 | Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton |  |
HOPE
Men talk and dream of that better land
Home of our weary race—
On to a glowing sunlit goal
They lead the eager chase.
The world grows old and young again
Yet man hopes on mid toil and pain.
Home of our weary race—
On to a glowing sunlit goal
They lead the eager chase.
The world grows old and young again
Yet man hopes on mid toil and pain.
Hope beckoneth out to earnest life—
It hovers round the boy—
Its magic glimmer lures the youth
And makes the old man's joy—
Life, to the grave, he yieldeth up—
Yet on that grave he planteth hope.
It hovers round the boy—
Its magic glimmer lures the youth
And makes the old man's joy—
Life, to the grave, he yieldeth up—
Yet on that grave he planteth hope.
85
'Tis not a phantom of the brain,
Sick of this ceaseless strife:
It ringeth in the inmost heart
Born for a higher life.
And what that inner voice hath taught
The hoping soul deceiveth not.
Sick of this ceaseless strife:
It ringeth in the inmost heart
Born for a higher life.
And what that inner voice hath taught
The hoping soul deceiveth not.
1853.
| Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton | |