Man was made for joy and woe, And when this we rightly know Through the world we safely go. Joy and woe are woven fine, A clothing for the soul divine.
How sweet I roam'd from field to field, And tasted all the summer's pride, 'Till I the prince of love beheld, Who in the sunny beams did glide!
He shew'd me lilies for my hair, And blushing roses for my brow; He led me through his gardens fair, Where all his golden pleasures grow.
With sweet May dews my wings were wet, And Phoebus fir'd my vocal rage; He caught me in his silken net, And shut me in his golden cage.
He loves to sit and hear me sing, Then, laughing, sports and plays with me; Then stretches out my golden wing, And mocks my loss of liberty.
There is a smile of love, And there is a smile of deceit, And there is a smile of smiles In which these two smiles meet.
