He placed me in a little cage
Away from gardens fair;
But I must sing the sweetest song
Because He placed me there.
Not beat my wings against the gate,
If it's my Maker's will,
But raise my voice to Heaven's gate
And sing the louder still.—Selected
A woman when she was ill, being asked whether she wished to live or die, replied, "Which God pleaseth." "But," said someone standing by, "if God were to refer it to you, which would you choose?" "Truly,' said she, "if God were to refer it to me, I would even refer it to him again."—Selected
"Then you don't think I practice what I preach, eh?" queried the minister in talking with one of the deacons at a meeting.
"No, sir, I don't," replied the deacon "You've been preachin' on the subject of resignation for two years an' ye haven't resigned yet."
The physician, afer an examination, addressed the wife of the sick man in a tone of grave finality:
"I am afraid your husband is beyond help. I can hold out no hope of his recovery."
This candor was offensive to the patient, who protested with what violence was permitted by a very scanty breath: "Here, hold on! What are you gittin' at? I ain't a-goin' to snuff out!"
The wife interposed in a soothing voice: "You leave it to the doctor, dearie—he knows best."