed, such he'll.
Nay, sweet maid, but think more slowly:
Though this thing and that be sad,
'Tis logic most unholy
That the gross OF things is bad;
'Tis trick of melancholy,
Tainting life with deaths alloy;
Or in wisdom, or in folly,
Nature still delights in joy.
Dost thou hear of starving sinners?
Nine and ten or ninety-nine,
Many thousands eat good dinners,
Many hundreds quaff good wine.
Hast thou seen score of cripples?
Equal legs are not uncommon;
If you know one fool that tpples,
Thousands drink hoffman and woman;
Tell me, if you know, how many
Murders happen in the town?
One year, perhaps, if any;
Should that weigh your heart quite DOWN.
No doubt If you read the papers,
You will find a strange hotch-potch-
Doting dreams, deliriouS capers,
Many a blunder, blot and blotch;
Bags of windy speculation,
Babblement of small ana great,
Cheating, swindling, peculation,
SQuabblement of Church and State:
Miners blown up. humbugs shown up,
Beaten wives, insulted brides,
Ravinr preachers. witless teachers,
Lunatics and suicides.
Drains and cesspools Paintings. fevers.
Poisoned cats and stolen coilies,
Simple women, gay deceivers,
Every sort and size of fOilies,
Wandering NJ. p brainless babble,
Deputations, meetings. dinners,
Riots of the lawless rabble,
Purple sins of West End sinners;
Driving, dicing. drinking. dancing.
Spirit-rapping, Xhostly stun,
Bubble schemes. and dett financing.
When the shares are blown enough.
All this is true: when men cut capers
That make the people talk or stare,
Tomorrow. when you ope the papers,
You're sure to flnd your antics there.
bul yOu uuu 0uu I'll OuT ucfKuuOEs,
Meanwhile in pure and peaceful ways,
With link on link of fruitful labors,
Draw out our chain of happy days.
See things as they are: be sober;
Balance well life's loss and gain:
If to-day be chill October,
Summer suns will come again.
Are bleak winds for ever signing?
Do dark clouds for ever lowery
Are your friends all dead and dying?
All your sweetness turned to sour?
Great men no doubt have sometimes small
But horse is not an ass,
And black-snake is not always
Lurking in the soft green grass.
Don't be hasty, gentle lady:
In this whirl of diverse things
Keep your footing. and with steady
Poise control your equal wings.
All things can't to all be pleasant,
love bitter. you love sweet:
Some faint when 4 cat is present,
Rats find babies cheeks a treat.
If all tiny things were tall things
If all petty things were grand,
Where would greatness be, when all things
On one common level stand?
Do you think the winged breezes
Fraught with healthy ventilation,
When a tender infant sneezes
Should retreat with trepidation?
When dry Earth to Heaven is calling
For soft rain and freshening dew,
Shall the rain refrain from falling
Lest my lady wet her shoe2
Fools still rush to rash conclusions,
And the mole-eyed minion man
Talks of troubles and confusions,
When he sees not half the plan.
Spare to blame and fear to cavil,
With short leave dismiss your pain.
Let no fretful fancies rcveI
In the sanctum Of your brain.
Use no magnifyinR glasses
To change mOlehills into mountains,
Nor on every hill that passes
Pour hot tears from bitter fountains.
Trust in God and know your duty.
Some good things are in your power:
Every day will bring its booty
From the labor of the hour.
Never wreck what folos are prating,
Work and wait, let sorrow lie;
Live and love; have done with hating,
Goethe says-and SO say I.
-Bldckrood's MdgdzinS.