Poems (Cook)/The Happy Mind
THE HAPPY MIND.
Out upon the calf, I say,Who turns his grumbling head away,And quarrels with his feed of hay Because it is not clover.Give to me the happy mind,That will ever seek and findSomething fair and something kind, All the wide world over.
'Tis passing good to have an eyeThat always manages to spySome star to bear it company, Though planets may be hidden. And Mrs. Eve was foolish, very,Not to be well content and merryWith peach, plum, melon, grape, and cherry, When apples were forbidden.
We love fair flowers, but supposeWe're far from Italy's rich rose,—Must we then turn up our nose At lilies of the valley!Can't we snuff at something sweet,In the "bough-pots" that we meetCried and sold in city street, By "Sally in our Alley!"
Give me the heart that spreads its wingsLike the free bird that soars and singsAnd sees the bright side of all things, From Behring's Straits to Dover.It is a bank that never breaks,It is a store thief never takes,It is a rock that never shakes, All the wide world over.
We like to give old care the slip,And listen to the "crank and quip"At social board from fluent lip,— No fellowship is better:But he must lack the gentle graceThat marks the best of human race,Who cannot see a friendly face In mastiff, hound, or setter.
Our hungry eyes may fondly wishTo revel amid flesh and fish,And gloat upon the silver dish That holds a golden plover; Yet if our table be but spreadWith savory cheese and oaten bread,Be thankful if we're always fed As well, the wide world over.
We may prefer Italian notes,Or choose the melody that floatsAbout the gay Venetian boats, Half wild in our extolling:But surely music may be foundWhen some rough, native harp unbound,Strikes, up, like cherries "round and sound," With English fol-de-rolling.
We may be poor—but then, I guess,Our trouble with our pomp is less;For they who wear a russet dress Need never fear the rumpling:And though champagne froth never humsBetween our fingers and our thumbs,Red apoplexy rarely comes To dine with plain stone dumpling.
Then out upon the calf, I say,Who turns his grumbling head away,And quarrels with his feed of hay Because it is not clover.Give to me the happy mind,That will ever seek and findSomething good and something kind All the wide world over.