Melancholy retreats in eventual defeat as people rise up in defiance of its grip on them.
of living, we shrink from the world of men
and act like children with their broken toys;
we recall a time when this has not been!
O Melancholy! how you daunt us so!
Why are we the doomed apples of your eye!?
Too oft', wherever you lurk there we go
to the grave where we then quit and just die!
But, like Lazarus, we rise in the morn
with hope and renewed life and strength to cope;
like his Resurrection, we are reborn:
O Woe! Where are you now that we have hope!?
O Melancholy! Take heed and beware,
for the grave of gloom that's your threat dies there!