Ella Wheeler Wilcox (Элла Уилкокс)

Our Lives

Our lives are songs. God writes the words,
  And we set them to music at pleasure;
And the song grows glad, or sweet, or sad,
  As we choose to fashion the measure.

We must write the music, whatever the song,
  Whatever its rhyme, or metre;
And if it is sad, we can make it glad,
  Or if sweet, we can make it sweeter.

One has a song that is free and strong;
  But the music he writes is minor;
And the sad, sad strain is replete with pain,
  And the singer becomes a repiner.

And he thinks God gave him a dirge-like lay,
  Nor knows the words are cheery;
And the song seems lonely and solemn--only
  Because the music is dreary.

And the song of another has through the words
  An under current of sadness;
But he sets it to music of ringing chords,
  And makes it a pean of gladness.

So whether our songs are sad or not,
  We can give the world more pleasure,
And better ourselves, by setting the words
To a glad, triumphant measure. 

1872

Ella Wheeler Wilcox’s other poems:

  1. The Phantom Ball
  2. The Giddy Girl
  3. The Awakening (I love the tropics, where sun and rain)
  4. The Bed
  5. The Plow of God




To the dedicated English version of this website