Classic Poem

The man who frets at worldly strife
Grows sallow, sour, and thin;
Give us the lad whose happy life
Is one perpetual grin:
He, Midas-like, turns all to gold, —
He smiles when others sigh,
Enjoys alike the hot and cold,
And laughs through wet and dry.

There 's fun in everything we meet, —
The greatest, worst, and best;
Existence is a merry treat,
And every speech a jest:
Be 't ours to watch the crowds that pass
Where Mirth's gay banner waves;
To show fools through a quizzing-glass,
And bastinade the knaves.

The serious world will scold and ban,
In clamor loud and hard,
To hear Meigs called a Congressman,
And Paulding styled a bard;
But, come what may, the man 's in luck
Who turns it all to glee,
And laughing, cries, with honest Puck,
" Good Lord! what fools ye be. "