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 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 growl that 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 own that he
Is connected with it at all, you see.
And the worst thing is that if anyone 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 were wisest to keep our feet
From wandering into Complaining Street;
And never to growl, whatever we do,
Lest we be mistaken for Grumblers too,
Let us learn to walk with a smile and 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!—East and West.
Mrs. Higgins was an incurable grumbler. She grumbled at everything and everyone. But at last the vicar thought he had found something about which she could make no complaint; the old lady's crop of potatoes was the finest for miles around. "Ah, for once you must be well pleased," he said, with a beaming smile, as he met her in the village street. "Everyone's saying how splendid your potatoes are this year." The old lady glowered at him as she answered: "They're not so poor. But where's the bad ones for the pigs?"—Sunday School Times.
Grumble-House is on the North side of Dismal street. It is surrounded by a stone wall, which fails to admit the sunlight of God's Grace. It is located near a forest which is haunted by the screech-owls of discontent. There are many rodents on the premises which spoil the fruits of the Spirit. The lamp of joy is never seen in any of its gloomy rooms. Owing to their spirit of heaviness, the inmates of Grumble-house have no garments of Praise; but are clad in the beggarly elements of the world. As they have never learned Ephesians 5:19, their only song is like the croaking of a raven; because it does not proceed from hearts overflowing with thankfulness to God for all His goodness and mercy.
I will not grumble, grunt or growl;
Or sit and mope like some old owl:
Because life's inconvenient things
Do test the strength of soaring wing..
With which to rise above the roof
Of Grumble-house; and thus give proof
That I belong to Pleasant-town;
And wear a smile, but ne'er a frown.
Thus will my aged wrinkled face
Reflect my Father's loving grace.—Church of Christ Advocate
Without murmur, uncomplaining,
In His hand,
Leave whatever things thou canst not