Some of us find joy in toil, some in art, some in the open air and the
sunshine. All of us find it in simply being alive. Life is the gift no
creature in his right mind would part with. As Milton asks,
"For who would lose,
Though full of pain, this intellectual being,
These thoughts that wander through eternity,
To perish rather, swallowed up and lost
In the wide womb of uncreated night,
Devoid of sense and motion?"
Praise the generous gods for giving
In a world of wrath and strife,
With a little time for living,
Unto all the joy of life.
At whatever source we drink it,
Art or love or faith or wine,
In whatever terms we think it,
It is common and divine.
Praise the high gods, for in giving
This to man, and this alone,
They have made his chance of living
Shine the equal of their own.
_William Ernest Henley._