For every mood of human joy or pain.
Sad heart from humblest flower may courage gain,
Daring the storm with smiling brow alone!
The “brave old oak,” around whose head have blown
A hundred winters, still maintains his place;
The hoary cliff uprears his storm-scar’d face
Tho’ round his base the wrecks of Time are strown;
The stars shine on as at their birth they shone;
The glorious sun runs his immortal race:
Faint spirit! bowed ’neath Life’s o’erburdening ills,