“Laugh! and the world laughs with you!” Sorrow none would choose to borrow; These are maxims old and true, “Clouds to-day--sunshine to-morrow.” Unhappy priestess,--pray be good! Why, why all these sighs and tears? Come, learn of Joy and God’s plenitude! To Bliss, not Grief, belongs thy blooming years. _REGRET_ I know that I must die; This is my one regret. I hope, of course, to gain immortality, That is, in “the sweet bye and bye!” But, oh, to leave this world of cheer and fret, This is my regret--my great regret. Truly I grieve, to pass from earth away, To realms, perchance, of brighter day. So glad I am that I have lived and been; That I have joyed and chafed,--and strived to keep my conscience free from sin. Oh, if I could, gladly I would, live life’s wondrous dream of pain and pleasure o’er--aye! many times o’er again. _OF PARADISE, ETC._ Of Paradise ’tis sweet to dream, And life beside the Elysian stream! In flowery vales ’mong scenes above, Why loves the fancy so to rove? Why does man so berate the earth? Are there no shrines for reverence here? The Mother World that gave him birth Has always been man’s sport and sneer. Is Nature, then, so harsh and cold? Has she no warmth, no love, no light? Does she her children cuff and scold? Are mankind, then, her special spite? No, no! Earth loves her human brood! Earth is a mother kind and good. ’Tis man alone--inglorious wretch! Who would his parents’ name besmirch. Love, then, the world! Is it not fair? Could God design a brighter, cosier sphere. Of clay, of water, wood and air? Were man but just, what paradise were here! _ON IMMORTALITY_ For immortality, all mortals sigh, Men are not dead, then, when they die? Fond Hope dispels our mental fears, Transports the thoughts to happier spheres. And yet,--’tho we ceased here in rayless night, Have we not had our share of light? Of summer sunshine, cloud and showers, Bright rainbow tints, bright birds and flowers? O’er dearth of years is it not selfishness to grieve? How much of unawakened clay, Has yet not had its glimpse of day, Has yet not felt the thrill of life? Anon, anon, when his long race is run, Will not man gladly rest in his cool tomb? For other lives we should make room; Sleep they not best, whose hard life’s work is done? _A FELICITOUS MEDICAL PRESCRIPTION_