_Felicitous Retroflections_

Tho’ this life may have its many thousand ills And nameless woes--and the gait or the grind kills-- Yet with all this, “this life it is most jolly”; What folly to consort, then, with Care and Melancholy!

Petty troubles should not grieve thee, Of thy happy dreams bereave thee. Faint of heart--cark was a “quitter” ever. Undaunted cheer kept bravely on! Stop not to brood o’er failures--never,--never! Almost defeated “Trojans” have oft the battle won.

Sharpest thorns among red roses; Bitter rind sweet fruit encloses, And a pinching, pestering torment teaches this:-- Vanquished sorrow adds greater zest to bliss!