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Poems About Hope

Table of Contents

  1. Hope by Prudence E. R. Curtis
  2. Hold on a While by Anonymous
  3. Written in a Little Lady's Little Album by Frederick William Faber
  4. The White Cloud by Hannah Flagg Gould
  5. To the Mourner by Hannah Flagg Gould
  6. Jeannette and Jo by Mary Mapes Dodge
  7. Hope is a subtle glutton by Emily Dickinson
  8. Hope is the thing with feathers by Emily Dickinson
  9. When I hoped I feared by Emily Dickinson
  10. Triumphalis by Bliss Carman
  11. Hope and Effort by William Francis Barnard
  12. The Wreck at Sea by Hannah Flagg Gould
  13. The Clearing by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
  14. Hope and Despair by Arthur Weir
  15. Hope by Ruby Archer
  16. Hope by Charles Swain
  17. Hope by Eliza and Sarah Wolcott
  18. Life is Transient by Eliza and Sarah Wolcott
  19. Grief And Hope, Compared To The Rainbow After A Shower by Eliza and Sarah Wolcott
  1. The One Hope by Richard Coe
  2. Small Beginnings by Charles Mackay
  3. Work Without Hope by Samuel Coleridge
  4. Since Thou Hast Given Me This Good Hope, O God by Robert Louis Stevenson
  5. The Hope of My Heart by John McCrae
  6. Sonnet XVI: Delusive Hope by Mary Darby Robinson
  7. The Instinct Of Hope by John Clare
  8. Hope is a strange invention by Emily Dickinson
  9. Hope by Anne Kingsmill Finch
  10. Hope Friedrich von Schiller
  11. The way Hope builds his House by Emily Dickinson
  12. Bird of Hope by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
  13. Hope in Failure by George William Russell
  14. To Hope by John Keats
  15. Song of Hope by Thomas Hardy
  16. Hope Holds to Christ by Gerard Manley Hopkins
  17. Opportunity by Raymond Garfield Dandridge
  18. Opportunity by Walter Malone
  19. Hope by Mary E. Tucker
  20. Hope by Benjamin Hine
  21. Hope by Emily Brontë
  22. Song by Walter De la Mare
  23. Soul Yearning by Ruby Archer

  1. Hope

    by Prudence E. R. Curtis

    An Extract

    Hope shines forever pure and bright,
    It never fades away;
    It is a ray of heavenly light
    Unyielding to decay.

    'T is hope that bears our spirits up
    When falling in despair;
    Nor sinks the heart, with this its prop,
    Though hard may be our fare.

    It rears our castles to the skies,
    With faith increases grace,
    And with it we may some day rise
    To find in heaven a place.

  2. Hold on a While

    Hold on a while! the darkest night
    May bring the fairest day.
    Hold on a while! the good, the right,
    Will always find a way.

    – Amos R. Wells
    Hold on a While
    by Amos Russel Wells

    When all the sky is very black
    And all the earth is blue,
    And all the fiends are on your track
    And howling after you;

    When courage falls and hope decays
    And fair ambition dies,
    And all your dreamland is ablaze
    Beneath the ebon skies;

    When you would fain renounce the goal,
    Nor plod another mile,
    Oh, straighten up your drooping soul,
    And—just—hold on—a while!

    Hold on a while! the darkest night
    May bring the fairest day.
    Hold on a while! the good, the right,
    Will always find a way.

    Hold on! for is Jehovah dead?
    His love an empty song?
    Hold on! have heaven's armies fled
    Before the hosts of wrong?

    Hold on! for still some strength remains,
    Nor yield you till you must;
    A newer life may flood your veins;
    Born of a larger trust.

    A newer life—hold on for that!
    A lily from the mud!
    The greening peak of Ararat
    Emerging from the flood!

    The clouds are shattered by the sun;
    The earth is all aglow;
    Away the howling devils run,
    And back to hell they go!

    Hold on for that! Do what you can,
    Nor prove a craven elf;
    For heaven never helped a man
    Until he helped himself.

    And when your fondest hopes are dead
    And fate has ceased to smile.
    'Tis then it pays to lift your head
    And—just—hold on a-while.

  3. Written in a Little Lady's Little Album

    And hope that lives
    On what God gives
    Is Christian hope well founded.

    – Frederick William Faber
    Written in a Little Lady's Little Album
    by Frederick William Faber

    Hearts good and true
    Have wishes few
    In narrow circles bounded,
    And hope that lives
    On what God gives
    Is Christian hope well founded.

    Small things are best;
    Grief and unrest
    To rank and wealth are given;
    But little things
    On little wings
    Bear little souls to heaven.

  4. The White Cloud

    Vapor deceitful! cloud of the morn!
    Like thee are the hopes that of earth are born!
    Their forms are varying, high and fair;
    But melted by light—rent in pieces by air!

