Classic Poem

I T'S a dreary sort of business, this living day by day
In a murky, shadowed Pain-World, when just across the way
You can see the sun is shining and can hear the bird-songs ring —
While your whistle is a little squeak — and not another thing!
It's a dreary sort of business, but grin as others do
If you can't suppress your grumble — for your pain's not really you!

It's a weary sort of business to wake each smiling morn
To find you have a " mis'ry " like a red-hot, pointed thorn,
But the one that had you yesterday, is dead; and this may not
Last quite as long — or dig as deep — or keep on being hot!
You've got a grumble coming, but look up at the sky,
There's lots of sunshine somewhere, and the birds are flying high!

It's a teary sort of business, this keeping on — and on —
But the chap who is a quitter hates himself, at last The dawn
Was hustled out of being by midday — and that, by night —
Yet they came back — and didn't quit the Game, in sullen fright!

*****

If we all walked in the sunlight every day, why, don't you see
We'd throw our own dark shadow on some better men than we!