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HOPE.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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HOPE.

When all my fields are frozen,
When all my orchards nakèd stand,
I hear a sound that is like the sound
Of a sower, sowing the land.
And all at once the limbs of leaves,
So darkly-dim before,
Shine round me like a thresher's sheaves
When he stands in his threshing-floor.

127

Awake from troubled slumber,
In the middle watch o' the night,
I see a hand that is like the hand
Of a painter, painting the light.
And all at once, with the shadows
Are threads of silver spun,
And all my room is like the bloom
Of a garden in the sun.
When pleasures please no longer,
When the charm of love is lost,
When my dearest hopes before me
Like chaff in the winds are tost;
My empty heart forgets its lack,
And I hear a voice that sings
Like the mother-bird when she calleth back
Her little ones to her wings.
When the sea of life is darkest,
When the billows gap with graves,
I hear a step that is like a step
That is treading on the waves;
And all at once the clouds are rent,
And I with my spirit see
That time is but an incident
Of the great eternity.