FELICITOUS RETROFLECTIONS
Tho’ this life may have its many thousand ills
And nameless woes—and the gait or the grind kills—
Yet with all this, “this life it is most jolly”;
What folly to consort, then, with Care and Melancholy!
Petty troubles should not grieve thee,
Of thy happy dreams bereave thee.
Faint of heart—cark was a “quitter” ever.
Undaunted cheer kept bravely on!
Stop not to brood o’er failures—never,—never!
Almost defeated “Trojans” have oft the battle won.
Sharpest thorns among red roses;
Bitter rind sweet fruit encloses,
And a pinching, pestering torment teaches this:—
Vanquished sorrow adds greater zest to bliss!