But he who loves himself the last
And knows the use of pain,
Though strewn with errors all his past,
He surely shall attain.
Some souls there are that needs must taste
Of wrong, ere choosing right;
We should not call those years a waste
Which led us to the light.
Etta Wheeler Wilcox.
From "Poems of Power."
A TOAST TO MERRIMENT
A lady said to Whistler that there were but two painters—himself and
Velazquez. He replied: "Madam, why drag in Velazquez?" So it is with
Joyousness and Gloom. Both exist,—but why drag in Gloom?
Make merry! Though the day be gray
Forget the clouds and let's be gay!
How short the days we linger here:
A birth, a breath, and then—the bier!
Make merry, you and I, for when
We part we may not meet again!
What tonic is there in a frown?
You may go up and I go down,
Or I go up and you—who knows
The way that either of us goes?
Make merry! Here's a laugh, for when
We part we may not meet again!
Make merry! What of frets and fears?
There is no happiness in tears.
You tremble at the cloud and lo!
'Tis gone—and so 'tis with our woe,
Full half of it but fancied ills.
Make merry! 'Tis the gloom that kills.
Make merry! There is sunshine yet,
The gloom that promised, let's forget,
The quip and jest are on the wing,
Why sorrow when we ought to sing?
Refill the cup of joy, for then
We part and may not meet again.