HOPE.
Happy is he that hath the God of Jacob for his help, whose hope is in the Lord his God.—Psalm cxlvi. 5.
The Lord is my portion, saith my soul, therefore will I hope in Him.—Lamentations, iii. 24.
It is good that a man should both hope and quietly wait for the salvation of the Lord.—Lamentations, iii. 26.
If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men the most miserable.—I. Corinthians, xv. 19.
Which hope we have as an anchor of the soul, both sure and steadfast, and which entereth into that within the veil.—Hebrews, vi. 19.
Upon her arm a silver anchor lay,
Whereon she leaned ever, as befel:
And ever up to Heaven as she did pray,
Her steadfast eyes were bent, not swerved otherway.
Spenser.
Hope, eager hope, the assassin of our joy,
All present blessings treading under foot,
Is scarce a milder tyrant than despair.
With no past toils content, still planning new,
Hope turns us o’er to death alone for ease.
Possession why more tasteless than pursuit?
Why is a wish far dearer than a crown?
That wish accomplished, why the grave of bliss?
Because in the great future buried deep,
Beyond our plans of empire and renown,
Lies all that man with ardour should pursue;
And He who made him, bent him to the right.
Young.
Rich Hope of boundless bliss!
Bliss, past man’s power to paint it; time’s to close!
This Hope is earth’s most estimable prize:
This is man’s portion while no more than man:
Hope, of all passions, most befriends us here;
Passions of prouder name befriend us less.
Joy has her tears, and transport has her death;
Hope, like a cordial, innocent, though strong,
Man’s heart at once inspirits and serenes;
Nor makes him pay his wisdom for his joys;
’Tis all our present state can safely bear,
Health to the frame, and vigour to the mind!
A joy attempered! A chastised delight!
Like the fair summer evening, mild and sweet,
’Tis man’s full cup, his paradise below.
Young.
Hope, with uplifted foot, set free from earth,
Pants for the place of her ethereal birth;
On steady wings, sails through the immense abyss,
Plucks amaranthine joys from bowers of bliss,
And crowns the soul, while yet a mourner here,
With wreaths like those triumphant spirits wear.
Hope, as an anchor, firm and sure, holds fast
The Christian vessel, and defies the blast.
Cowper.
Reflected on the lake, I love
To see the stars of evening glow;
So tranquil in the heavens above,
So restless in the wave below.
Thus heavenly hope is all serene,
But earthly hope, how bright soe’er,
Still flutters o’er this changeful scene,
As false, as fleeting as ’tis fair.
Bishop Heber.
Whose was that voice, that whispering sweet,
Promised methought long days of bliss sincere;
Soothing it stole on my deluded ear,
Most like soft music that might sometimes cheat
Thoughts dark and drooping! ’twas the voice of hope.
Of love and social scenes it seem’d to speak:
Of truth, of friendship, of affection meek;
That hand in hand along life’s downward slope,
Might walk with peace and cheer the tranquil hours:
Ah me! the prospect sadden’d as she sung,
Loud on my startled ear the death-bell rung:
Chill darkness wrapt the pleasurable bowers
She built, while pointing to yon breathless clay,
She cried, “No peace be thine, away, away!”
W. L. Bowles.
Daughter of faith, awake, arise, illume
The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb;
Melt and dispel, ye spectre-doubts, that roll
Cimmerian darkness on the parting soul!
Fly, like the moon-eyed herald of dismay,
Chased on his night-steed by the star of day!
The strife is o’er—the pangs of nature close,
And life’s last rapture triumph’s o’er her woes.
Hark! as the spirit eyes, with eagle gaze,
The noon of heaven undazzled by the blaze,
On heavenly winds, that waft her to the sky,
Float the sweet tones of star-born melody;
Wild as that hallow’d anthem sent to hail
Bethlehem’s shepherds in the lonely vale,
When Jordan hush’d his waves, and midnight still
Watched on the holy towers of Zion hill!
Soul of the just! companion of the dead!
Where is thy home, and whither art thou fled?
Back to its heavenly source thy being goes,
Swift as the comet wheels to whence he rose;
Doom’d on his airy path awhile to burn,
And doom’d, like thee, to travel and return.
Campbell.
A Heaven as bright, as blue, as mild, as calm,
As thine own eye; the sun hath passed away,
But left his mantle of transparent light
To deck the gorgeous west, amid whose bright
And purple depths I see a floating speck
Of purest white, and now ’tis fixed, and now
Swells into clearest beauty—’tis a star,
Whose trembling orb seems shrinking from the light,
Like a rebuked seraph’s eye, when drooped
’Neath the chastising glance; a bright ray shoots
Up from its centre; gradual the star
Severs before that ray, it parts—it spreads—
And from its heart comes forth a gliding form,
Surpassing all my mortal thought of beauty:—
*****
’Tis Hope! the enduring angel he has deigned
To send upon the earth, that she may be
Your comforter, that when despair comes down
Upon your spirit, ye may flee to her,
And in her cradling arms of safest rest
Lay down your wearied heads upon her heart,
Till your own souls have caught the light of hers;
’Tis she, whose fervent voice, and star-like eye,
Shall string you to your toil of wrestling with
The care of being; blessed be the name
Of Him, whose mercy hath thus given ye
A beacon to your path!
Constantia Louisa Reddell.
All hope on earth for ever fled,
A higher hope remaineth;
For while His wrath is o’er me shed,
I know my Saviour reigneth.
The worm may waste the withering clay,
When flesh and spirit sever;
My soul shall see eternal day,
And dwell with God for ever!
T. Dale.
She lights our gloom, she soothes our care,
She bids our fears depart,
Transmutes to gems each grief-fraught tear,
And binds the broken heart!
She glances o’er us from above,
The brightest star that’s given,
And guides us still, through faith and love,
To endless peace, in Heaven.
Anna Peyre Dinnies.
The night is mother of the day,
The winter of the spring,
And ever, upon old decay,
The greenest mosses cling.
Behind the cloud the star-light lurks,
Through showers the sunbeams fall;
For God, who loveth all His works,
Hath left His Hope with all.
J. G. Whittier.
The world may change from old to new,
From new to old again;
Yet Hope and Heaven, for ever true,
Within man’s heart remain.
The dreams that bless the weary soul,
The struggles of the strong,
Are steps towards some happy goal,
The story of Hope’s song.
Sarah Flowers Adams.