STANZAS TO HOPE.
Oh, Hope! thou balm of human woes,
Oh! come, and lull my soul to rest;
Thy form can soothe me to repose,
’Tis thou canst calm my troubled breast.
Thou bright illusion of the mind,
Thou jewel to the human kind;
Without thy aid, man’s life would be
A long, long scene, of mis’ry!
’Tis thou that art the wretch’s stay,
When ev’ry comfort droops away;
Thy friendly voice can bear him up,
Though doom’d to drink Woe’s bitt’rest cup.
When the sad Pilgrim, with worn feet,
Longs, yet despairs, his friends to greet;
’Tis then thy heav’nly soothing ray,
Renews his steps, and chears his way.
When the poor Mariner, at sea,
Views black’ning tempests round him flee;
Thy friendly aid points out the shore,
Where tempests cease, and storms are o’er.
When the tir’d Soldier, on the plain,
Sees battle rage, and thousands slain;
Thou bidd’st his care and anguish cease,
And bring’st the welcome sound of peace.
When the poor Captive, in his cell,
Is doom’d in chearless gloom to dwell,
Thy angel Vision sets him free;
Thou giv’st him life, with liberty.
Yet not to earth’s contracted spot,
Thy boundless power can be confin’d;
For our’s would be the hardest lot,
Should all our views be here resign’d.
If in this life was all our hope,
Then wretched were, indeed, our doom;
But happy we, that thou can’st ope
A realm of bliss beyond the tomb.
When earth’s short pilgrimage is o’er,
When this world’s charms can please no more;
When life’s last pulse throbs in the heart,
And Death has aim’d his fatal dart—
’Tis then, in heav’nly robes array’d,
Thou art the dying Christian’s aid;
He views, through thy celestial eye,
The dawn of immortality.