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  Laugh and the world laugh 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, and it is lost on the air. The echoes bounce 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 to live, But no man can help you die. There is room in the hall of pleasure For a long and lordly train, But one by one we must all file on Through the narrow aisles of pain. (By Ella Wheeler Wilcox |1857-1913|)

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