Wed., 13 Get dinner, mend a little, clear out a drawer in my dresser. Alvin comes in with Tuttle at 5 o’clock & we have supper in the dining room. Herbert Burroughs wagon wheel falls to pieces & he walks home while his girls stay by in the road. He gets another wheel & they go home. Not feeling well at bed-time. Morning devotions thru the Radio.
We have to deal with the simple things,
The trifles along the way,
Besetting the life of the average man,
The things of every day.
They are the ones we know most about,
That often make us glad,
And the little vexing incidents
That sometimes make us sad.
Shall we soar into the firmament
Among the Pleiades,
Or submerge our craft in unknown depths
Beneath the seven seas?
Or pause awhile where college walls
Shut out the golden day
To probe the misty, musty tomes
And bring their lore away?
Rather give me the trend of the winding road
Under the open sky,
The glowing page that God has spread
For him, who passes by.
Give me the plain and simple words
To translate the truth I find . . .
The message I read in the winding road
To the average human mind.
from Green Mountain Echoes