California Agriculturist and Live Stock Journal. 



^octnn 



Don't Leave the Farm. 



i-OME, boys I have Bometliing to tell you, 

 ^Comt! near, I woiiUl whispor it luw: 

 You are thinking of leaving the houieBtead, 



Don't be in a hurry to go. 

 The city hae mauy attractions. 



But think of the vices and einel 

 When once iu the vortex of fashion, 

 How soon the course downward begins. 



Tou talk of thfi mines of AuBtralia, 



They're wealthy in gold, without doubt. 

 But, ah! there is t,'old in the farm, boye, 



If only you'll shovel it out. 

 The mercantile life is a hazard, 



The goods are first high, and then low, 

 Better risk the old farm a while longer — 



Don't be in a hurry to go. 



The great, stirring world has inducementa, 

 There is many a busy mart, 



Bvit wealth is not made in a day, boys. 

 Don't be in a hurry to start. 



The bankers and brokers are wealthy. 

 They take in their thousandi^ or so; 



Ahl thinR of the frauds and deceptions- 

 Don 't be in a harry to go. 



The farm is the safest and surest, 



The orchards are loaded to-day; 

 You're free as the air of the mountains. 



And mojiarch of all you survey. 

 Better stay on the farm a while longer. 



Though profits should come ratht'r slow; 

 Bemember you've nothing to risk, boyb— 



Don't be in a hurry to go I 



Cottage Music. 



When the cottage door is open, and the air is bright 



and clear, 

 Then the sound of children's laughter echoes on the 



listening ear. 

 And the fall of little footsteps, pattering on the rustic 



fluor. 

 Gently lures the tired wookman to his peaceful honae 



once more. 



Oh, the music of young voicesi oh, the tuneful little 

 feet I 



How thty rise and fall together, keeping time in ca- 

 dence swee*^^; 



Like the ever-moving planets that make harmony 

 above, 



Lo the happy notes of childhood vibrate on the chords 

 of love. 



On the settee sits the grandsire, with bis eyes so old 



and dim. 

 That the little sunny faces seem like fading dreams to 



hira; 

 But he hears their merry TOices, and it almost makes 



him young, 

 As he tries to catch themeaxung of each little prattling 



tongue. 



Oh, the merry laughing voices, how melodiously they 



tlow, 

 Bringing to the old man's memory happy days of long 



ago, 

 When he, too, could shout with gladness, when ho, 



too. was bright and bold, 

 Long before his children's children told him how the 



world grew old. 



And the music of young voices, long as this fair earth 

 shall last, 



Will re-link the joyous present with the half-forgotten 

 past; 



And the ring of little footsteps, pattering on the cot- 

 tage floor. 



Will be heard the wide world over, till there shall be 

 time no more. 



— [Christian Weekly. 



The World is What We Make It. 



I've seen some people in this life 



Who always are repining. 

 Who never, never yet could seel 



The storm-cloud's silver lining. 

 Tht-re always something is amiss. 



From sunrise to its setting; 

 That Ciod's hand made thtir map of life, 



They seem the. while forgetting. 



And I have seen a blessed sight 



To sin-beclouded vision. 

 Some people who. where'er they be, 



Make eartli seem an Elysium. 

 They always see the brightest side — 



The direful shadows never — 

 And ktep the flowers of hope in bloom 



Within their heai-ts forever. 



The one can make the sunniest day 



Seem wondrous sad and dreary; 

 The other smiles the clouds away 



And makes a dark day cheery. 

 This life of ours is, after all, 



About as we shall make it. 

 If we can banish grief and care, 



Let's haste to undertake it. 



Life's Lessons. 



BT 80PB1A ANDREWS. 



The laughing hours of childhood 



Too quickly pass away. 

 Like some bright dream departing, 



Which leaves no cheering ray. 



No cheering ray within our hearts, 

 Now filled with anxious cares; 



Wo grieve for life's realities 

 Come on us unawares. 



The young heart, unacquainted 

 With the dangers of the world. 



Goes forth to meet its terrors. 

 With Hope's fair flag unfurled. 



The path which leads to evil 

 Is tempting, bright vud fair; 



We do not see the serpent 

 Who coils in ambush there. 



Then bitter disappointment, 

 With all its withering train. 



Has crushed the spirit's brightness — 

 Twill never bo the same. 



Then laughing eyes forget to smile 

 And blooming cheeks grow pale; 



Our eheriahed hopes are all o'erthrown 

 And tell their own sad tale. 



And thus it is with those who live 



In this dark world of ours; 

 Too oft they grasp the cypress wreath 



Concealed amid the fluwers. 



Then let us in life's morning, 



When life itself is new; 

 Be ever watchful, waiting. 



With one bright end iu view. 



Centennial, 



BYWM.nOSB WALLACB. 



Hurrah I Hurrah ! 



We love the Law 

 That gives alone true station; 



Since he began, 



•Tis work makes man 

 Companion in creation; 



Aud, O can he 



More noble tw 

 Than out 'mid Nature's forces 



While God's eyes see 



His harmony, 

 With Setdtime's, Harvest's, courses? 



