You bid me sing a gay refrain, Win t'rom my lyre a note more glad, And when I chose a brighter strain, Still- still you told me it was sad. I did not mean it should be so, Nor was my vvish to make yon sigh; But you are young and do not know How joy and grief together lie. There ever ia a minor chord Struck somewhere in our earthly laya, Ever a shadow on the sward Oí brightest scènes whereon we gaze. And while we may not heed the one Nor hear the other, each is there, Yet lurking in the blithost tone, Yet darkening the landscape fair. Thus, often scarcely knowing why. We cannot look without a tear. And so it ia we sometimes sigh, Though joyous by the song we hear.