u made the earth, and
all that is therein, and You made the men. Of course You had to make
men different, so each woman can tell which one belongs to her; but I
believe it would have been a good idea while You were at it, if You
would have made all of them enough alike that they would all work.
Perhaps it isn't polite of me to ask more of You than You saw fit to
do; and then, again, it may be that there are some things impossible,
even to You. If there is anything at all, seems as if making Isaac
Thomas work would be it. Father says that man would rather starve and
see his wife and children hungry than to take off his coat, roll up his
sleeves, and plow corn; so it was good enough for him when Leon said,
'Go to the ant, thou sluggard,' right at him. So, of course, Isaac is
not so blessed as some men, because he won't work, and thus he never
knows whether he's going to have a big dinner on Sunday, until after
some one asks him, because he looks so empty. Mother thinks it isn't
fair to feed Isaac and send him home with his stomach full, while Mandy
and the babies are sick and hungry. But Isaac is some blessed, because
he has religion and gets real happy, and sings, and shouts, and he's
going to Heaven when he dies. He must wish he'd go soon, especially in
winter.

"There are men who do not have even this blessing, and to make things
worse, O Lord, they get mad as fire and hit their horses, and look like
all possessed. The words of my text this morning apply especially to a
man who has all the blessings Thou hast showered and flowered upon men
who work, or whose people worked and left them so much money they don't
need to, and yet a sadder face I never saw, or a crosser one. He looks
like he was going to hit people, and he does hit his horse an awful
crack. It's no way to hit a horse, not even if it balks, because it
can't hit back, and it's a cowardly thing to do. If you rub their ears
and talk to them, they come quicker, O our Heavenly Father, and if you
hit them just because you are mad, it's a bigger sin yet.

"No man is nearly so blessed as he might be who goes around looking
killed with grief when he should cheer up, no matter what ails him; and
who shuts up his door and says his wife is sick when she isn't, and who
scowls at every one, when he can be real pleasant if he likes, as some
in Divine Presence can testify. So we are going to beseech Thee, O
Lord, to lay Thy mighty hand upon the man who got mad