Brothers, hun-ah 



For love of Law, 

 And it 't could have more growing, 



O, sure it shall — 



Centennial 

 Is almost on us glowing 1 



A hundred years 



Of Miud's, Arm's, spheres 

 For millions have been rolling; 



Joy! Freedom's Bell, 



Exulting swell I 

 All earth hears thy grand tolling. 



Then let us make 



With Plow, Hoe. Rake, 

 This year yield Cbown ovation 



Upon our sod 



Unto the God 

 Of Freedom's and Work's Nation, 



'Hayseed." 



Timothy and millet seed, 



Kedtop and clover. 

 Scatter them broadcast. 



Sow 'em all over. 

 Powdered with hayseed, 



Brown locks aud fair, 

 Cute little barley straws, 



SticRiug everywhere. 

 Hurrah for hayseed! 



How it makes them stare. 



Timothy and millet seed. 



Red top aud clover, 

 Sengs of running brooks. 



Lays of the plover, 

 Odors of hay mows. 



Gold of the corn. 

 Hayseed will rule the world. 



Sure as you are burn; 

 Ring the bell for hayseed. 



Toot the mellow horn I 



Timothy aud millet seed, 



Redtop and clover; 

 Grangers everywhere 



All the country over; 

 Hark! to the wild goose 



Heralding the spring. 

 All his song is " Hayseedl" 



Hear the arches ring. 

 Ajnen, to Hayseed; 



Hayseed is king! I 



—[Mrs- M. C. Clarke. 



Several fruit-dealers iu Portland, Me., are 

 sending apples to Kurope, receiving twelve 

 dollars a barrel. 



Honor to Our Workmen. 



Whom shall we call our heroes? 



To whom our praises singf 

 The pampered child of fortunei 



The titled lord or king ? 

 They live by others' labor — 



Take all and nothing give; 

 The noblest type of manhood 



Are those who work to live. 

 Then honor to our workmen. 



Out hardy sons of toil — 

 The heroes of the workshop, 



And monarchs of the soil. 



Who spans the earth with iron, 



And rears the palace dome? 

 Whu creates for the rich man 



The comforts of a homo ? 

 It is the patient toilerl 



All honor to him then; 

 The true wealth of the nation 



Is iu her working men. 



For many barren ages 



Earth hi<l lii;r treasure deep. 

 And all her giant forces 



Seemed bound as in a sleep; 

 Then Labor's "anvil choras'* 



Broke on the startled air, 

 Aud lo! the earth in rapture 



Laid all her riches bare. 



'Tis toil that over nature 



Gives man his proud control. 

 And purifles and halJows 



The t^jmples of his soul. 

 ItTseatters foul diseases, 



With all the ghastly trains; 

 Put iron in the muscle, 



And crystal in the brain. 



The Grand, Almighty Builder, 



Who fashioned out the earth. 

 Hath stamped His seal <>t' honor 



On Labor from her birth. 

 In every angel flower 



That blossoms from the sod. 

 Behold the Master touches — 



The handiwork of God! 

 Then honor to our workmen, 



The hardy sons of toil— 

 The heroes of the workshops 



And mouarchs of the soil I 



Good Farmer James* 



If you had known good Farmer James, 

 Whose life in ways of labor ran, 



You would have known of sterling wortU- 

 The virtues of an honest man. 



He never traveled far away; 



A foreign shore he ne'er had seen. 

 And all his life was humbly passed 



Where his forefathers' lives had been. 



His fields were ample for his wish. 

 And yielded crops, with some to spare 



For those whose lives were sorrowful 

 With sickness, poverty, and care; 



For 'twas bis pleasure to assist 

 In every way the worthy poor. 



And when the suffering came his wa7 

 No bolt was found upon the door. 



Yet idleness ne'er found a friend 

 In Farmer Jame.. Sloth was a vice. 



And carelessness and levity 

 Were wrong and sinful in his eyes. 



His was the ever-constant aim 

 To help his fellows all he could. 



And ne'er was he so happy as 

 When to his neighbors doing good. 



His life was simple from the first. 

 And when it ripened to its close. 



And he was laid away, for him 

 No word but that uf praise arose; 



For he had left a legacy 



Richer than gold and jewels prove— 

 A legacy of honest worth, 



Of noble actions, and of love. 



The Joy of Doing Good- 



If thou wouldst know the purest joy 

 That e'er suffused the soul of man, 

 Or deep within his bosom burned — 

 Pure, beaveu-boru joy without alloy — 

 Go forth where only God can scan 

 The act; go where His love is spurned. 

 And where His peace is never known, 

 Aud take a fallen brother's hand 

 In thine, and lead him to the Light, 

 Do this because thy love has grown 

 More like the Master's, truly grand. 

 And He whose omnipresent sight 

 Beaches beyond all mortal ken, 

 Down to the depths of every heart. 

 Will see the hidden motive there. 

 If for His sake ye do it, then 

 A joy which seems of heaven a part 

 Shall give thee peace beyond compare. 



It is better to be flush in the pocket than in 

 the face. 



