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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=413319" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Some Of Farmer Stebbin's Opinions</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">No, Parson, 'tain't been in my style,<br>(Nor none ov my relations)<br>Tew dig about the gnarly roots<br>Ov prophetic spekkleations,<br>Tew see what Malachai meant;<br>Or Solomon was hintin';<br>Or reound what jog o' Futur's road<br>Isaiah was a-squintin'.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I've lost my rest a-keepin' out<br>The hogs from our cowcumbers;<br>But never lost a wink, you bet,<br>By wrastlin' over Numbers.<br>I never took no comfort when<br>The year was bald with losses,<br>A-spekkleatin' on them chaps<br>That rode them varus hosses.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It never gave my soul a boost<br>When grief an' it was matin',<br>Tew figger out that that thar Pope<br>Wus reely twins with Satan.<br>I took no stock in countin' up<br>How menny hed ov cattle<br>From Egypt's ranches Moses drove;<br>I never fit a battle<br>On p'ints that frequently gave rise<br>Tew pious spat an' grumble,<br>An' makes the brethren clinch an' yell<br>In spiritooal rough-an'-tumble.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I never bet on Paul agin<br>The argyments ov Peter,<br>I never made the good old Book<br>A kind ov moral teeter;<br>Tew pass a choreless hour away,<br>An' get the evenin' over;<br>I swallered it jest as it stood,<br>From cover clar tew cover.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hain't had no time tew disputate,<br>Except with axe an' arm,<br>With stump an' rampike and with stuns,<br>Upon my half clar'd farm.<br>An' when sech argyments as them--<br>Fill six days out ov seven;<br>A man on Sabbath wants tew crawl<br>By quiet ways tew heaven.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Again he gets the waggon out,<br>An' hitches up the sorrels,<br>An' rides ten miles tew meetin', he<br>Ain't braced for pious quarrels:<br>No, sir, he ain't! that waggon rolls<br>From corduroy to puddle,<br>An' that thar farmer gets his brains<br>Inter an easy muddle.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His back is stiff from six days' toil--<br>So God takes hold an' preaches,<br>In boughs ov rustlin' maple an'<br>In whisperin' leaves ov beeches:<br>Sez He tew that thar farmin' chap<br>(Likewise tew the old woman),<br>'I guess I'm built tew comprehend<br>That you an' her be's human!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'So jest take hold on this har day,<br>Recowperate yer muscle;<br>Let up a mite this day on toil,<br>'Taint made for holy bustle.<br>Let them old sorrels jog along,<br>With mighty slack-like traces;<br>Half dreamin', es my sunbeams fleck<br>Their venerable faces.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I guess they did their share, ov work,<br>Since Monday's dew was hoary;<br>Don't try tew lick 'em tew a trot<br>Upon the road tew Glory!<br>Jest let 'em laze a spell whar thick<br>My lily-buds air blowin':<br>An' whar My trees cast shadders on<br>My silver creeklet flowin'.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'An' while their red, rough tongues push back<br>The stems ov reed an' lily,<br>Jest let 'em dream ov them thar days<br>When they was colt an' filly,<br>An' spekkleate, es fetlock deep<br>They eye my cool creek flowin',<br>On whar I loosed it from My hand,<br>Where be its crisp waves goin'.<br>An' how in snow-white lily cup<br>I built them yaller fires,<br>An' bronz'd them reeds that rustle up<br>Agin the waggon tires.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'An' throw a forrard eye along<br>Where that bush roadway passes,<br>A-spekkleating on the chance--<br>Ov nibbling road-side grasses.<br>Jest let them lines rest on thar necks--<br>Restrain yer moral twitters--<br>An' paste this note inside yer hat--<br>I talk tew all My critters!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Be they on four legs or on two,<br>In broadcloth, scales or feathers,<br>No matter what may be the length<br>Ov all their mental tethers:<br>In ways mayn't suit the minds ov them<br>That thinks themselves thar betters.<br>I talk tew them in simple style,<br>In words ov just three letters,--<br>Spell'd out in lily-blow an' reed,<br>In soft winds on them blowin',<br>In juicy grass by wayside streams,<br>In coolin' waters flowin'.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'An' so jest let them sorrels laze<br>My ripplin' silver creek in;<br>They're listenin' in thar own dumb way,<br>An' I--Myself--am speakin';<br>Friend Stebbens, don't you feel your soul<br>In no sort ov dejection;<br>You'll get tew meetin' quick enough,<br>In time for the--collection.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Isabella+Valancy+Crawford">Isabella Valancy Crawford</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=413319" data-title="Some Of Farmer Stebbin's Opinions de Isabella Valancy Crawford" data-description="No, Parson, 'tain't been in my style,
(Nor none ov my relations)
Tew dig about the gnarly roots
Ov prophetic spekkleations,
Tew see what Malachai meant;
Or Solomon was hintin';
Or reound what jog o' Futur's road
Isaiah was a-squintin'.

I've lost ..."></div>
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