Mrs. S. A. Collins




by Mrs. S. A. Collins 

What a world of discontentment;

      What a world of toil and strife:

Is there one among the millions

      Who is satisfied with life?

Some we meet upon life's pathway,

      Who we know have goodly store.

Yet we see upon their faces

      Plainly written "something more."

Others toiling late and early

      To supply the daily bread,

When discouraged often murmur,

      "Were I someone else instead."

And the wanderer, seeking succor

      From door to door, day after day,

In his thinking moments mutter,

      "Such life as this can never pay."

E'en the king and queen, oft puzzled,

      By their duties manifold;

Wish so often in their own hearts,

      They were once more but two years old.

Life is but a tiny wavelet,

      Whether tossed by storm, or calm,

When lost upon the sea of action,

      Time goes on giving no alarm.

But as the wavelet passes outward,

      To the ocean clear and deep;

Just so life finds its sweetest mission,

      When the body falls asleep.

Quickly speeding on that mission,

      Which is then to meet its Guide,

Happy, in a soul's full freedom,

      Then it is we are satisfied.