TEARS

A-pleasure seeking all my days, What use have I for churlish tears? Or sorrow’s dirge? Or Melancholia’s lays? Joy’s rosy foot-paths I would follow onward yet for years. Blossoms gay, and butterflies; Light and life—hope and high emprise! Rainbow tints allure my eyes! Spend not, spend not thy hours in weeping; Soon, soon in the grave we shall be sleeping. Pensive stranger, banish sadness; Search the fields in quest of gladness; Seek in sunshine, seek in shadow,— Joy is waiting in the meadow. Kindly faces, tempers sweet, Loving friends on life’s journey we shall meet. Tourist, then,—traveler,—grief is madness; Tarry not with frenzy-chained Sadness. Hark! hark! In budding forests near Happy birds are singing clear; Nature’s heart is full of cheer. Spend not, spend not thy hours in weeping. With hope, with joy thy heart, thy care-constrained heart, it should be leaping.