[Ella Wheeler Wilcox.]

Laugh, and the world laughs with you,
    Weep, and you weep alone ;
For the brave old earth must borrow its mirth,
    It has troubles enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer,
    Sigh ! it is lost on the air ;
The echoes rebound to a joyful sound,
    But shrink from voicing care.

Rejoice, and men will seek you,
    Grieve, and they turn and go ;
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
    But they dont want your woe.
Be glad and your friends are many,
    Be sad and you lose them all ;
There are none to decline your nectard wine,
    But alone you must drink lifes gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded ;
    Fast, and the world goes by ;
Succeed and give and it helps you live,
    But no man can help you die,
There is room in the halls of pleasure
    For a long and lordly train ;
But one by one we must all file on
    Thro the narrow aisles of pain.