Once I rebelled and braced myself
Against the winds of loss and pain;
The gale blew on and there was I
Spent and breathless by the strain.
Against the sky where four winds blow
I watched a whirling weather vane
Turn lightly with each gentle breeze,
Then turn the same in storm and rain.
Rebel or yield, the winds of fate
Blow soft or strong, bring loss or gain-
Henceforth, around I turn, meet life,
As yielding as a weather vane.