THE CHILD AND THE SAGE

You say, O Sage, when weather-checked,

“I have been favoured so

With cloudless skies, I must expect

This dash of rain or snow.”

“Since health has been my lot,” you say,

“So many months of late,

I must not chafe that one short day

Of sickness mars my state.”

You say, “Such bliss has been my share

From Love's unbroken smile,

It is but reason I should bear

A cross therein awhile.”

And thus you do not count upon

Continuance of joy;

But, when at ease, expect anon

A burden of annoy.

But, Sage — this Earth — why not a place

Where no reprisals reign,

Where never a spell of pleasantness

Makes reasonable a pain?