    – Hannah Flagg Gould
    The White Cloud
    by Hannah Flagg Gould

    What next—what next, thou changeful thing,
    With the feathery breast and the silver wing,
    That seem'st, like a lonely bird, to fly
    To some distant home, o'er the clear, blue sky?
    I saw thee suspended, a moment ago,
    By a hand unseen, like a wreath of snow,
    Withheld from a fall that might give it a stain
    So deep it could never be blanched again.

    And once thou hast shown in a cluster of flowers,
    Pure as if bent from the heavenly bowers,
    Defying this valley of shadow and blight
    To sully or wither their leaves of light!
    I've seen thee, too, pass over my head,
    Like a beautiful ship with her sails all spread,
    That, laden with treasures too pure and bright
    For an earthly touch, or a mortal's sight,
    Was proud to some far-off port to bear
    Her viewless riches through seas of air!
    Again—thou hast seemed as the spirit of love
    His mantle had dropped from the realms above,
    And 't was floating along, as a sign, to show
    To those who should look from the world below,
    That their garments must be of a spotless white
    Before they can enter a world of light!
    Beautiful changeling! now—even now,
    I see thee dissolving, I know not how—
    Thine atoms are scattered, and, one by one,
    Melted and lost in the rays of the sun!
    Vapor deceitful! cloud of the morn!
    Like thee are the hopes that of earth are born!
    Their forms are varying, high and fair;
    But melted by light—rent in pieces by air!
    Bright vision of falsehood, thou shalt teach
    The soul, in her search for joys, to reach
    To a world of truth, where deceit is o'er—
    Where changes and clouds shall be known no more!

  5. To the Mourner

    by Hannah Flagg Gould

    We would not check the starting tear,
    Nor bid thee cease to mourn
    The friend thy bosom held most dear
    So early from thee torn;
    For, when in death a loved one slept,
    Among the sorrowing, "Jesus wept!"

    But has not Jesus passed the tomb,
    To break its bars away?
    And, darting through its fearful gloom
    The beams of endless day,
    Does he not, from the other side,
    Bid none to fear, since he has died.

    And, mourner, will not sighing cease,
    When thou canst look above,
    And feel that, from a world of peace,
    Thou hast an angel's love?
    That she is safe, where none may fear
    Death, pain, or change that wound us here?

    When he, who wept at human wo,
    Shall in the clouds appear,
    Awaking millions then shall know,
    To those who owned him here,
    He is the resurrection!—he,
    Life, light and immortality!

  6. Jeannette and Jo

    Joy is divine. Come storm, come shine,
    The hopeful are the gladdest;
    And doubt and dread, children, believe
    Of all things are the saddest.

    – Mary Mapes Dodge
    Jeannette and Jo
    by Mary Mapes Dodge

    Two girls I know—Jeannette and Jo,
    And one is always moping;
    The other lassie, come what may,
    Is ever bravely hoping.

    Beauty of face and girlish grace
    Are theirs, for joy or sorrow;
    Jeannette takes brightly every day,
    And Jo dreads each to-morrow.

    One early morn they watched the dawn—
    I saw them stand together;
    Their whole day's sport, 't was very plain,
    Depended on the weather.

    "'T will storm!" cried Jo. Jeannette spoke low;
    "Yes, but 't will soon be over."
    And, as she spoke, the sudden shower
    Came, beating down the clover.

    "I told you so!" cried angry Jo:
    "It always is a-raining!"
    Then hid her face in dire despair,
    Lamenting and complaining.

    But sweet Jeannette, quite hopeful yet,—
    I tell it to her honor,—
    Looked up and waited till the sun
    Came streaming in upon her.

    The broken clouds sailed off in crowds,
    Across a sea of glory.
    Jeannette and Jo ran, laughing, in—
    Which ends my simple story.

    Joy is divine. Come storm, come shine,
    The hopeful are the gladdest;
    And doubt and dread, children, believe
    Of all things are the saddest.

    In morning's light, let youth be bright;
    Take in the sunshine tender;
    Then, at the close, shall life's decline
    Be full of sunset splendor.

    And ye who fret, try, like Jeannette,
    To shun all weak complaining;
    And not, like Jo, cry out too soon—
    "It always is a-raining!"

  7. Hope is a subtle glutton

    by Emily Dickinson

    Hope is a subtle glutton;
    He feeds upon the fair;
    And yet, inspected closely,
    What abstinence is there!

    His is the halcyon table
    That never seats but one,
    And whatsoever is consumed
    The same amounts remain.

  8. Hope is the thing with feathers

    Hope is the thing with feathers
    That perches in the soul,
    And sings the tune without the words,
    And never stops at all,

    – Emily Dickinson
    Hope is the thing with feathers
    by Emily Dickinson

    Hope is the thing with feathers
    That perches in the soul,
    And sings the tune without the words,
    And never stops at all,

    And sweetest in the gale is heard;
    And sore must be the storm
    That could abash the little bird
    That kept so many warm.

