of the little I have seen and heard,
this thing of man to me seem queer,
how quick they act to be dear to you,
and quicker they turn with jeers and boos.
this I know, men would sing your praise,
while you’re up they’ll seek your face,
once you’re down and light goes dim,
worthless him, valueless him shall be their hymn.
for each man it seems would be best alone,
since many are clay on hearts of stone,
“Jesus wept” itself has thus disclose,
he saw in man the buds- black rose.