Is thy weather rough and cruel,Charged with thunder,dark and cold? Does thy fire lacking fuel To thy heart great misery hold? Look around,O woman's born,Full many a soul by sorrow torn From happiness and heaven's door is worse than thou on fortune's floor; Dost thou lack the wherewithal to keep thy soul and body one? Dost thou still bemoan thy fall and think thy weary self undone? Think again,o mortal man,and know that since this world began men and stars have fallen low and living things have ceased to grow. Art thou full of wealth and life,smiled upon by fortune fair? Does thy strength overcome all strife? Is thy learning great and rare? Thou art not the first to gain health or wealth or power or brain;help thy neighbour rise today;for thou art only but dust and clay.