    I 've heard it in the chillest land,
    And on the strangest sea;
    Yet, never, in extremity,
    It asked a crumb of me.

  9. When I hoped I feared

    by Emily Dickinson

    When I hoped I feared,
    Since I hoped I dared;
    Everywhere alone
    As a church remain;
    Spectre cannot harm,
    Serpent cannot charm;
    He deposes doom,
    Who hath suffered him.

  10. Triumphalis

    Hope for thy guide again,
    Ample and splendid;
    Love at thy side again,
    All doubting ended;

    – Bliss Carman
    Triumphalis
    by Bliss Carman

    Soul, art thou sad again
    With the old sadness?
    Thou shalt be glad again
    With a new gladness,
    When April sun and rain
    Mount to the teeming brain
    With the earth madness.

    When from the mould again,
    Spurning disaster,
    Spring shoots unfold again,
    Follow thou faster
    Out of the drear domain
    Of dark, defeat, and pain,
    Praising the Master.

    Hope for thy guide again,
    Ample and splendid;
    Love at thy side again,
    All doubting ended;
    (Ah, by the dragon slain,
    For nothing small or vain
    Michael contended!)

    Thou shalt take heart again,
    No more despairing;
    Play thy great part again,
    Loving and caring.
    Hark, how the gold refrain
    Runs through the iron strain,
    Splendidly daring!

    Thou shalt grow strong again,
    Confident, tender,—
    Battle with wrong again,
    Be truth's defender,—
    Of the immortal train,
    Born to attempt, attain,
    Never surrender!

  11. Hope and Effort

    by William Francis Barnard

    Hope is of the valley; effort stands
    Upon the mountain-top, facing the sun.
    Hope dreams of dreams made true, and great deeds done;
    Effort goes forth with toiling feet and hands
    To attain the far off sky-touched table lands
    Of great desire; and till the end is won
    Looks not below, where the long strife, begun
    In pleasant fields, met torrents, rocks, and sands.

    Hope; but when hope bids look within her glass,
    And shows the wondrous things which may befall,
    Wait not for destiny, wait not at all,
    Nor sink in hesitation's deep morass:
    Sound thou to all thy powers a trumpet call,
    And staff in hand strive up the mountain pass.

  12. The Wreck at Sea

    by Hannah Flagg Gould

    The struggle is over! The storm-cloud at last
    Has emptied itself, and the fury is past!
    The ship is a ruin! The mariners wait
    Their summons to enter eternity's gate.
    The remnant of canvass that flaps in the wind,
    Their signal of woe, they may soon leave behind
    To give its last flutter above the wild surge,
    As all it betokens the deep shall immerge.
    They see rising round them a chill, restless grave,
    While Death loudly calls them from out the hoarse wave.

    'Come to me! come! ye have no where to flee,
    But down in the waters for quiet with me!
    My thin, winding arms, ever naked and cold,
    Have nothing to warm them but what they infold.
    My being unlawful I have to sustain
    By feeding on life, that from others I drain!
    The sweet buds of childhood, youth's beautiful bloom,
    And age's ripe clusters I pluck and consume.
    I traverse the world by the light that I steal
    Alone from the eyes that in darkness I seal!

    'In ocean's black chambers I welcome the forms
    That rush to my kingdom, through shipwreck and storms.
    The babe never prattles or climbs on the knee
    Of him, who is low in the cold, deep sea.
    The eye of his widow grows sunken and dim,
    With looking and waking and weeping for him.
    The parent's fond heart slowly bleeds for the son,
    Till I, for my throne, a new trophy have won!
    Come! and the mourners away on the shore
    Shall never behold you, or hear of you more!'

    Hush! hush! thou pale monarch! a voice from above!
    It chides thee—its tones are of mercy and love.
    Away! king of terrors! In silence retire.
    Though high is thy throne, there is one that is higher!
    The sinking have looked from the billows that swell
    Around them, to Him, who the surges can quell.
    And He, who before has the tempest allayed,
    And said to the mariner, 'Be not afraid!'
    Is now walking over the waters, to tread
    Upon the white spray that is pluming thy head!

    A sail! ho! a sail in the moment of need!
    On yonder mad breakers she's riding with speed.
    A rescue! it comes in the light little boat,
    That's lowered and manned o'er the perils to float.
    While life for the perishing, hope for despair,
    And joy and reward for affection are there,
    With rocking and tossing, as onward she steers,
    And shooting and plunging, the wreck as she nears
    One moment, and then the last wave will be crossed!
    Yet all is too late if that unit be lost!

