UNCLE BILL'S IDEA

I've figgered out that worryin’ do n't pay a little bit,

Fer every feller's got to have some trouble in his day;

An’ wonderin’ what's comin’ next do n't help to sidetrack hit —

You can n't foretell afflictions, or stop‘ em, thataway!

It's better jest to take what's sent

And stand it, ef you ai n't content!

Looks like to me that every one has got a large amount

Of things to bear that he do n't like, as through this life he goes;

And though of happy days we're apt to lose the rightful count,

Things even up before we die, as every old man knows.

There ai n't no great monopoly

On sickness ner bad luck, I gee!

We've got to stand our share of pain and meet a heap of sorrow;

We've got to shoulder burdens that no one likes to tote;

But worryin’ about the load, and thinkin’ of th’ morrow

Do n't make it one mite easier, er cheerfuller, I note!

Th’ way to do is jest t’ grin

And hope for better times ag'in;

“But I can n't grin!” some people say.

Then do n't — but bear it, anyway!