There is much in life that makes me sorry as I journey down lifeâ€™s way. And I seem to see more pathos in poor human Lives each day. Iâ€™m sorry for the strong brave men, who shield the weak from harm, But who, in their own troubled hours find no Protecting arm.
Iâ€™m sorry for the victors who have reached success, to stand As targets for the arrows shot by envious failureâ€™s hand. Iâ€™m sorry for the generous hearts who freely shared their wine, But drink alone the gall of tears in fortuneâ€™s drear decline.
Iâ€™m sorry for the souls who build their own fameâ€™s funeral pyre, Derided by the scornful throng like ice deriding fire. Iâ€™m sorry for the conquering ones tho know not sinâ€™s defeat, But daily tread down fierce desire â€˜neath scorched and bleeding feet.
Iâ€™m sorry for the anguished hearts that break with passions strain, But Iâ€™m sorrier for the poor starved souls that Never knew loveâ€™s pain. Who hunger on through barren years not tasting joys they crave, For sadder far is such a lot than weeping oâ€™er a grave.
Iâ€™m sorry for the souls that come unwelcomed into birth, Iâ€™m sorry for the unloved old who cumber up the earth. Iâ€™m sorry for the suffering poor in lifeâ€™s great maelstrom hurled, In truth Iâ€™m sorry for them all who make this aching world.
But underneath whateâ€™er seems sad and is not understood, I know there lies hid from our sight a mighty germ of good. And this belief stands firm by me, my sermon, motto, text â€“ The sorriest things in this life will seem grandest in the next.