    The helper and helpless, while panting to meet,
    Have sent forth their voices each other to greet.
    And when did those voices go out on the air,
    An import so great, such an errand to bear?
    Emotions too mighty for sound to convey,
    Or, long for the spirit to feel in the clay—
    A pulse never known in their bosoms before,
    Is each proving now, at the dash of the oar.
    And sweet to their hearts will the memory be
    Of these clasping hands on the wild, deep sea!

  13. The Clearing

    by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts

    Stumps, and harsh rocks, and prostrate trunks all charred,
    And gnarled roots naked to the sun and rain,—
    They seem in their grim stillness to complain,
    And be their paint the evening peace is jarred.
    These ragged acres fire and the axe have scarred,
    And many summers not assuaged their pain.
    In vain the pink and saffron light, in vain
    The pale dew on the hillocks stripped and marred!

    But here and there the waste is touched with cheer
    Where spreads the fire-weed like a crimson flood
    And venturous plumes of golden-rod appear;
    And round the blackened fence the great boughs lean
    With comfort; and across the solitude
    The hermit's holy transport peals serene.

  14. Hope and Despair

    To me the autumn is never drear,
    It bears the glory of hopes fulfilled.
    Though the flowers be dead,
    There are seeds instead,
    That, with the spring of the dawning year,
    With life will find all their being thrilled.

    – Arthur Weir
    Hope and Despair
    by Arthur Weir

    You love the sun and the languid breeze
    That gently kisses the rosebud's lips,
    And delight to see
    How the dainty bee,
    Stilling his gauze-winged melodies
    Into the lily's chalice dips.

    I love the wind that unceasing roars,
    While cringe the trees from its wrath in vain,
    And the lightning-flash,
    And the thunder-crash,
    And skies, from whose Erebus depths outpours
    In slanting drifts the autumnal rain.

    You sigh to find that the time is here
    When leaves are falling from bush and tree;
    When the flowerets sweet
    Die beneath our feet,
    And feebly totters the dying year
    Into the mists of eternity.

    To me the autumn is never drear,
    It bears the glory of hopes fulfilled.
    Though the flowers be dead,
    There are seeds instead,
    That, with the spring of the dawning year,
    With life will find all their being thrilled.

    You tread the wood, and the wind behold
    Tear down the leaves from the crackling bough
    Till they make a pall,
    As they thickly fall,
    To hide dead flowers. The air seems cold,
    No summer gladdens the forest now.

    I tread the maze of the changing wood,
    And though no light through the maples plays,
    Yet they glow each one,
    Like a rose-red sun,
    And drop their leaves, like a glittering flood
    Of warm sunbeams, in the woodland ways.

    Poor human heart, in the year of life
    All seasons are, and it rests with thee
    To enjoy them all,
    Or to drape a pall
    O'er withered hopes, and to be at strife
    With things that are, and no brightness see.

  15. Hope

    by Ruby Archer

    No need of guerdon gaining
    If hope the vision fill.
    Were nothing for attaining,
    The apathy would kill.

    We falter not in ruing
    The bruises by the way;
    Our eyes are still pursuing
    The rainbow lure—"some day."

  16. Hope

    by Charles Swain

    I know he will return!
    There's something in my heart—
    A light, as of a star,
    That dwells, like truth, apart!
    A feeling to confide—
    On what I scarce discern;
    But oh! a voice within
    Still says, "He will return!"

    I dreamt an angel came,
    With soft and starry wing,
    That scattered bloom and joy
    O'er every living thing.
    Her breath was on my cheek—
    Her whisper in mine ear;
    Oh! angel words are sweet,
    But none like Hope's to cheer!

    She showed me where his ship—
    The ocean's glory—sailed;
    Where neither mist nor storm
    Nor wintry wrath prevailed:
    So beauteous o'er the deep,
    From gallant stem to stern,
    I blessed it in my sleep;—
    Yes, Hope! he will return!

    And what is Hope? — The puffing gale of morn,
    That of its charms divests the dewy lawn,
    And robs each flow'ret of its gem — and dies;
    A cobweb, hiding disappointment's thorn,
    Which stings more keenly through the thin disguise.

    – John Clare
    What is Life?
  17. Hope

    by Eliza and Sarah Wolcott

    Hope is like a mountain strong,
    That rises fair and even;
    With pearls and diamonds strewed along,
    That mark the way to heaven.

    When the heart's with anguish riven,
    Hope 's our anchor,—faith's our guide,
    Which directs our souls to heaven,
    Where we from the storm may hide.

    – Eliza Wolcott
    To Sorrow
  18. Life is Transient

    by Eliza and Sarah Wolcott

    Such is the state of life, my friend,
    That all is transient here;
    If we have trials to contend,
    Our heaven, our home is near.

