Mother Earth, Vol. 1 No. 1, March 1906 — Vive Le Roi

BY FRANCES MAULE BJORKMAN

Aye, vive le roi.

The King is dead-- So move our lives from day to day.

The triumph of to-morrow's lord Meets for our former chief's decay.

Then love and live and laugh and sing-- The world is good and life is free-- There's not a single care I know That's worth a single tear from me.

What's love or fame or place or power?

What's wealth when we shall come to die?

What matters anything on earth So long as only I am I?

The Joy or grief or love or shame That holds its little hour of sway Is only worth its destined time-- What use to try to make it stay?

Aye, let it go.

The monarch dead, A better king our shouts may hail And if a worse--well, still be glad;

He too will pass behind the vail.

They all must pass--fame, joy and love, The sting of grief, the blot of shame;

The only thing that really counts Is how we bear the praise or blame.