Poems (Hoffman)/Sadness and Mirth
SADNESS AND MIRTH
At a beautiful starry gatewayTwo sister-spirits met,And paused to talk of the countryTo which they both were sent;One wore a robe of sunbeams of goldButtoned with sparkling stars,Her bright eyes were filled with merrimentAs she stood by the crystal bars.In one hand she held a basketFilled with roses, ruby red,And a smile of rare sweet beautyPlayed over her face as she said:"Sweet sister, in that far, distant landWe will both have our part to play;Let us journey together, hand in hand,Down the beautiful milky way;For I, over many a cheerless pathMust scatter my roses red,And you must strew thorns o'er the long, long roadThat all of mankind must tread.And I must bring the world gladnessAnd give to it Love's sweet wine;But you must teach the world sadnessAnd mingle your cup with mine,.And I must give to the reapersA harvest of song to reap,I must teach them to smile and laughBut you must teach them to weep."As she spoke, she shook her silken curlsAnd opened the starry gate"Come, sweet sister, come, hasten!" she said"For our mission cannot wait!"The other stood with her head bowed downAnd her face was so sad and pale,And down o'er her shadowy, cloudy robe Fell a beautiful, misty veil;In one hand she held a basket of thorns,In the other a mystical cup,And she sighed, and she sadly shook her headAs she lifted her dark eyes up:"I will go," she said, "but your cup is sweetWhile mine is bitter to taste."And gently within the jeweled handHer own tiny hand she placed;And they moved away in the gray twilight,By evening breezes fanned,And sought for the world to which they were sent,Two sisters, hand in hand.They traversed life's pathways, year after year,With a soft and noiseless tread,One strewing her thorns all along the wayAnd the other her roses red.They dwelt ofttimes with the great and highAnd oft with the poor and the low,And mingled with giddy revelry,And with scenes of sorrow and woe;And the infant's soft, peaceful slumbersWere broken with smiles and tears;The maiden trembled to see beyondA mirage of hopes and fears;And the matron marveled that roses and thornsAll life's winding pathway line;And the aged sighed that the bitter and sweetWere mixed in life's mingled wine;And so they mused o'er their daily pathsThe aged, and the young, and fair,And theirs was only life's common lot,A portion that all must share.