SADNESS AND MIRTH
At a beautiful starry gateway
Two sister-spirits met,
And paused to talk of the country
To which they both were sent;
One wore a robe of sunbeams of gold
Buttoned with sparkling stars,
Her bright eyes were filled with merriment
As she stood by the crystal bars.
In one hand she held a basket
Filled with roses, ruby red,
And a smile of rare sweet beauty
Played over her face as she said:
"Sweet sister, in that far, distant land
We will both have our part to play;
Let us journey together, hand in hand,
Down the beautiful milky way;
For I, over many a cheerless path
Must scatter my roses red,
And you must strew thorns o'er the long, long road
That all of mankind must tread.
And I must bring the world gladness
And give to it Love's sweet wine;
But you must teach the world sadness
And mingle your cup with mine,.
And I must give to the reapers
A harvest of song to reap,
I must teach them to smile and laugh
But you must teach them to weep."
As she spoke, she shook her silken curls
And opened the starry gate
"Come, sweet sister, come, hasten!" she said
"For our mission cannot wait!"
The other stood with her head bowed down
And her face was so sad and pale,
And down o'er her shadowy, cloudy robe
Fell a beautiful, misty veil;
In one hand she held a basket of thorns,
In the other a mystical cup,
And she sighed, and she sadly shook her head
As she lifted her dark eyes up:
"I will go," she said, "but your cup is sweet
While mine is bitter to taste."
And gently within the jeweled hand
Her own tiny hand she placed;
And they moved away in the gray twilight,
By evening breezes fanned,
And sought for the world to which they were sent,
Two sisters, hand in hand.
They traversed life's pathways, year after year,
With a soft and noiseless tread,
One strewing her thorns all along the way
And the other her roses red.
They dwelt ofttimes with the great and high
And oft with the poor and the low,
And mingled with giddy revelry,
And with scenes of sorrow and woe;
And the infant's soft, peaceful slumbers
Were broken with smiles and tears;
The maiden trembled to see beyond
A mirage of hopes and fears;
And the matron marveled that roses and thorns
All life's winding pathway line;
And the aged sighed that the bitter and sweet
Were mixed in life's mingled wine;
And so they mused o'er their daily paths
The aged, and the young, and fair,
And theirs was only life's common lot,
A portion that all must share.
Two sister-spirits met,
And paused to talk of the country
To which they both were sent;
One wore a robe of sunbeams of gold
Buttoned with sparkling stars,
Her bright eyes were filled with merriment
As she stood by the crystal bars.
In one hand she held a basket
Filled with roses, ruby red,
And a smile of rare sweet beauty
Played over her face as she said:
"Sweet sister, in that far, distant land
We will both have our part to play;
Let us journey together, hand in hand,
Down the beautiful milky way;
For I, over many a cheerless path
Must scatter my roses red,
And you must strew thorns o'er the long, long road
That all of mankind must tread.
And I must bring the world gladness
And give to it Love's sweet wine;
But you must teach the world sadness
And mingle your cup with mine,.
And I must give to the reapers
A harvest of song to reap,
I must teach them to smile and laugh
But you must teach them to weep."
As she spoke, she shook her silken curls
And opened the starry gate
"Come, sweet sister, come, hasten!" she said
"For our mission cannot wait!"
The other stood with her head bowed down
And her face was so sad and pale,
And down o'er her shadowy, cloudy robe
Fell a beautiful, misty veil;
In one hand she held a basket of thorns,
In the other a mystical cup,
And she sighed, and she sadly shook her head
As she lifted her dark eyes up:
"I will go," she said, "but your cup is sweet
While mine is bitter to taste."
And gently within the jeweled hand
Her own tiny hand she placed;
And they moved away in the gray twilight,
By evening breezes fanned,
And sought for the world to which they were sent,
Two sisters, hand in hand.
They traversed life's pathways, year after year,
With a soft and noiseless tread,
One strewing her thorns all along the way
And the other her roses red.
They dwelt ofttimes with the great and high
And oft with the poor and the low,
And mingled with giddy revelry,
And with scenes of sorrow and woe;
And the infant's soft, peaceful slumbers
Were broken with smiles and tears;
The maiden trembled to see beyond
A mirage of hopes and fears;
And the matron marveled that roses and thorns
All life's winding pathway line;
And the aged sighed that the bitter and sweet
Were mixed in life's mingled wine;
And so they mused o'er their daily paths
The aged, and the young, and fair,
And theirs was only life's common lot,
A portion that all must share.