There is much in life that makes me sorry as I journey
down lifeís way.
And I seem to see more pathos in poor human
Lives each day.
Iím sorry for the strong brave men, who shield
the weak from harm,
But who, in their own troubled hours find no
Iím sorry for the victors who have reached
success, to stand
As targets for the arrows shot by envious failureís
Iím sorry for the generous hearts who freely
shared their wine,
But drink alone the gall of tears in fortuneís
Iím sorry for the souls who build their own fameís
Derided by the scornful throng like ice deriding
Iím sorry for the conquering ones tho know not
But daily tread down fierce desire Ďneath scorched
and bleeding feet.
Iím sorry for the anguished hearts that break with
But Iím sorrier for the poor starved souls that
Never knew loveís pain.
Who hunger on through barren years not tasting
joys they crave,
For sadder far is such a lot than weeping oíer a
Iím sorry for the souls that come unwelcomed
Iím sorry for the unloved old who cumber up the
Iím sorry for the suffering poor in lifeís great
In truth Iím sorry for them all who make this
But underneath whateíer seems sad and is not
I know there lies hid from our sight a mighty
germ of good.
And this belief stands firm by me, my sermon,
motto, text Ė
The sorriest things in this life will seem grandest
in the next.