 | Forest buds, from the woods of Maine |  |
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THE CHEERFUL HEART.
Some deem the world a dreary place,
Devoid of all redeeming merits,
But oh, it wears another face
To cheerful and contented spirits!
Why ever dim joy's brightest rays,
By gloomy fears of coming sorrows?
I always cheat the cloudy days
With hopeful thoughts of happier morrows.
Devoid of all redeeming merits,
But oh, it wears another face
To cheerful and contented spirits!
Why ever dim joy's brightest rays,
By gloomy fears of coming sorrows?
I always cheat the cloudy days
With hopeful thoughts of happier morrows.
'T is true that “all things bright must fade”—
That autumn's stern resistless powers,
With chilling wind and freezing shade
Will blast the leaves and blight the flowers;—
For the departed summer's prime
Let other hearts be vainly yearning,
But through the snows of winter time,
I gladly watch for its returning.
That autumn's stern resistless powers,
With chilling wind and freezing shade
Will blast the leaves and blight the flowers;—
For the departed summer's prime
Let other hearts be vainly yearning,
But through the snows of winter time,
I gladly watch for its returning.
'T is true life's sorrows every day
Seem almost to outweigh its pleasures,
And death full often steals away
The trusting heart's most cherished treasures;—
Let others mourn one dear one less,
And wildly weep o'er heart-strings riven,
I only joy that I possess
Another loving friend in heaven!—
Seem almost to outweigh its pleasures,
And death full often steals away
The trusting heart's most cherished treasures;—
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And wildly weep o'er heart-strings riven,
I only joy that I possess
Another loving friend in heaven!—
'T is true the friends are sadly few
On whom we lean with trust unshaken,
And oft o'er those we fancied true,
Faith sighs to find herself mistaken.
I yield not to one vain regret,
When wayward fate hath so bereft me,
But only love more fondly yet
The dear ones still so kindly left me.
On whom we lean with trust unshaken,
And oft o'er those we fancied true,
Faith sighs to find herself mistaken.
I yield not to one vain regret,
When wayward fate hath so bereft me,
But only love more fondly yet
The dear ones still so kindly left me.
Though hope may cease to sing awhile,
And joy's sweet light seem slowly paling,
'T is better far to wear a smile,
For sighs and tears are unavailing.
Let other's weep that bright dreams fade,
And, weekly wearing sorrow's fetter,
Forever seek life's gloomiest shade,—
I love its cheering sunshine better!—
And joy's sweet light seem slowly paling,
'T is better far to wear a smile,
For sighs and tears are unavailing.
Let other's weep that bright dreams fade,
And, weekly wearing sorrow's fetter,
Forever seek life's gloomiest shade,—
I love its cheering sunshine better!—
What though my lot of pain and toil
Be lowlier than my prouder brother's?
What though I heap no golden spoil,
The envy and the hate of others?
Let others seek the shining road,
And walk with mammon's worldly minions,—
I joy that I've no wealth to load
To earth my spirit's heavenward pinions!
Be lowlier than my prouder brother's?
What though I heap no golden spoil,
The envy and the hate of others?
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And walk with mammon's worldly minions,—
I joy that I've no wealth to load
To earth my spirit's heavenward pinions!
Brightly may glisten glory's light,
No envy in my bosom waking,
For Fame's proud wreath, though fair to sight,
Oft blooms above a heart that's breaking.
The monarch's crown I covet not,
And only pity those who wear it,
Desiring with my humble lot
Only a cheerful heart to bear it!
No envy in my bosom waking,
For Fame's proud wreath, though fair to sight,
Oft blooms above a heart that's breaking.
The monarch's crown I covet not,
And only pity those who wear it,
Desiring with my humble lot
Only a cheerful heart to bear it!
| Forest buds, from the woods of Maine | |