Category: Newspapers

From the Rock Island Argus, August 5, 1914. By Henry Howland.

The skies cannot always be clear, my dear;
The merriest eye may still have its tear;
The sorrow that lurks in your bosom today,
Like the clouds, when you’ve wept, will go floating away,
And the skies will be blue that are sullen and gray,
        My dear.

If it’s going to rain, my dear, it will rain;
The day will not brighten because you complain;
There are sorrows that every good woman must bear,
There are griefs of which every good man has a share;
It is only the fool who has never a care,
        My dear.

The skies cannot always be clear, my dear;
Sweets wouldn’t be sweet were no bitterness here;
There could never be joy if there never was sorrow,
The sob of today may be laughter tomorrow;
There is gladness as well as black trouble to borrow,
        My dear.

From the Rock Island Argus, August 4, 1914. By Henry Howland.

If I possessed an income, say,
    Of thirty thousand dollars yearly
And had it fixed in such a way
    That I could see it coming clearly;
If, whether I should work or not,
    The money kept on rolling to me,
I do not think a dismal thought
    Would ever stubbornly pursue me.

If such an income could be mine
    And I were young as well as wealthy,
If ladies thought my gifts divine,
    And I were handsome, too, and healthy,
If men should always speak of me
    In terms that were most eulogistic,
I don’t think I should ever be
    A fretful man or pessimistic.

If I had all the blessings which
    Lie out beyond my reach at present;
If I were handsome, young and rich
    And my surroundings were all pleasant,
I might have freedom from regret;
    The chances are, though, that I shouldn’t,
For still, no doubt, I’d long to get
    Some other something that I couldn’t.