eter
With all the deeds that shall thy fellows bless;
Thy small achievements nobler and completer
With truth and hope and highest happiness!
Live life with love!

DISCONTENT.

The sun comes up in the east
And the sun goes down in the west,
And man to me is a heartless beast
And the world has only a savage breast.

How thoughts rush over my soul
As the waves walk over the sea!
Their forms flee soon and the sorrows roll
In the deep distress that is over me.

How hopes arise in my heart,
As the roses bloom over the plain!
But time is tearing their sweets apart
And they die in darkness and awful pain.

Ambitions burn in my breast,
As the fires in a city rage;
But damp creeps over their fervid zest
And they sink away into ashen age.

If there was pleasure for pain
I could well be happy awhile,
And, O, my bosom would ne'er complain,
If my fortune gave me a single smile.

But here I am, and the curse is on,
And my life is a waste of woe,
And ere one river of tears is gone,
O, another torrent begins to flow.

Ah, the sun comes up in the east
And the sun goes down in the west.
And man to me is a heartless beast
And the world has only a savage breast!

STANZAS.

Put not trust nor tenderness to sleep,
In sorrow sad;
The heart, in which a little love may creep,
Is not all bad.

The darkest hours that wear a wondrous gloom,
Are somewhat light,
If but one ray of brilliancy illume
The brooding night.

The field in which the weed and bramble thrive
Has some of good,
If but a single blossom struggling live
Amid the rude.

The ocean vast is not all desolate,
The worlds between,
If on its waters bearing human freight
One sail is seen.

All is not harsh and cold amid the wood,
If warbled song
Resound, how feebly, through the solitude
Of tangled wrong.

The desert, barren, bleak, a waste of sand
Does never spread,
If spear of grass in verdure green expand
Above the dead.

Then put not trust nor tenderness to sleep
In sorrow sad;
The heart in which a little love may creep
Is not all bad.

THE WAY OF THE WORLD.

Since Adam's first sin in the garden of song,
Where the hopes of the race were empearled,
Whenever a mortal does