Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 184, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 August 1917 — EPIGRHYMES: [ARTICLE]

EPIGRHYMES:

1 z "IDEALS never get you nothin’,” so my neighbors say; “Ideals won't grow you a crop ner stack yotff summer's hay!” They laugh at me because I got a L sneakin' sort o’ plan to make the farm-work fun fer even Bill, my hired man; they say I’m foolish ’cause I got a garden fer the wife, and ’cause I think that flowers mean as much as cash, in life. But I gets lots o’ consolation readin’ Titcomb’s words; his thoughts ARE sometimes sorta like THE soarin’ o’ the birds that pluck this WORLD’S spring freshness from the farms of me an’ you an’ seem to fly up Thar where them ideal things come true. We all are slaves to MASTERS—to ambitions, low or high; George Washington—he had ’em; an’ I like to "feel that I can take them same ideals with my musket, War—perhaps, some day, all men will see that Place where them birds soar! Robert Russell. ‘ldeals are world’s masters.”