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!