Hope.

When man from pure perfection fell,             And bathed his life in grief and woe,             His angel heart had overthrow         From all the joys he loved so well,         And only Hope of all the host         Remained to comfort him when lost.         And when the other passions throw             Their phantoms in the arms of death,             And pour their last remaining breath         Within the dismal haunts of woe,         Then Hope alone of all remains         To soothe our sorrows and our pains.         Hope makes the fearful millions brave,             The helpless and the weary strong,             Gives courage to the fainting throng         And whispers freedom to the slave,         And unto each, where'er he lives,         Unceasing cause to struggle gives.         In heavy hours of ghostly gloom             When raging billows dash and beat             Around the weak and weary feet         Which tremble on the yawning tomb,         The harp of Hope divinely sings         Exalted songs of better things.         It lifts the gaze of mortal eyes             Above the desert and the dearth,             Above the barren fields of earth,         Unto the promise of the skies,         And to the last expiring breath         Gives comfort in the hour of death.         O, sacred light of human life,             Eternal star of Heaven's love,             Thy brightness ever shines above         The darkest hours of woe and strife,         To raise our souls above the sod         Into the holy home of God!