On a bleak, bald hill with a dull world under,
    The dreary world of the Commonplace,
I have stood when the whole world seemed a blunder
    Of dotard Time, in an aimless race.
With worry about me and want before me--
    Yet deep in my soul was a rapture spring
That made me cry to the grey sky o'er me:
    'Oh, I know this life is a goodly thing!'

I have given sweet years to a thankless duty
    While cold and starving, though clothed and fed,
For a young heart's hunger for joy and beauty
    Is harder to bear than the need of bread.
I have watched the wane of a sodden season,
    Which let hope wither, and made care thrive,
And through it all, without earthly reason,
    I have thrilled with the glory of being alive.

And now I stand by the great sea's splendor,
    Where love and beauty feed heart and eye.
The brilliant light of the sun grows tender
    As it slants to the shore of the by and by.
I prize each hour as a golden treasure--
    A pearl Time drops from a broken string:
And all my ways are the ways of pleasure,
    And I know this life is a goodly thing.

And I know, too, that not in the seeing,
    Or having, or doing the things we would,
Lies that deep rapture that comes from being
    At one with the Purpose which made all good.
And not from Pleasure the heart may borrow
    That rare contentment for which we strive,
Unless through trouble, and want, and sorrow
    It has thrilled with the glory of being alive.

Poems of Progress and New Thought Pastels by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
London: Gay & Hancock, 1911.

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