The Waters of Marah

We may laugh and sing, we may dance and jest,As if life were only gladness;But where every heart's deep fountain starts,There's a little pool of sadness.

Where the waters of Marah stagnant lie,Or rise to its brim o'erflowing;Where the spirit sighs while its music dies,When no one else is knowing.

O life should be like a sweet, glad tune,From the year's dull keys ascending;Like the wild-bird's song in the heart of June,But broadening and never ending!

Yet each must know where the sobbing notesDrown often the tones of pleasure;Like a laughing brook o'er its cold sharp stones,Is the song in its changing measure.

In the whirling dance in the festal hall,Where human hearts seem lightest;In the golden glare of pride and wealth,Where life seems best and brightest.

There is many a frozen marble smile,On the sculptured lips of pleasure;And many who try to drown a while,The toil of life's dull measure.