Poems (Cook)/The World
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THE WORLD.
Talk who will of the World as a desert of thrall;
Yet, yet, there's a bloom on the waste:
Though the chalice of Life hath its acid and gall,
There are honey-drops too for the taste.
Yet, yet, there's a bloom on the waste:
Though the chalice of Life hath its acid and gall,
There are honey-drops too for the taste.
We murmur and droop should a sorrow-cloud stay,
And note all the shades of our lot;
But the rich scintillations that brighten our way,
Are bask'd in, enjoy'd, and forgot.
And note all the shades of our lot;
But the rich scintillations that brighten our way,
Are bask'd in, enjoy'd, and forgot.
Those who look on Mortality's ocean aright
Will not mourn o'er each billow that rolls,
But dwell on the glories, the beauties, the might,
As much as the shipwrecks and shoals.
Will not mourn o'er each billow that rolls,
But dwell on the glories, the beauties, the might,
As much as the shipwrecks and shoals.
How thankless is he who remembers alone
All the bitter, the drear, and the dark;
Though the raven may scare with its woe-boding tone,
Do we ne'er hear the song of the lark?
All the bitter, the drear, and the dark;
Though the raven may scare with its woe-boding tone,
Do we ne'er hear the song of the lark?
We may utter farewell when 'tis torture to part;
But, in meeting the dear one again,
Have we never rejoiced with that wildness of heart,
Which outbalances ages of pain?
But, in meeting the dear one again,
Have we never rejoiced with that wildness of heart,
Which outbalances ages of pain?
Who hath not had moments so laden with bliss,
When the soul, in its fulness of love,
Would waver, if bidden to choose between this
And the Paradise promised above?
When the soul, in its fulness of love,
Would waver, if bidden to choose between this
And the Paradise promised above?
Though the eye may be dimm'd with its grief-drop awhile,
And the whiten'd lip sigh forth its fear;
Yet pensive indeed is that face where the smile
Is not oftener seen than the tear.
And the whiten'd lip sigh forth its fear;
Yet pensive indeed is that face where the smile
Is not oftener seen than the tear.
There are times when the storm-gust may rattle around;
There are spots where the poison-shrub grows;
Yet are there not hours when naught else can be found
But the south wind, the sunshine and rose?
There are spots where the poison-shrub grows;
Yet are there not hours when naught else can be found
But the south wind, the sunshine and rose?
O haplessly rare is the portion that's ours,
And strange is the path that we take;
If there spring not beside us a few precious flowers,
To soften the thorn and the brake!
And strange is the path that we take;
If there spring not beside us a few precious flowers,
To soften the thorn and the brake!
The wail of regret, the rude clashing of strife,
The soul's harmony often may mar;
But I think we must own, in the discords of life,
"Tis ourselves that oft waken the jar.
The soul's harmony often may mar;
But I think we must own, in the discords of life,
"Tis ourselves that oft waken the jar.
Earth is not all fair, yet it is not all gloom;
And the voice of the grateful will tell,
That He who allotted Pain, Death, and the Tomb,
Gave Hope, Health, and the Bridal as well.
And the voice of the grateful will tell,
That He who allotted Pain, Death, and the Tomb,
Gave Hope, Health, and the Bridal as well.
Should fate do its worst, and my spirit, oppress'd,
O'er its own shatter'd happiness pine;
Let me witness the joy in another's glad breast,
And some pleasure must kindle in mine.
O'er its own shatter'd happiness pine;
Let me witness the joy in another's glad breast,
And some pleasure must kindle in mine.
Then say not the world is a desert of thrall,—
There is bloom, there is light on the waste;
Though the chalice of Life hath its acid and gall,
There are honey-drops too for the taste.
There is bloom, there is light on the waste;
Though the chalice of Life hath its acid and gall,
There are honey-drops too for the taste.