“THE words are good," I said, "I cannot doubt;" 

I took my scissors then to cut them out; 

My darling seized my hand. "Take care," she cried, 

"There is a picture on the other side."

I fell to musing. We are too intent 

On gaining that on which our minds are bent; 

We choose, then fling the fragments far and wide, 

But spoil the picture on the other side!

A prize is offered; others seek it too, 

But on we press, with only self in view; 

We gain our point, and pause well satisfied, 

But ah! The picture on the other side!

On this, a sound of revelry we hear; 

On that, a wail of mourning strikes the ear: 

On this, a carriage stands with groom and bride; 

A hearse is waiting on the other side.

We call it trash, we tread it roughly down,

The tiling which others might have deemed a crown;

An infant's eye, anointed, sees the gold,

Where we, world-blinded, only brass behold.

We pluck a weed, and fling it to the breeze; 

A flower of fairest hue another sees: 

We strike a chord with careless smile and jest, 

And break a heartstring in another's breast.

Tread soft and softer still as on you go,

With eyes washed clear in Love's anointing glow;

Life's page well finished, turn it, satisfied,

And lo! Heaven's picture on the other side. 



WHAT know I more that's worth the knowing? 

What have I done that's worth the doing? 

What have I sought that I should shun?

What duty have I left undone? 

Or into what new follies run?