SORROW.
There are many tones of sorrow,
But its saddest voice to me
Is the mocking laugh that triumphs
In another's agony:
I could weep for those who suffer,
But the souls that woe can please—
Whose joy is wrung from others' pain—
I pity, pity these.
There are many tones of sorrow
Poured upon the chords of life—
Murmurs of its ceaseless changing,
Murmurs of its restless strife;
But to live till pity's pleading
Changes to a mocking hiss,
Till feeling withers to a sneer,
Oh! Father, spare me this.
Poured upon the chords of life—
Murmurs of its ceaseless changing,
Murmurs of its restless strife;
But to live till pity's pleading
Changes to a mocking hiss,
Till feeling withers to a sneer,
Oh! Father, spare me this.
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