Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste.

The hills, Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun.

All that tread, The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom.

Go forth under the open sky, and list To Nature's teachings.

All the world is sad and dreary, Everywhere I roam.

The skies they were ashen and sober; The leaves they were crisped and sere - The leaves they were withering and sere; It was night in the lonesome October Of m…

Laugh, and the world laughs with you; Weep, and you weep alone. For this brave old earth must borrow its mirth, But has trouble enough of its own. Sing, and th…