This World

By Ella Wheeler Wilcox

This world is a sad, sad place I know;
And what soul living can doubt it.
But it will not lessen the want and woe,
To be always singing about it.
Then away with the songs that are full of tears,
Away with dirges that sadden.
Let us make the most of our fleeting years,
By singing the lays that gladden.

The world at its saddest is not all sad --
There are days of sunny weather.
And the people within it are not all bad,
But saints and sinners together.
I think those wonderful hours in June,
Are better by far, to remember,
Than those when the world gets out of tune
In the cold, bleak winds of November.

Because we meet in the walks of life
Many a selfish creature,
It does not prove that this world of strife
Has no redeeming feature.
There is bloom, and beauty upon the earth,
There are buds and blossoming flowers,
There are souls of truth, and hearts of worth --
There are glowing, golden hours.

In thinking over a joy we've known,
We easily make it double.
Which is better by far, than to mope and moan,
Over sorrow and grief and trouble.
For though this world is sad, we know,
(And who that is living can doubt it,)
It will not lessen the want, or woe,
To be always singing about it.

1872.