If every man's internal care
Were written on his brow,
How many would our pity share
Who raise our envy now?
The fatal secret, when revealed,
Of every aching breast,
Would prove that only while concealed
Their lot appeared the best.
--Pietro Metastasio.
Let us be content in work
To do the thing we can, and not presume
To fret because it's little.
--Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
If none were sick and none were sad,
What service could we render?
I think if _we_ were always glad,
We scarcely could be tender.
If sorrow never claimed our heart,
And every wish were granted,
Patience would die and hope depart--
Life would be disenchanted.
A pilgrim, bound to Mecca, quite away his sandals wore,
And on the desert's blistering sand his feet grew very sore.
"To let me suffer thus, great Allah, is not kind nor just,
While in thine service I confront the painful heat and dust."
He murmured in complaining tone; and in this temper came
To where, around the Kaaba, pilgrims knelt of every name;
And there he saw, while pity and remorse his bosom beat,
A pilgrim who not only wanted shoes, but _feet_.
--From the Persian, tr. by William Rounseville Alger.
Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.
--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
Strength for to-day is all that we need,
As there never will be a to-morrow;
For to-morrow will prove but another to-day
With its measure of joy or of sorrow.
Don't think your lot the worst because
Some griefs your joy assail;
There aren't so very many saws
That never strike a nail.
--Nixon Waterman.
When it drizzles and drizzles,
If we cheerfully smile,
We can make the weather,
By working together,
As fair as we choose in a little while.
For who will notice that clouds are drear
If pleasant faces are always near,
And who will remember that skies are gray
If he carries a happy heart all day?