Classic Poem

There are flowers of good cheer growing close by the way
That stretches from dark to the dawn;
Full wreathed in the green leaves of smiles, so they say,
And never or ever are gone.
The snows of misfortune deep mantling the ground,
The blasts from the Northland grow shrill,
Beneath we may find them full blooming around,
And pluck them whenever we will.

There are ripples of laughter down deep in the heart,
As flowers that bloom 'neath the snows;
Though fettered with ice there is water apart,
That tinkles and trills as it flows.
The breath of Misfortune may strew its hoar frost,
The moan of the winter be chill,
The music of joy be afar but not lost,
And we may still hear, if we will.

There are songs of Delight on the wings of the wind,
Though hoarser the tempest we hear;
Though fierce in its raging the wild storm has dinned
Its discord of strife on the ear.
The deep diapason, the storm's sullen roar,
Shall sink to a murmur, be still;
And songs that are sweeter shall tremble once more,
The songs we may hear, if we will.