Under the Pines
“LIFE is sad,” says the wind in the pines
To the still soul listening,
While the pale, pale day declines
Like a white bird on the wing.
“Life is sad,” says the quiet earth
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Under the churchyard wall,
Where the spring flowers have their birth
And the autumn leaflets fall.
“Life is sad,” say the daisies that blow there
And stretch out their heads to the sun;
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“Life is sad,” say the poor hearts that go there
To weep when the day’s work is done.
“Life is sad,” from below, from on high,
From forest and meadow and tree,
From the clouds that drift over the sky
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And the days that die into the sea.
Then up and be brave with thy sorrow,
Like a man with his face to the blast;
Not from hope of the joys of to-morrow,
Nor rest when the warfare is past;
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But strong that weak souls may grow strong,
That men may take heart by the way,
Till the heavens break forth with the song
That will herald eternal day.
