Every man has his secret sorrows...
O little feet! that such long years Must wander on through hopes and fears, Must ache and bleed beneath your load; I, nearer to the wayside inn Where toil shall cease and rest begin, Am weary, thinking of your road!
Take them, O Death! and bear away Whatever thou canst call thine own! Thine image, stamped upon this clay, Doth give thee that, but that alone!
Take this sorrow to thy heart and make it part of thee, and it shall nourish thee till thou art strong again.
God sent his Singers upon earth With songs of sadness and of mirth, That they might touch the hearts of men, And bring them back to heaven again.
Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing, only a signal shown, and a distant voice in the darkness; So on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another, only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.
A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain.
Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.