Poems (Merrill)/Every Cloud Hath Silver Lining
EVERY CLOUD HATH SILVER LINING
(In response to "Pennies In The Box" by R. F. D. carrier No. 1, Buckfield.)
It is said that there are sunbeams
Shining in the distant blue;
Tho' the dark and angry storm-clouds
May obscure them from our view,
Thus, mayhaps, the seeming hardships
Of the rural carrier's lot
Are but shadows, merely flitting
Lest the sunbeams get too hot.
Shining in the distant blue;
Tho' the dark and angry storm-clouds
May obscure them from our view,
Thus, mayhaps, the seeming hardships
Of the rural carrier's lot
Are but shadows, merely flitting
Lest the sunbeams get too hot.
Though at times, the mailman's fingers
Are half frozen, and he talks
Language of his own invention,—
Cursing "pennies in the box."—
Though obliged to doff his mittens
In the zero wind, intent
On opening an icy mail-box—
Struggling with a wayward "cent."
Are half frozen, and he talks
Language of his own invention,—
Cursing "pennies in the box."—
Though obliged to doff his mittens
In the zero wind, intent
On opening an icy mail-box—
Struggling with a wayward "cent."
He should ne'er let angry passions
Vex his spirit—cloud his brow,—
For, beyond the sombre cloudlet
There are sunbeams shining now!
He can breathe "health-giving ozone"
With no doctor's fees to pay—
All distructive germs dispelling
By "Fresh-air-cure" every day!
Vex his spirit—cloud his brow,—
For, beyond the sombre cloudlet
There are sunbeams shining now!
He can breathe "health-giving ozone"
With no doctor's fees to pay—
All distructive germs dispelling
By "Fresh-air-cure" every day!
He should count the many blessings
That around his pathway creep—
No matter if the path's blockaded
By a snow drift hard and deep,—
He should cultivate his patience
With a fortitude most rare;
Ne 'er should frown beset his features—
Never even wish to swear!
That around his pathway creep—
No matter if the path's blockaded
By a snow drift hard and deep,—
He should cultivate his patience
With a fortitude most rare;
Ne 'er should frown beset his features—
Never even wish to swear!
These R. F. D. chaps should be happy,
But, alas, contentment damps
When they worry that "we patrons"
Don't lay in a stock of stamps,—
If they'd gather up our pennies
And not grumble, they would see
Each and every patron murmur
Blessings on the R. F. D.!"
But, alas, contentment damps
When they worry that "we patrons"
Don't lay in a stock of stamps,—
If they'd gather up our pennies
And not grumble, they would see
Each and every patron murmur
Blessings on the R. F. D.!"