Ella Wheeler Wilcox (1850 – 1919)
American poet.
Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone.
For this brave old earth must borrow its mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air.
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.
To sin by silence, when we should protest,
Makes cowards out of men.
There is no sudden entrance into Heaven.
Slow is the ascent by the path of Love.
You never can tell when you do an act
Just what the result will be;
But with every deed you are sowing a seed,
Though the harvest you may not see.
Each kindly act is an acorn dropped
In God's productive soil;
You may not know, yet the tree shall grow
And shelter the brows that toil.
All love that has not friendship for its base,
Is like a mansion built upon the sand.
So many gods, so many creeds;
So many paths that wind and wind,
While just the art of being kind
Is all the sad world needs.