For every hour of pain I have had a day of pleasure. For every moment of worry, an hour of content.
Ella Wheeler WilcoxUnwearied, and with springing steps elate, I had conveyed my wealth along the road. The empty sack proved now a heavier load: I was borne down beneath its worthless weight. I stumbled on, and knocked at Death's dark gate. There was no answer. Stung by sorrow's goad I forced my way into that grim abode, And laughed, and flung Life's empty sack to Fate.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox