A Psalm Of Life

Tal me not, yu knocking fallers,
Life ban only empty dream;
Dar ban planty fun, ay tal yu,
Ef yu try Yohn Yohnson's scheme.
Yohn ban yust a section foreman,
Vorking hard vay up on Soo;
He ban yust so glad in morning
As ven all his vork ban tru.

"Vork," say Yohn, "ban vat yu mak it.
Ef yu tenk yure vork ban hard,
Yu skol having planty headaches, -
Yes, yu bet yure life, old pard;
But ay alvays yerk my coat off,
Grab my shovel and my pick,
And dis yob ant seem lak hard von
Ef ay du it purty qvick."

Yohn ban foreman over fallers.
He ant have to vork, yu see;
But, yu bet, he ant no loafer,
And he yust digs in, by yee!
"Listen, Olaf," he skol tal me,
"Making living ant no trick.
And the hardest yob ban easy
Ef yu only du it qvick!"

"Let us den be op and yumping,
Always glad to plow tru drift;
Ven our vork ban done, den let us
Give some oder faller lift.
Den, ay bet yu, old Saint Peter,
He skol tenk ve're purty slick;
Ve can go tru gates, ay bet yu,
Ef ve only du it qvick!"

William F. Kirk

William F. Kirk was an American poet and writer, known for his humorous and satirical works. His poetry often reflected the everyday lives and struggles of ordinary people, presented in a light-hearted yet insightful manner. Kirk also wrote prose, contributing to various newspapers and magazines. His works were widely appreciated for their wit and relatability, making him a popular figure in early 20th-century American literature.

William F. Kirk

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English

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Th' Honest Hard Worker.

It's hard what poor fowk mun put up wi'!
What insults an snubs they've to tak!
What bowin an scrapin's expected,
If a chap's a black coit on his back.
As if clooas made a chap ony better,
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As if muck in a carriage smell'd sweeter
Nor th' same muck wod smell in a cart.

Give me one, hard workin, an' honest,
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It doesn't mak th' man onny worse.
Awm sick o' thease simpering dandies,
'At think coss they've getten some brass,
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It's a poor sooart o' life to be leadin,
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It's Up To You

Ay s'pose yu tenk life ban hard game.
Ay guess yu lak to qvit, perhaps.
Ay hear yu say, "It ban a shame
To see so many lucky chaps."
Yu say, "Dese guys ban mostly yaps:
Ay vish ay had some money, tu,
And not get all dese gude hard raps."
Val, Maester, it ban op to yu.

Sometimes ay s'pose yu vork long hours,
And ant get wery fancy pay;
Den yu can't buying stacks of flowers
And feed yure girl in gude café,
And drenk yin rickies and frappé.
Oh, yes! dis mak yu purty blue.
Yu lak to have more fun, yu say?
Val, Maester, it ban op to yu.

Dis vorld ant got much room to spare
For men vich make dis hard-luck cry, -
'Bout von square foot vile dey ban har,
And six feet after dey skol die.
Time "fugit," - high-school vord for "fly";
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Peter Prime's Principles.

"Sup up thi gill, owd Peter Prime,
Tha'st have a pint wi' me;
It's worth a bob at onny time
To have a chat wi' thee.
Aw like to see thi snowy hair,
An cheeks like apples ripe, -
Come squat thi daan i'th' easy cheer,
Draw up, an leet thi pipe.
Tho' eighty years have left ther trace,
Tha'rt hale an hearty yet,
An still tha wears a smilin face,
As when th' furst day we met.
Pray tell me th' saycret if tha can
What keeps thi heart soa leet,
An leeavs thi still a grand owd man,
At we're all praad to meet?"

"Why lad, my saycret's plain to see,
An th' system isn't hard;
Just live a quiet life same as me,
An tha'll win th' same reward.
Be honest i' thi dealins, lad,
That keeps a easy mind;
Shun all thi conscience says is bad,
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A Good Fellow

Dey tal me ay ban a gude faller.
Ay guess dey ban right; but, yee whiz!
Ef yu ever ban a gude faller,
Yu know 'bout how costly it is.
Ay vork op in voods since Nowember,
And ban op on drive all the spring,
And den ay com down har in city
And vatch all my riches tak ving.

Oh, yes, ay ban yolly gude faller, -
All venter ay eat pork and beans;
Ay only ban har since last Monday,
Now ay ant got cent in my yeans.
Dese geezers dat call me "Old Stocking,"
And pat me lak hal on the back,
Skol give me gude snub 'bout to-morrow,
And calling me "slob lumberyack!"

Ay meet bunch of fallers last Monday,
Yust after ay cashing my check;
Ay s'pose dat ay have it all coming.
Val, ay getting it gude, right in neck.
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A Psalm Of Life. What The Heart Of The Young Man Said To The Psalmist.

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
    "Life is but an empty dream!"
For the soul is dead that slumbers.
    And things are not what they seem.

Life is real!    Life is earnest!
    And the grave is not its goal;
"Dust thou art, to dust returnest,"
    Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
    Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
    Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
    And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
    Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
    In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
    Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasan...

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The "Lumberyack"

"Roll out!" yell cookee
"It ban morning," say he,
"It ban daylight in svamps, all yu guys!"
So out of varm bunk
Ve skol falling kerplunk,
And rubbing lak blazes our eyes.
Breakfast, den hustle; dinner, den yump!
Lumberyack faller ban yolly big chump.

"Eat qvick!" say the cook.
"Oder fallers skol look
For chance to get grub yust lak yu!"
So under our yeans
Ve pack planty beans,
And Yim dandy buckvheat cakes, tu.
Den out on the skidvay, vorking lak mule.
Lumberyack faller ban yolly big fule.

"Vatch out!" foreman say.
Den tree fall yure vay,
And missing yure head 'bout an inch.
Ef timber ban green,
Ve skol rub kerosene
On places var coss cut skol pinch.
Sawing and chopping, freeze and den sveat.
Lumberyack faller ban...

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