And never to growl, whatever we do, Lest we be mistaken for "Grumblers" too; Let us learn to walk with a smile and a song No matter if things do sometimes go wrong. And then be our station, high or humble, We'll never belong to the family of "Grumble." MY ADVOCATE I sinned. And straightway, post-haste, Satan flew Before the presence of the Most High God, And made a railing accusation there. He said, "This soul, this thing of clay and sod. Has sinned. 'Tis true that he has named Thy name. But I demand his death, for Thou has said, 'The soul that sinneth, it shall die.' Shall not Thy sentence be fulfilled? Is justice dead? Send now this wretched sinner to his doom. What other thing can righteous ruler do?" And thus he did accuse me day and night, And every word he spoke, 0 God, was true! Then quickly One rose up from God's right hand, Before whose glory angels veiled their eyes. He spoke, "Each jot and tittle of the law M u st' be fulfilled; the guilty sinner dies! But wait . . . Suppose his guilt were all transferred To M E and that I paid his penalty! Behold M y hands, M y side, M y feet! One day I was made sin for him, and died that he Might be presented faultless, at Thy throne!" And Satan fled away. Full well he knew That he could not prevail against such love. For every word my dear Lord spoke was true! — Martha Snell Nicholson
THE GRUMBLE FAMILY There's a family nobody likes to meet, They live, it is said, on "Complaining Street," * In the city of "Never-Are Satisfied," The river of "Discontent" beside. They growl at that, and they growl at this, Whatever comes, there is something amiss; And whether their station be high or humble, They all are known by the name of "Grumble." The weather is always too hot or too cold, Summer and winter alike they scold; Nothing goes right with the folks you meet Down on that gloomy "Complaining Street." They growl at the rain and they growl at the sun, In fact their growling is never done. And if everything pleased them, there isn't a doubt They'd grumble if they'd nothing to grumble about. But the queerest thing is that not one of the same Can be brought to acknowledge his family name; For never a grumbler will admit that he Is connected with it at all, you see. And the worst thing is, that if any one stays Amongst them too long, he will learn their ways. And before he dreams of the terrible jumble He's adopted into the family of "Grumble." So it is wisest to keep our feet From wandering into "Complaining Street;"
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