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."