THE IRRIGATION AGE. 



37 



T" leave ray work behind me. an' the 



troubles that infest, 

 'T' visit all rny kinfolks, for of late we've 



prospered well. 

 An' I've worked so hard she figures I 



should have a breathin' spell. 

 But seemingly there's somethin' allers 



doing on a farm. 

 An' if I ain't here t' do it, things might 



somehow come t' harm. 

 So I tell her 'long in April: "Well, I guess 



I'll cut an' run 

 An' leave all care behind me when I get 



the plantin' done ! '' 



The plan appears t' suit her. so I labor like 



a Turk, 

 Through May an' June, kept busy by the 



season's rush o' work. 

 By that time wheat's t' harvest an' my 



early corn's in silk. 

 There's calves that need attention and 



there's four fresh cows t' milk. 

 An' then there's lots o' tinkerin' 'fore 



summer work begins: 

 The wheat crop's extra heavy an' I'll have 



t' have more bins. 

 Somebody has t' plan things, an' it seems 



like I'm the one. 

 So I s"ay: "I'll have that visit when I get 



the threshin' done !" 

 July slips into August and September 



runs its nice. 

 An' still my time is occupied a-fixin' up 



the place. 

 A-niendin fences maybe, pickin' apples. 



niakin' hay. 

 An' pretty soon October an' November's 



slipped away. 

 Then 'fore one knows it, winter holds us in 



his frosty vise, 

 The stock needs more attention, an' I have 



t' put up ice. 

 An' I haven't time t' take that promised 



visit now, 'tis plain, 



For before I'd get half ready, 'twould be 

 plantin' time again! 



Orange Judd Farmer. 



FROM THE "AMEN" CORNER. 

 You say the hymns is dogg'rel that they 



ain't refined enough; 

 That all the time we've sung 'em they've 



been nothin' else but stuff; 

 You say they need revisin' we must make 



'em more polite; 

 "On Jordan's Stormy Banks I Stand" is 



not constructed right; 

 But, just the same, Perfessor Triggs, you'd 



better let 'em be 

 The Lord he understands 'em so they're 



good enough for me. 



I s'pose there's nothin' finer than that good 



old "Beulah Land," 

 And when our Lizzie sings it you can see 



the glories grand; 

 When "Rock of Ages" rings out from the 



hallelujah shore, 

 I tell you this old sinner ain't a-goin to 



drift no more; 

 And when they strike "Amazin' Grace," 



each feller singin' free 

 The Lord he understands it, so it's good 



enough for me. 



It isn't what you're singin' why, I often- 

 times forget 



And praise the Lord to music with the 

 good old alphabet, 



Until I strike the words again, and I don't 

 think it's wrong 



It isn't what is in it. but the soul behind 

 the song. 



So, I tell you, Perfessor Triggs. you'd bet- 

 ter let 'em be 



The Lord he understands 'em, so they're 



good enough for me. 

 Josh Wink in Baltimore American. 



