At sunrise every soul is born again.
Laugh like a boy at splendors that have sped,
To vanished joys be blind and deaf and dumb;
My judgment seal the dead past with its dead,
But never bind a moment yet to come.
Tho deep in mire, wring not your hands and weep:
I lend my arm to all who say, “I can!”
No shamefaced outcast ever sank so deep,
But yet might rise and be again a man.
Dost thou behold thy lost youth all aghast?