His daughter, thinking to cheer him, said, “Father, don’t get discouraged.  You have one comfort anyway; it won’t be long till the end of toil will come, when you will have a good long rest in the grave where no misfortune can reach you.”

“I don’t know about that,” replied the father; “it will be about my luck for the next morning to be resurrection day and I’ll have to be up at daylight as usual.”

Another man, who always looked on the bright side of life, and when anything went wrong always looked up something good to match it, happened to lose a fine horse.  When friends expressed sympathy he said:  “I can’t complain; I never lost a horse before.”  Then his crop failed and he said:  “After ten years of good crops I have no kick coming because of one failure.”  Finally, poor fellow, a railroad train ran over him and both feet had to be amputated at the ankles.  A friend called to see him and said:  “Jim, what have you to say after this misfortune?”

His reply was:  “Well, I always did suffer with cold feet.”

Look on the bright side of life, remembering that very often,

  “The trouble that makes us fume and fret,
  And the burdens that make us groan and sweat
  Are the things that haven’t happened yet.”

When our two boys were babies our home was a country cottage and our land possession one acre.  Nearby lived a young man whose father left him a blue-grass farm.  His home was a handsome brick house; he had servants and drove fine horses.  Often when seated on the little porch of our humble home, he would pass by, when the feet of his horses and wheels of his fine carriage would dash the dust into our faces.  One evening when he passed I said:  “Never mind, Anna, some day we’ll live in a fine house, we’ll have servants and horses and we’ll be ’somebodies’.”  I thought money would bring happiness, and the more money the more happiness.

We now live in a good home, have servants and horse and carriage; we’ve traveled several times together from ocean to ocean, yet I have never seen a train of Pullman palace cars that can compare in memory with the two trains that used to leave that little cottage home every evening for dreamland.

  “The first train started at seven p.m.,
    Over the dreamland road,
  The mother dear was the engineer,
    The passenger laughed and crowed.

  The palace car was the mother’s arms,
    The whistle a low sweet strain;
  The passenger winked, nodded and blinked
    And fell asleep on the train.

  The next train started at eight p.m.,
    For the slumberland afar,
  The summons clear, fell on the ear,
    ‘All aboard for the sleeping car.’

  And what was the fare to slumberland? 
    I assure you not very dear;
  Only this, a hug and a kiss,
    They were paid to the engineer.”

And I said: 

  “Take charge of the passengers, Lord, I pray,
    To me they are very dear;
  And special ward, O gracious Lord,
    Give the faithful engineer.”