HOPE
I have a hope—’tis spirit-born
And spirit-winged beside;
’Tis like the holy light of morn
When Heaven opens wide.
Hope like the bird whose every note
A loving Father’s hand
Hath tuned within its swelling throat
As though the song were planned!
What is it but the joyous sense
Of love and harmony?
What is it but the evidence
Of life’s divinity?
That hope which makes us most divine
And like to what it clings—
That hope which makes our hearts incline
To higher, holier things—
That hope which spells eternal youth
And goodness infinite—
Hath reason in it strong as truth
And logical as light.