As love is thine, so shall thy days be sweeter
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 anything wrong,
    It is only the way of the world!

  If statesmen forget all the pledges they made,
    And the people to evils are hurled,—­
  Excuse their misdeeds!  ’Tis a trick of the trade,
    And is only the way of the world!