An Optimist’s Prayer

 

 

Ah, these are the dark days, the stark days and all,

When it seems that this house of cards surely must fall;

When bitter’s the wind sweeping down from the north,

And all of our worst frets and fears sally forth;

When a plague of uncertainties fevers the brow,

And a cold, chilling doubt casts a pall on us now;

When the mind aping Heaven is gray overcast,

And the tears and the sheeting rain fall overfast;

When Winter-raped Nature, divested of green,

In modesty shivers and would not be seen;

When hopes are as petals that withered soon fall…

Ah, these are the stark days, the dark days and all.

 

Ah, but to live in this sliver of space and of time,

When spirit and flesh are both covered with rime;

When prospects seem low clouds, cadaverous gray;

When dreams seem as leaves dead, and all blown away.

 

Just to breathe when the fallen take nary a breath;

To live before maggots outlive us in Death;

To love while we may till Life’s curtain shall fall…

Ah, these are not dark days—not dark days at all!

 

Ask of the Dead now how sorry your lot;

Ask them of living which soon they forgot;

Ask them how quick does Eternity call;

Ask them how Death soon make fools of us all;

Ask them all questions with which Life is fraught;

Ask of them answers, and you shall get naught.

 

Then…

 

Glimpse one sprightly sunbeam that cleaves through the rain;

Feel one drop of joy in an ocean of pain;

Hear one brief melodious note through the din;

Smell one rose that grows on a dunghill of sin;

Taste one fleeting sweetness through bitterest gall…

Ah! these are the bright days, the light days and all!

 

Yea, Hope is the kindling and, though it seem small,

Faith fans the spark into flames licking tall;

Cherish now what you’ll too soon not recall:

These are the bright days, the right days and all!