a fragment.
213
So day by day, and week by week,
Throughout the year he goes,
Distributing now here, now there,
Joys, sorrows, cares, and woes.
Throughout the year he goes,
Distributing now here, now there,
Joys, sorrows, cares, and woes.
But buoyant hope is ever prone
To cheer us in our sorrow;
So if the post bring ill to-day
We'll hope for good to-morrow.
To cheer us in our sorrow;
So if the post bring ill to-day
We'll hope for good to-morrow.
A Fragment.
Wrung from an aching heart,
Coined in a weary brain,
Were the words I wrote with simple art
With the quivering pen of pain.
Coined in a weary brain,
Were the words I wrote with simple art
With the quivering pen of pain.
But the words, my poor plain words,
With sympathy were rife,
And they fell and soothed the trembling chords
Of a heart, and blest a life.
With sympathy were rife,
And they fell and soothed the trembling chords
Of a heart, and blest a life.
And my own tears fell like rain,
And the ache went from my breast—
For in trying to ease another's pain
My own sad heart was blest.
And the ache went from my breast—
For in trying to ease another's pain
My own sad heart was blest.
