This Way
By Eliza M. Hickok
"Whence came and whither bound are we?"
Holds something still of mystery;
But one grave thought is clear and plain,
We shall not pass this way again.
Why waste an hour in vain regret,
For common ills that must be met?
Why of the thorny road complain?
We shall not pass this way again.
Why wound, or cause a tear to start?
Why vex or trouble one poor heart?
Each hath its secret grief or care,
Its burden that thou canst not share.
The years glide by: stand strong and true!
The good thou canst, oh, quickly do!
Let gentle words sooth woe and pain,
We shall not pass this way again.
Holds something still of mystery;
But one grave thought is clear and plain,
We shall not pass this way again.
Why waste an hour in vain regret,
For common ills that must be met?
Why of the thorny road complain?
We shall not pass this way again.
Why wound, or cause a tear to start?
Why vex or trouble one poor heart?
Each hath its secret grief or care,
Its burden that thou canst not share.
The years glide by: stand strong and true!
The good thou canst, oh, quickly do!
Let gentle words sooth woe and pain,
We shall not pass this way again.