The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1884-06-14
PESSIMISM,

ats life worth living?-Well, to tell you true
1t scarcely is, if all men were like you.'
Bright-faced maiden, bright-souled maiden,
What is this that must hear?
Is thy heart with sorrow laden,
Is thine eye dimmed with tear2
Can il be that lips so sweetly
Rounded to be kindly kissed,
Could be twisted indiscreetly
To that vile word PeSSimist?
Not for thine own ills thou weepest;
Softly feathered is thy nest;
When thou wallest, when thou sleepest
Thou art fortuned with the best.
But thy sisters and thy brothers
Pierced with many woeful smart,
Dying children, wailing mothers,
Fret thy nerve, and stab thy heart.
In the country, in the city,
Goddess deeds, a loveless list
Stir thy blood and move thy pity,
And thou art a PeSStnltSt.
Storms and wars and tribulations,
FeVered passions reinleSs tide,
With insane Authorizations
Mingled travel far and wide.
Can there be an Eye inspecting
Things so tumbling in pell-mell,
With cool control directing
Such hotbed, such hellI
Nay, sweet maid. but think more slowly;
Though this thing and that be sad,
TITS a logic most unhOy
That the gross of things is bad;
IT'S a trick of melancholy,
Tainting life with deaths alloy;
Or in wisdom, or in folly,
Nature still delights in joy.
Dost thou hear of starving sinners2
Nine and ten or ninety-uine,
Many thousands eat good dinners,
Many hundreds quaH good wine.
Hast thou seen score of cripples?
Equal legs are not uncommon;
If you know one fool that tipples,
Thousands drink hoffman and woman;
Tell me, if you know how many
Murders happen in the town?
One year, perhaps, if any;
Should that weigh your heart quite down?
No doubt, if you read the papers,
You will find a strange hotch-potch-
Doting dreams, deliriouS capers,
Many blunder, blot and blotch;
Bags of windy speculation,
Babbemcnt of small and great,
Cheating, swindling, peculation,
Squdbhlcmcnt OF Church and State;
Miners blown up, humbugs shown up,
Beaten wives, insulted brides,
Raving preachers, witlesS teachers,
Lunatics and suicides
Drains and CcSSpOOlS, Paintings, feYerS,
Poisoned cats and stolen collies,
Simple women, gay deceivers
Every sort and size of follies,
Wandering NJ. p. branless babble,
Deputations meetings, dinners,
Riots OF the lawless rahble,
Purple sins of West End sinners;
Driving, dicing, drinking, dancing,
Spirit-rapping, ghostly stuff,
Bubble schemes, and dett financing,
When the shares are blown enough.
All this is true; when men cut capCrs
That make the people talk or stare,
Tomorrow when you ope the papers,
You're sure to find your antics there.
But you and !, and ali our ncighbors,
Meanwhile in pure and peaceful ways,
With link on link of fruitful labors,
Draw out our chain of happy days.
See things as they are; be sober;
Balance well lite's loss and gain:
If to-day be chill October,
Summer suns will come again.
Are bleak winds for ever signing?
Do dark clouds for ever lower!
Are your friends all dead and dying?
A fn IlpD
Great men no doubt have sometimes sma
ways,
But horse is not an ass,
And back-snalSe is not always
Lurking in the soft green grass.
Don't be haSty, gentle lady;
In this whirl of diverse things
Keep your footing, and with steady
Poise control your equal wings.
All things can't to all be pleasant,
love bitter, you love sweet;
Some faint when a cat is present,
Rats find babies cheeks a treat.
= II ali pc Betty filings we're re- grand. -
Where would greatness be- when all things
On one common level stand?
DO you think the winged breezes
Fraught with healthy ventilation.
When tender infant sneezes
Should retreat with Irepidation?
When dry Earth to Heaven is calling
For soft rain and freshening dew,
Shall the rain refrain from falling
Lest my lady wet her shoe?
Fools still rush to rash conclusions,
And the mole-cyed miniOn man
Talks of troubles and cOnfusions,
When he sees not half the plan.
Spare to blame and fear to cavil,
With short leave dismiss your pain.
Let no fretful fancics revef
In the sanctum of your brain.
Use no magnifying glasses
To change molehilIs into mountains,
Nor on every hill that passes
Pour not tears from bitter fountains.
Trust in God and know your duty,
Some good things are in your power;
Every day will bring its booty
From the labor of the hour.
Never wreck what folos are prating
Work and wait, let sorrow lie:
Live and love; have done with hating
Goethe says-and so say |.
-BtdctpOOd'S Magazine.