Of all the threads of rhyme
Which I have spun,
I shall be glad if Time
Save only one.

And I would have each word
To joy belong—
A lyric like a bird
Whose soul is song.

There is enough of grief
To mar the years;
Be mine a sunny leaf,
Untouched by tears,

To bring unto the heart
Delight, and make
All sorrows to depart,
And joy to wake.

No sermon mine to preach,
Save happiness;
No lesson mine to teach,
Save joy to bless.

Joy, 't is the one best thing
Below, above:
The lute's divinest string,
Whose note is love.