THE WATERS OF MARAH.
We may laugh and sing, we may dance and jest,
As if life were only gladness;
But where every heart's deep fountain starts,
There's a little pool of sadness.
As if life were only gladness;
But where every heart's deep fountain starts,
There's a little pool of sadness.
Where the waters of Marah stagnant lie,
Or rise to its brim o'erflowing;
Where the spirit sighs while its music dies,
When no one else is knowing.
Or rise to its brim o'erflowing;
Where the spirit sighs while its music dies,
When no one else is knowing.
O life should be like a sweet, glad tune,
From the year's dull keys ascending;
Like the wild-bird's song in the heart of June,
But broadening and never ending!
From the year's dull keys ascending;
Like the wild-bird's song in the heart of June,
But broadening and never ending!
Yet each must know where the sobbing notes
Drown often the tones of pleasure;
Like a laughing brook o'er its cold sharp stones,
Is the song in its changing measure.
Drown often the tones of pleasure;
Like a laughing brook o'er its cold sharp stones,
Is the song in its changing measure.
In the whirling dance in the festal hall,
Where human hearts seem lightest;
In the golden glare of pride and wealth,
Where life seems best and brightest.
Where human hearts seem lightest;
In the golden glare of pride and wealth,
Where life seems best and brightest.
There is many a frozen marble smile,
On the sculptured lips of pleasure;
And many who try to drown a while,
The toil of life's dull measure.
On the sculptured lips of pleasure;
And many who try to drown a while,
The toil of life's dull measure.
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