TEARS
“Needless tears.”—Tennyson.
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.