Wouldn't it be awful if troubles were like caves? Like dark and gloomy hollows where daylight never follows, and no sound ever enters but the echoes of the waves? If troubles were like caverns—ah! woe betide us all. Forever groping, groping, till fear prevents us hoping, and the journey's end is nothing but a grim and silent wall. But troubles aren't like caverns, take heart again and smile. They're tunnels, dark enough, 'tis true; but I know well, and so do you, there's always daylight coming, though the tunnel be a mile. Then let us, when in trouble, repeat this happy truth, "We're passing through a sorrow, but we'll emerge to-morrow into the sun of happiness, for tunnels end, forsooth!"
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