Let's oftener talk of noble deeds
and rarer of the bad ones,
and sing about our happy days
and not about the sad ones.
We are not made to fret and sigh,
and when grief sleeps, to wake it,
bright happiness is standing by
this life is what we make it.

Let's find the sunny side of men.
Or be believer in it
a light there is in every soul
that takes the pains to win it,
Oh; there is slumbering good in all,
and we perchance may wake it.
Our hands contain the magic wand,
this life is what we make it.

Then here's to those whose loving hearts
shed light and joy about them
thanks to them for countless gems
we ne'er had known without them:
Oh; this should be a happy world,
to all who may partake it.
The fault's our own if it is not
this life is what we make it.