Originally published in Douglas Jerrold's Shilling Magazine (Punch) vol.1 #4 (Apr 1845).
He who mourneth day by day
That his youth doth pass away
Like the blossoms on the tree,
Sure an April-fool must be:
For the blossoms fade and die
That the tree may fruit supply;
So youth fled, we e'er should find
Fruitful wisdom left behind.
He who lives to garner gold,
Selling what should ne'er be sold,
Bartering peace for dross, why he
Sure an April-fool must be!
Many who'd have mourn'd his end
Will rejoice that they may spend;
For the ingots he may save,
None will bury in his grave.
He who spurns the horny hand,
Throwing loom or tilling land,
Treating labour scornfully—
Sure an April fool is he!
Were the loom of toil bereft,
Spider would weave warp and weft;
Earth and labour are allied—
Thriftless groom makes thriftless bride.
He who thinks that Time hath done
All for which Time was begun,
Nor its onward course doth see,
Sure an April-fool must be!
Night but slowly melts away,
Daylight cometh ray by ray;
Time must work creation's plan,
And Man be victor over Man.