When life is young, without a care,
Alone we walk, and free:
The world, a splendid merry round
Of rhythmic melody.
Before the end, grim sorrow calls
Into each mortal ear,
When friendship fades to memories,
And love lies in its bier.
Then, then it is that sympathy
Is holden close and dear;
Ah, then life's consolation comes
Commingled with a tear.
