HOPE.
Ne’er lose thy courage, tho’ dark seems the strife;
The blackest night dies with the golden dawn:
Let not thy hope cease while there still is life,
For Hope is what the world is living on!
THE ANGEL OF HOME.
What visions of happiness often steal o’er me,
As back to my childhood in fancy I roam;
And the picture that mem’ry paints brightest before me,
Is mother, dear mother,—the angel of home.
No love’s like a mother’s, so true and so tender,
No love’s so enduring ’neath heaven’s broad dome;
And not all earth’s wealth with its pomp and its splendor,
Could steal my affection from mother and home.