Classic Poem

'Tis better to the house of woe,
Than to the house of mirth to go;
The lessons that its scenes impart
Bring home instruction to the heart;
'Tis there that feelingly we learn
Our nature's frailty to discern,
And in the ills of others see
What we ourselves must quickly be.
Folly's array'd in smiles, but tears
Are oft the garb that wisdom wears;
Though sad the countenance, the mind
By virtuous sorrow is refin'd.
Destructive is unhallowed mirth,
It chains our nobler pow'rs to earth,
But sorrow weans from earthly things,
And from it lasting comfort springs.
In pensive scenes that mend the heart,
The wise delight to take a part;
Deceitful joys allure the vain,
That carry anguish in their train.
Better to wise reproofs t'attend,
That grieve us only to amend,
Than folly's song, with empty noise
That cheats us of substantial joys.
For transient as the crackling blaze,
The burst of giddy mirth decays;
Its brightness vanishes in wind,
But leaves it nauseous smoke behind.