Sit Down, Sad Soul
“A watched pot never boils.” Though the pot be the pot of happiness, the proverb still holds true.
Sit down, sad soul, and count
The moments flying:
Come,—tell the sweet amount
That’s lost by sighing!
How many smiles—a score?
Then laugh, and count no more;
For day is dying.
Lie down, sad soul, and sleep,
And no more measure
The flight of Time, nor weep
The loss of leisure;
But here, by this lone stream,
Lie down with us and dream
Of starry treasure.
We dream: do thou the same:
We love—forever;
We laugh; yet few we shame,
The gentle, never.
Stay, then, till Sorrow dies;
Then—hope and happy skies
Are thine forever!