    If our dear friends around us fall,
    Or other sorrows come,
    Let's think the warnings are a call,
    To speed our passage home.

    If prosperous days around us smile,
    Then view the hand that gives,
    But let not prosperous days beguile
    Our souls from him that lives.

    If clouds or storms be seen afar,
    And dreary winter come,
    May we be mindful of the Star
    That guides our passage home.

  19. Grief And Hope, Compared To The Rainbow After A Shower

    A gentle shower of sorrow,
    Best cultivates the muse;
    For hope, lights up the morrow,
    And sheds her joys profuse.

    – Eliza Wolcott
    Grief And Hope, Compared To The Rainbow After A Shower
    by Eliza and Sarah Wolcott

    A gentle shower of sorrow,
    Best cultivates the muse;
    For hope, lights up the morrow,
    And sheds her joys profuse.

    Like clouds before a shower,
    Our better passions move;
    The darkest cloud hath power,
    Our faith and hope to prove.

    Our trials teach contrition,
    We bend beneath the storm;
    Then wait with sweet submission,
    The rainbow's lovely form.

    Our tears being now subsided,
    The flowers of hope will spring;
    In God, we have confided,
    And now our joys begin.

    The lamp of truth is lighted,
    To guide our doubtful way;
    And we are now invited,
    To wait the sun's bright ray.

    See o'er the hills descending,
    In majesty and love,—
    With angels, swift, attending,
    Our "Peace Branch" from above.

    This love, thus comprehending,
    We see a comely form;
    'Tis Jesus—see him bending,—
    'Tis he that lights the storm.

    Like Hermon's dews reviving,
    Which fell on Zion's hill;
    When grief and hope are striving,
    Hope sees a rainbow still.

  20. The One Hope

    by Richard Coe

    A single wither'd leaf is left
    Upon the forest tree,
    By angry winds and storms bereft
    Of other company:
    And though its friends have long since gone,
    The wither'd leaf still clingeth on!

    So one fond hope within my breast
    Remaineth there alone;
    Unlike the falsely-flattering rest,
    That long, long since have flown—
    This single hope yet clingeth there,
    To save my soul from dark despair!

    It is—that when my hour shall come
    To lie beneath the sod,
    That angels take my spirit home
    To commune with her God!
    Let storms assail me as they will,
    This one blest hope sustains me still!

  21. Small Beginnings

    by Charles Mackay

    A traveler on the dusty road
    Strewed acorns on the lea;
    And one took root and sprouted up,
    And grew into a tree.
    Love sought its shade, at evening time,
    To breathe his early vows;
    And age was pleased, in heats of noon,
    To bask beneath its boughs;
    The dormouse loved its dangling twigs,
    The birds sweet music bore;
    It stood a glory in its place,
    A blessing evermore.

    A little spring had lost its way
    Amid the grass and fern,
    A passing stranger scooped a well
    Where weary men might turn;
    He walled it in, and hung with care
    A ladle at the brink;
    He thought not of the deed he did,
    But judged that all might drink.
    He paused again, and lo! the well,
    By summer never dried,
    Had cooled ten thousand parching tongues
    And saved a life beside.

    A dreamer dropped a random thought;
    'Twas old, and yet 'twas new;
    A simple fancy of the brain,
    But strong in being true.
    It shone upon a genial mind,
    And, lo! its light became
    A lamp of life, a beacon ray,
    A monitory flame;
    The thought was small, its issue great;
    A watch-fire on the hill;
    It shed its radiance far adown,
    And cheers the valley still.

    A nameless man, amid a crowd
    That thronged the daily mart,
    Let fall a word of Hope and Love,
    Unstudied from the heart;
    A whisper on the tumult thrown,
    A transitory breath—
    It raised a brother from the dust,
    It saved a soul from death.
    O germ! O fount! O word of love!
    O thought at random cast!
    Ye were but little at the first,
    But mighty at the last.

  22. Work Without Hope

    by Samuel Coleridge

    All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair—
    The bees are stirring—birds are on the wing—
    And Winter slumbering in the open air,
    Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!
    And I the while, the sole unbusy thing,
    Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.

    Yet well I ken the banks where amaranths blow,
    Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow.
    Bloom, O ye amaranths! bloom for whom ye may,
    For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away!
    With lips unbrightened, wreathless brow, I stroll:
    And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul?
    Work without Hope draws nectar in a sieve,
    And Hope without an object cannot live.

  23. Since Thou Hast Given Me This Good Hope, O God

    by Robert Louis Stevenson

    Since thou hast given me this good hope, O God,
    That while my footsteps tread the flowery sod
    And the great woods embower me, and white dawn
    And purple even sweetly lead me on
    From day to day, and night to night, O God,
    My life shall no wise miss the light of love;
    But ever climbing, climb above
    Man's one poor star, man's supine lands,
    Into the azure steadfastness of death,
    My life shall no wise lack the light of love,
    My hands not lack the loving touch of hands;
    But day by day, while yet I draw my breath,
    And day by day, unto my last of years,
    I shall be one that has a perfect friend.
    Her heart shall taste my laughter and my tears,
    And her kind eyes shall lead me to the end.

