 | Life's sunny side |  |
[What of the cloudy days, the withered May]
What of the cloudy days, the withered May,
The buttercups all gathered and thrown by;
The buttercups all gathered and thrown by;
The little voices stilled, the silenced play,
And only memories left of sunny sky—
Days when the roses and delight are dead,
And sad winds sway bare branches overhead?
And only memories left of sunny sky—
Days when the roses and delight are dead,
And sad winds sway bare branches overhead?
The blossoms of the Spring-tide
Must fall and fade away,
The roses of the Summer
Decline from day to day;
Must fall and fade away,
The roses of the Summer
Decline from day to day;
Yet never quite forsaken,
Nor all of bloom bereft,
To mourn the sweet dead Summer
Our longing hearts are left
Nor all of bloom bereft,
To mourn the sweet dead Summer
Our longing hearts are left
For still some tender blossom,
Some rosy tinted spray,
Between the fleeting seasons
Shines forth in fair array.
Some rosy tinted spray,
Between the fleeting seasons
Shines forth in fair array.
What then? In sharpest frost, we know, we know
That joy and sun come after grief and rain;
That where we see the thorn the rose will blow;
That all sweet flowers will bloom again.
That joy and sun come after grief and rain;
That where we see the thorn the rose will blow;
That all sweet flowers will bloom again.
His
love knows best;
our hearts are satisfied,
For love, not sunshine,
makes the sunny side.
our hearts are satisfied,
For love, not sunshine,
makes the sunny side.
E. Nesbit.
| Life's sunny side | |