Joy was the chief of the laughter-mill; high on a sun-topped peak
He had builded it up at the rainbow’s end, happily, week by week;
And years and years and years had passed; and still the old mill stood
Strong as a fort; and it worked away, singing the song of the good.
Joy was the chief of the laughter-mill; in it worked Fun and Gay
And Dimple-my-Chin and the Chuckle boys, turning the wheels all day;
And every night when the sun was low, and they turned away from the door,
There were piles of laughs all ready to wear, in good neat rows on the floor.
Some of the laughs were the largest size, as large as a man might please,
Some were the kind that were hard to use; there were not so many of these.
Some were quite sober, and some were bright, and all were turned up at the ends,
With an extra package of Gigglequicks, for young little girls and their friends.
Joy made the styles in his laughter-mill; some of the smiles were sweet;
Some were to wear in a happy home, and some were for use on the street;
But Dimple-my-Chin and the Chuckle boys worked lovingest, best, I hear,
On a soft little laugh that was stirred in a heart, and made of a precious tear.