  What's the use to grumble, what's the use to fret, 'Cause the cotton's weedy and the days go wet? 'Tis the Lord that sorts the weather and the sun and rain to you, And you needn't kick and holler 'cause he don't explain to you! When it rains, don't get to mopin! There's more sunny skies than clouds, And if sorrows drop in singly, why, the pleasures come in crowds; Black day or bright day, don't you fume and fret, When the cotton's weedy and the days go wet! |
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