Edwin Arnold

We are the voices of the wandering wind,
Which moan for rest and rest can never find;
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We are the voices of the wandering wind,
Which moan for rest and rest can never find;
Lo! as the wind is so is mortal life,
A moan, a sigh, a sob, a storm, a strife.

A little rain will fill
The lily's cup which hardly moists the field.

A little rain will fill
The lily's cup which hardly moists the field.

Early violets blue and white
Dying for their love of light.

Early violets blue and white
Dying for their love of light.

That what will come, and must come, shall come well.

That what will come, and must come, shall come well.

Like a plank of driftwood
Tossed on the watery main,
Another plank encountered,
Meets, read more

Like a plank of driftwood
Tossed on the watery main,
Another plank encountered,
Meets, touches, parts again;
So tossed, and drifting ever,
On life's unresting sea,
Men meet, and greet, and sever,
Parting eternally.