Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
   Weep, and you weep alone;
 For the sad 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. 

Rejoice, and men will seek you;
   Grieve, and they turn and go;
 They want full measure of all your pleasure,
   But they do not need your woe.
 Be glad, and your friends are many;
   Be sad, and you lose them all, --
 There are none to decline your nectared wine,
   But alone you must drink life's gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded;
   Fast, and the world goes by.
 Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
   But no man can help you die. 
 There is room in the halls of pleasure
   For a large and lordly train,
 But one by one we must all file on
   Through the narrow aisles of pain.