  24. The Hope of My Heart

    by John McCrae

    I left, to earth, a little maiden fair,
    With locks of gold, and eyes that shamed the light;
    I prayed that God might have her in His care
    And sight.

    Earth's love was false; her voice, a siren's song;
    (Sweet mother-earth was but a lying name)
    The path she showed was but the path of wrong
    And shame.

    "Cast her not out!" I cry. God's kind words come —
    "Her future is with Me, as was her past;
    It shall be My good will to bring her home
    At last."

  25. Sonnet XVI: Delusive Hope

    by Mary Darby Robinson

    Delusive Hope! more transient than the ray
    That leads pale twilight to her dusky bed,
    O'er woodland glen, or breezy mountain's head,
    Ling'ring to catch the parting sigh of day.
    Hence with thy visionary charms, away!
    Nor o'er my path the flow'rs of fancy spread;
    Thy airy dreams on peaceful pillows shed,
    And weave for thoughtless brows, a garland gay.
    Farewell low vallies; dizzy cliffs, farewell!
    Small vagrant rills that murmur as ye flow:
    Dark bosom'd labyrinth and thorny dell;
    The task be mine all pleasures to forego;
    To hide, where meditation loves to dwell,
    And feed my soul, with luxury of woe!

  26. Hope is a strange invention

    Hope is a strange invention —
    A Patent of the Heart —
    In unremitting action
    Yet never wearing out —

    - Emily Dickinson
    Hope is a strange invention
    by Emily Dickinson

    Hope is a strange invention —
    A Patent of the Heart —
    In unremitting action
    Yet never wearing out —

    Of this electric Adjunct
    Not anything is known
    But its unique momentum
    Embellish all we own —

  27. The Instinct Of Hope

    by John Clare

    Is there another world for this frail dust
    To warm with life and be itself again?
    Something about me daily speaks there must,
    And why should instinct nourish hopes in vain?
    'Tis nature's prophesy that such will be,
    And everything seems struggling to explain
    The close sealed volume of its mystery.
    Time wandering onward keeps its usual pace
    As seeming anxious of eternity,
    To meet that calm and find a resting place.
    E'en the small violet feels a future power
    And waits each year renewing blooms to bring,
    And surely man is no inferior flower
    To die unworthy of a second spring?

  28. Hope

    Hope is the growth of Earth, the only Plant,
    Which either Heav'n, or Paradise cou'd want.

    - Anne Kingsmill Finch
    Hope
    by Anne Kingsmill Finch

    The Tree of Knowledge we in Eden prov'd;
    The Tree of Life was thence to Heav'n remov'd:
    Hope is the growth of Earth, the only Plant,
    Which either Heav'n, or Paradise cou'd want.

    Hell knows it not, to Us alone confin'd,
    And Cordial only to the Human Mind.
    Receive it then, t'expel these mortal Cares,
    Nor wave a Med'cine, which thy God prepares

  29. Hope

    by Friedrich von Schiller

    We speak with the lip, and we dream in the soul,
    Of some better and fairer day;
    And our days, the meanwhile, to that golden goal
    Are gliding and sliding away.
    Now the world becomes old, now again it is young,
    But "The better" 's forever the word on the tongue.

    At the threshold of life hope leads us in—
    Hope plays round the mirthful boy;
    Though the best of its charms may with youth begin,
    Yet for age it reserves its toy.
    When we sink at the grave, why the grave has scope,
    And over the coffin man planteth—Hope!

    And tis not a dream of a fancy proud,
    With a fool for its dull begetter;
    There's a voice at the heart that proclaims aloud,
    "We are born for something better!"
    And that voice of the heart, oh, ye may believe,
    Will never the Hope of the soul deceive!

  30. The way Hope builds his House

    by Emily Dickinson

    The way Hope builds his House
    It is not with a sill —
    Nor Rafter — has that Edifice
    But only Pinnacle —

    Abode in as supreme
    This superficies
    As if it were of Ledges smit
    Or mortised with the Laws —

  31. Bird of Hope

    by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

    Soar not too high, O bird of Hope!
    Because the skies are fair;
    The tempest may come on apace
    And overcome thee there.

    When far above the mountain tops
    Thou soarest, over all —
    If, then, the storm should press thee back,
    How great would be thy fall!

    And thou wouldst lie here at my feet,
    A poor and lifeless thing, —
    A torn and bleeding birdling,
    With limp and broken wing.

