The ripest peach is highest on the tree

Think of him still as the same, I say, He is not dead, he is just - away.

It is no use to grumble and complain; It's just as cheap and easy to rejoice; When God sorts out the weather and sends rain - Why, rain's my choice.

Oh, the world's a curious compound, with its honey and its gall, With its cares and bitter crosses, but a good world after all. And a good God must have made it-leastways, that is what I say, When a hand is on my shoulder in a friendly sort of way.

The ripest peach is highest on the tree

Just a wee cot-the crickets chirr-love and the smiling face of her.

I love the horse from hoof to head. From head to hoof and tail to mane. I love the horse as I have said - From head to hoof and back again.