Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Folly

Folly.

There is folly in all the world,
Or go we east or west;
A folly that vexes the old,
And keeps the young from rest.

The miser has folly enough,
For his soul is in sordid bags;
And the spendthrift's folly, alas!
Brings him to sin and rags.

There is folly in statesmen's schemes,
For, spite of their plotting and wit,
There's a wiser hand above
That leads them with bridle and bit.

There's folly in power and pride,
That makes full many to fall;
There's a folly in maiden's love,
But that is the sweetest of all.

But of all the follies, the worst—
For it stings with constant smart,
The scorpion of the mind—
Is that of a thankless heart.

For the thankless heart is cursed,
And with blessings encompassed grieves—
For it cannot rejoice with the hand
That gives nor yet receives.

To be thankful makes better the good;
And if Heaven should send us ill,
There is kindness in Him that gives—
So let us be thankful still.

Oh, let us be thankful in youth,
And let us be thankful in age;
Let us be thankful through life,
For there's pleasure in every stage.

Youth has its own sweet joys,
And he must be blind as a bat,
Who cannot see Love's sweet smile,
And will not be thankful for that.

There are friends the dearest to cheer,
Ere half our sand is run;
And affection makes wintry days
As bright as the summer's sun.

And when from the dearest on earth
We part, let us hope 'tis given
A boon to be thankful still
To meet them again in heaven.