The World Is What We Make It Poem by Mary Jacqueline Simon Moore

Some say this world is beautiful,
Some call it base and vile,
Some think it always frowns on them,
Some only see its smile.

No doubt the poor dyspeptic thinks
This world a dreary spot,
And that to him has been assigned
A miserable lot.

But others of a happier mood
Can laugh and smile and sing,
Content in every stage of life
And pleased with every thing.

Some take delight in finding fault
With every kind of weather,
As cloudy, rough, hot, cold or wet,
Or all of them together.

Rain, hail and snow, and stormy winds
Will never turn aside
To please the dwarfs who fret and fume,
And show their silly pride.

Let us in nature's joy rejoice
And hail each sunny day,
And in the storm, seek shelter till
The cloud has passed away.

Thus shall we own a pleasant world,
And when we hence remove
We'll love the more the better land-
The paradise above.