by Henry Ignatius Dudley Ryder
The world's laugh, the world's laugh,
Is hardly to be borne;
It is the wind that parts the chaff
From the solid golden corn.
Hither and thither the chaff flies,
And out through the open door
Heavy and rich the grain lies
Upon the granary floor.
But one day the world's laugh,
Which now doth lord it so,
Shall fail and sink with the light chaff
Into the fire below.
And the solemn thunder of God's laugh,
The breath of Almighty scorn,
Shall drown for ever the world's laugh
And may of none be borne.