_To Our Lady Of Woe_

Dolores, dear, cease, kindly cease thy moaning; Thy cares, thy troubles, are thy own. None, none, will heed thy hollow groaning-- “Weep, and you weep alone!”

“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.