Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and
you weep alone;
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
But has
trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is
lost on the air;
The echoes bound 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 do
not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and
you lose them all,—
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone
you must drink life’s 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 large
and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the
narrow aisles of pain.
~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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