Hope on

Power's a cheat, success but trying,
Even pleasure bears a sting;
Still 'tis useless, useless sighing,
Rather list to Hope replying —

" The flowers must come again with spring
And in the trampled way we're going
Streams of comfort yet are flowing —
Hark! I hear them murmuring.

Fame's a liar in the nation!
Love hath oft a wayward wing;
Still, hence seek not for occasion
To impugn Hope's sweet persuasion —

"The flowers will come again with spring;
And in the world-wide way we're going
Streams of pure good yet are flowing —
Hark! I hear them murmuring."

Friendship turns, itself denying,
Even Truth, the heart may wring;
Still, though trust be daily dying,
Listen still to Hope replying —

" The flowers will come again with spring;
And in the blasted way we're going
There's yet one healing current flowing —
Hark! I hear it murmuring."

All is dream like, all off-wingeth,
All that time and tide doth bring;
Then cold Death his black pall bringeth,
Still what matter while Hope singeth —

"Lo! heaven is one eternal spring!
And midway through it rolls a river,
Wherein to bathe is health for ever —
Hark! I hear it murmuring."