  'T is borne on the zephyr at eventide's hour; It falls on the heart like the dew on the flower,— An infinite essence from tropic to pole, The promise, the home, and the heaven of Soul. [5] Hope happifies life, at the altar or bower, And loosens the fetters of pride and of power; It comes through our tears, as the soft summer rain, To beautify, bless, and make joyful again. The harp of the minstrel, the treasure of time; [10] A rainbow of rapture, o'erarching, divine; The God-given mandate that speaks from above,— No place for earth's idols, but hope thou, and love. |
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