The Goblet of Life

Filled is Life's goblet to the brim;

And though my eyes with tears are dim,

I see its sparkling bubbles swim,

And chant a melancholy hymn

With solemn voice and slow.

This goblet, wrought with curious art,

Is filled with waters, that upstart,

When the deep fountains of the heart,

By strong convulsions rent apart,

Are running all to waste.

Then in Life's goblet freely press,

The leaves that give it bitterness,

Nor prize the colored waters less,

For in thy darkness and distress

New light and strength they give!

And he who has not learned to know

How false its sparkling bubbles show,

How bitter are the drops of woe,

With which its brim may overflow,

He has not learned to live.

The prayer of Ajax was for light;

Through all that dark and desperate fight

The blackness of that noonday night

He asked but the return of sight,

To see his foeman's face.

Let our unceasing, earnest prayer

Be, too, for light,--for strength to bear

Our portion of the weight of care,

That crushes into dumb despair

One half the human race.

O suffering, sad humanity!

O ye afflicted ones who lie

Steeped to the lips in misery,

Longing, and yet afraid to die,

Patient, though sorely tried!

I pledge you in this cup of grief,

Where floats the fennel's bitter leaf!

The Battle of our Life is brief,

The alarm,--the struggle,--the relief,

Then sleep we side by side.