Andrew Macphail, comp. The Book of Sorrow. 1916.
This World is all a fleeting ShowThomas Moore (17791852)
T
For man’s illusion given;
The smiles of Joy, the tears of Woe,
Deceitful shine, deceitful flow—
There ’s nothing true, but Heaven!
As fading hues of Even;
And Love and Hope, and Beauty’s bloom,
Are blossoms gather’d for the tomb—
There ’s nothing bright, but Heaven!
From wave to wave we’re driven,
And Fancy’s flash, and Reason’s ray,
Serve but to light the troubled way—
There ’s nothing calm, but Heaven!