Oh, say not this world is always as dark
As it seems in our moments of sorrow;
For the croak of the raven, the song of the lark,
May ring through the heavens to-morrow.
Then why should we play the misanthrope fool,
And sit in our dungeon of sadness,
While over the glooms of Hegesia's school
We may fly on the free wings of gladness!

Our loves may be false and our friends turn unkind, —
For but few friends, alas! ere prove true ones;
Though we mourn them with grief we should still bear in mind
'Tis not very hard to get new ones!
We look on the meadows, the trees and the skies,
And we marvel how men can adore them;
But we think not the jaundice is in our own eyes,
And 'tis that throws the yellow tint o'er them!

And though oft we find thorns where we thought to have flowers,
Why, why, should we harbour resentment?
There is not a man in this wide world of ours
Who has not great cause for contentment!
Then say not this world is always as dark
As it seems in our moments of sorrow,
For the croak of the raven, the song of the lark,
May ring through the heavens to-morrow.