    Sing not too loud, O bird of Hope!
    Because the day is bright;
    The sunshine cannot always last —
    The morn precedes the night.

    And if thy song is of the day,
    Then when the day grows dim,
    Forlorn and voiceless thou wouldst sit
    Among the shadows grim.

    Oh! I would have thee soar and sing,
    But not too high, or loud,
    Remembering that day meets night —
    The brilliant sun the cloud.

  32. Hope in Failure

    by George William Russell

    Though now thou hast failed and art fallen, despair not because of defeat,
    Though lost for a while be thy heaven and weary of earth be thy feet,
    For all will be beauty about thee hereafter through sorrowful years,
    And lovely the dews for thy chilling and ruby thy heart-drip of tears.

    The eyes that had gazed from afar on a beauty that blinded the eyes
    Shall call forth its image for ever, its shadow in alien skies.
    The heart that had striven to beat in the heart of the Mighty too soon
    Shall still of that beating remember some errant and faltering tune.

    For thou hast but fallen to gather the last of the secrets of power;
    The beauty that breathes in thy spirit shall shape of thy sorrow a flower,
    The pale bud of pity shall open the bloom of its tenderest rays,
    The heart of whose shining is bright with the light of the Ancient of Days.

  33. To Hope

    by John Keats

    When by my solitary hearth I sit,
    And hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in gloom;
    When no fair dreams before my "mind's eye" flit,
    And the bare heath of life presents no bloom;
    Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,
    And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head!

    Whene'er I wander, at the fall of night,
    Where woven boughs shut out the moon's bright ray,
    Should sad Despondency my musings fright,
    And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away,
    Peep with the moonbeams through the leafy roof,
    And keep that fiend Despondence far aloof!

    Should Disappointment, parent of Despair,
    Strive for her son to seize my careless heart;
    When, like a cloud, he sits upon the air,
    Preparing on his spell-bound prey to dart:
    Chase him away, sweet Hope, with visage bright,
    And fright him as the morning frightens night!

    Whene'er the fate of those I hold most dear
    Tells to my fearful breast a tale of sorrow,
    O bright-eyed Hope, my morbidfancy cheer;
    Let me awhile thy sweetest comforts borrow:
    Thy heaven-born radiance around me shed,
    And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head!

    Should e'er unhappy love my bosom pain,
    From cruel parents, or relentless fair;
    O let me think it is not quite in vain
    To sigh out sonnets to the midnight air!
    Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,
    And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head!

    In the long vista of the years to roll,
    Let me not see our country's honour fade:
    O let me see our land retain her soul,
    Her pride, her freedom; and not freedom's shade.
    From thy bright eyes unusual brightness shed—
    Beneath thy pinions canopy my head!

    Let me not see the patriot's high bequest,
    Great Liberty! how great in plain attire!
    With the base purple of a court oppress'd,
    Bowing her head, and ready to expire:
    But let me see thee stoop from heaven on wings
    That fill the skies with silver glitterings!

    And as, in sparkling majesty, a star
    Gilds the bright summit of some gloomy cloud;
    Brightening the half veil'd face of heaven afar:
    So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud,
    Sweet Hope, celestial influence round me shed,
    Waving thy silver pinions o'er my head!

  34. Song of Hope

    by Thomas Hardy

    O sweet To-morrow! —
    After to-day
    There will away
    This sense of sorrow.
    Then let us borrow
    Hope, for a gleaming
    Soon will be streaming,
    Dimmed by no gray —
    No gray!

    While the winds wing us
    Sighs from The Gone,
    Nearer to dawn
    Minute-beats bring us;
    When there will sing us
    Larks of a glory
    Waiting our story
    Further anon —
    Anon!

    Doff the black token,
    Don the red shoon,
    Right and retune
    Viol-strings broken;
    Null the words spoken
    In speeches of rueing,
    The night cloud is hueing,
    To-morrow shines soon —
    Shines soon!

  35. Hope Holds to Christ

    by Gerard Manley Hopkins

    Hope holds to Christ the mind’s own mirror out
    To take His lovely likeness more and more.
    It will not well, so she would bring about
    An ever brighter burnish than before
    And turns to wash it from her welling eyes
    And breathes the blots off all with sighs on sighs.
    Her glass is blest but she as good as blind
    Holds till hand aches and wonders what is there;
    Her glass drinks light, she darkles down behind,
    All of her glorious gainings unaware.
    . . . . . . . .
    I told you that she turned her mirror dim
    Betweenwhiles, but she sees herself not Him.
    . . . . . . . .

  36. Opportunity

    Behold! "The Door of Hope," ajar,
    And Freedom freely beckoning;
    She bids you gaze upon a star,
    And veer not from your reckoning!

    - Anonymous
    Opportunity
    by Raymond Garfield Dandridge

    The shackles rend, your hands are free,
    You need no longer humb'ly bow
    Beneath the lash of tyranny;
    Go shape the molten metal now.

