He went so blithely on the way
That people call the road of Life,
That good folks, who had stopped to pray,
Shaking their heads would look and say
It wasn’t right to be so gay
Upon this weary road of strife.
He whistled as he went, and still
He bore the young where streams were deep
He helped the feeble up the hill;
He seemed to go with heart athrill,
Careless of deed and wild of will.
He whistled that he might not weep.