On Happiness

What is happiness?

It is,

In rousing music and simple food,

The pristine joys of life to find.

In solitude to find hidden bliss,

And that elusive peace of mind.

To others, merely to do what they always do,

And not what to them they want done to.

To enjoy true company, in joy as well as pain,

To joke and be joked of, in equal forgiving vein.

To be not too careless of friend, or too wary of foe,

And judge a man by effort, not what circumstances bestow.

To be hungry enough each day, to go out, work and earn,

And be loved enough at home, longingly to return.

Money, in just the right regard to hold,

To have enough of it, but not so much to hoard.

To squander not a penny, and spend with utmost care,

And yet for the deprived, always have a little to spare.

To ponder over love, and nurse a bruised heart,

But always to love again, and go over to the start.

To hold love over lust, and yourself above it all,

To hold pride over success, and virtue above all.

To lend yourself, only to causes true,

And promise not in jest, lest a liar of you.

To lose neither heart in defeat, nor modesty in victory,

And be simple in your word, but lofty only in deed.

To excel at sport, to shoot, ride and aim,

And shrug it all away, saying ‘twas just a game.

In hard work all day long, satisfaction to obtain,

And sleep tired at night, without regrets to restrain.