Bad Cold by Shel Silverstein

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  This cold is too much for my shortsleeve. Go get me a Kleenex--and fast. I sniffle and wheeze And I'm ready to sneeze And I don't know how long I can last.... Atchoo--it's to wet for a kleenex, So bring me handkerchief, quick. It's--atchoo--no joke, Now the handkerchief's soaked. Hey, a dish towel just might do the trick. Atchoo--it's too much for bath towel. There never has been such a cold. I'll be better off With that big tablecloth, No--bring me the flag off the pole. Atchoo--bring the clothes from the closet, Atchaa--get the sheets from the bed, The drapes off the window, The rugs off the floor To soak up this cold in my head. Atchoo-- hurry down to the circus And ask if they'll lend you the tent. You say they said yes? Here it comes--Lord be blessed-- Here it is--Ah-kachoooo--there it went.

Glider, or Bomber?

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“To preach a social gospel without the redemptive background of the individual salvation from sin of the individual sinner is like launching a glider instead of a high— powered plane. A glider may soar for a while on the fickle currents of the wind, and climb high on some sudden up-draft, but it is the four whirl-wind motors that will carry a bomber to the stratosphere and jet-propulsion and rockets that will take a plane beyond the speed of sound."

Donald G. Barnhouse, "Man’s Ruin" (Wheaton, 1952), p. 161—162.

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