I can't help of thinking of Bob Franke's lines, slightly folk processed, from "Thanksgiving Eve":

There are sorrows enough for the whole world's end,
There are no guantees but the grave,
But the friends that we meet and the love that we share,
Are treasures too precious to save.

What can we do with our days but work and hope,
Let our dreams bind our work with our play;
What can we do with every moment that we live,
But love till we've loved it away,
Love till we've loved it away.