Classic Poem

What a world with all its sorrows!
What a scene, would it but stay;
What an earth, if all its morrows
Were as fair as this " to-day! "

When earth's summer pulse is beating
With the fever-fire of June,
And the flowers fling up their greeting,
Quivering to the joyous noon.

When the streamlet, smiling gladly,
Hurries calmly, brightly by,
Not a voice around speaks sadly,
Not a murmur nor a sigh.

Sunbeams with their fond caresses,
Smooth each rosebud's velvet fold,
Lingering in the glowing tresses
Of yon rich laburnum's gold.

Nature all its gay adorning
Opens to the day's bright bliss,
Like a child at early morning,
Wakened by its mother's kiss.

What a world! when all its sorrow
Shall for ever pass away!
What an earth! when each " to-morrow "
Shall be fairer than " to-day. "