Ups and downs are our fate; for the best ’tis I ween,
Some woes we forget as though ne’er they had been,
But while memory her hold of my being retains
I’ll remember the lesson I learned on the plains.
If fortune withholds what I deem would be good,
I try to be thankful for shelter and food.
If disposed e’er to murmur, the wish is controlled,
When I think of that season of hunger and cold.
—Emily Hill Woodmansee