    Behold! "The Door of Hope," ajar,
    And Freedom freely beckoning;
    She bids you gaze upon a star,
    And veer not from your reckoning!

  37. Opportunity

    They do me wrong who say I come no more
    When once I knock and fail to find you in;
    For every day I stand outside your door
    And bid you wake, and rise to fight and win.

    - Walter Malone
    Opportunity
    by Walter Malone

    They do me wrong who say I come no more
    When once I knock and fail to find you in;
    For every day I stand outside your door
    And bid you wake, and rise to fight and win.

    Wail not for precious chances passed away!
    Weep not for golden ages on the wane!
    Each night I burn the records of the day—
    At sunrise every soul is born again!

    Dost thou behold thy lost youth all aghast?
    Dost reel from righteous Retribution's blow?
    Then turn from blotted archives of the past
    And find the future's pages white as snow.

    Art thou a mourner? Rouse thee from thy spell;
    Art thou a sinner? Sins may be forgiven;
    Each morning gives thee wings to flee from hell,
    Each night a star to guide thy feet to heaven.

    Laugh like a boy at splendors that have sped,
    To vanished joys be blind and deaf and dumb;
    My judgments seal the dead past with its dead,
    But never bind a moment yet to come.

    Though deep in mire, wring not your hands and weep;
    I lend my arm to all who say "I can!"
    No shame-faced outcast ever sank so deep
    But yet might rise and be again a man!

  38. Hope

    by Mary E. Tucker

    As shines the sunbeam through dark clouds,
    Hope breaks the spirit's lowering shrouds
    E'en as the morning dawns o'er night,
    Hope sheds her radiant, golden light.

    Like the soft dew to thirsting flower,
    Hope e'er revives the soul's faint hour —
    A soothing balm for every grief;
    Hope, precious hope, finds sure relief.

    The anchor of the tide-bound soul,
    With breakers near, while billows roll
    Around, about, but ne'er o'erwhelm,
    With Hope the anchor, Faith the helm.

    Hope, like the olden Shepherd's star,
    Telleth her tidings from afar;
    And though earth's flowers fade and die,
    Hope, Hope revives them in the sky.

  39. Hope

    by Benjamin Hine

    Not all the fairy scenes of youth,
    Of days and years gone by,
    Which faithful memory wakes to light,
    The soul can satisfy.
    Nor all the present joys we share,
    However high they rise,
    Health, wealth, or friends or all combined
    Nor aught beneath the skies,
    Can satisfy the craving mind;
    It sighs for something more
    Than earth can give, or Heaven bestows,
    Here on this desert shore.
    It looks away and feeds on hope
    Of fairer scenes to come,
    Some safe, some blissful resting-place
    Some surer, happier home.
    Take hope, from man, you take his all,
    The past, the present dies,--
    He cannot live when broken off,
    His outlet to the skies,
    The hope of heaven is more enjoined,
    Than earth's realities:
    These fade and vanish from the sight,
    But hope, it never dies.

  40. Hope

    by Emily Brontë

    Hope was but a timid friend;
    She sat without the grated den,
    Watching how my fate would tend,
    Even as selfish-hearted men.

    She was cruel in her fear;
    Through the bars one dreary day,
    I looked out to see her there,
    And she turned her face away!

    Like a false guard, false watch keeping,
    Still, in strife, she whispered peace;
    She would sing while I was weeping;
    If I listened, she would cease.

    False she was, and unrelenting;
    When my last joys strewed the ground,
    Even Sorrow saw, repenting,
    Those sad relics scattered round;

    Hope, whose whisper would have given
    Balm to all my frenzied pain,
    Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven.
    Went, and ne'er returned again!

  41. Song

    by Walter De la Mare

    O for a moon to light me home!
    O for a lanthorn green!
    For those sweet stars the Pleiades,
    That glitter in the darkling trees;
    O for a lovelorn taper! O
    For a lanthorn green!

    O for a frock of tartan!
    O for clear, wild grey eyes!
    For fingers light as violets,
    'Neath branches that the blackbird frets;
    O for a thistly meadow! O
    For clear, wild grey eyes!

    O for a heart like almond boughs!
    O for sweet thoughts like rain!
    O for first-love like fields of grey
    Shut April-buds at break of day!
    O for a sleep like music!
    Dreams still as rain!

    Soon our bark will land, where sorrow
    Never rolls along the side;
    Faith and hope light's up the morrow—
    Where with God we shall abide.

    – Eliza Wolcott
    To Sorrow

    Hope springs eternal in the human breast:
    Man never is, but always to be blest:
    The soul, uneasy and confin'd from home,
    Rests and expatiates in a life to come.

    – Alexander Pope
    An Essay on Man