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PLEASURE AND PAIN.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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PLEASURE AND PAIN.

Pleasure and pain walk hand in hand,
Each is the other's poise;
The borders of the silent land
Are full of troubled noise.
While harvests yellow as the day
In plenteous billows roll,
Men go about in blank dismay,
Hungry of heart and soul.
Like chance-sown weeds they grow, and drift
On to the drowning main;
Oh, for a lever that would lift
Thought to a higher plane!
Sin is destructive: he is dead
Whose soul is lost to truth;
While virtue makes the hoary head
Bright with eternal youth.
There is a courage that partakes
Of cowardice; a high
And honest-hearted fear that makes
The man afraid to lie.
When no low thoughts of self intrude,
Angels adjust our rights;
And love that seeks its selfish good
Dies in its own delights.
How much we take,—how little give,—
Yet every life is meant
To help all lives; each man should live
For all men's betterment.