HOPE FOR THE HOPELESS.

WHEN, unveiled by Truth's compulsion,
Life without a smile appears,
And the breaking heart's convulsion
Finds no vent in words or tears,

Nought can cheer the dark existence
Which we may not fly from yet;
But, with Fate's severe assistance,
Though we live, we may forget.

Patience, quiet, toil, denial,

These, though hard, are good for man;

And the martyred spirit's trial

Gains it more than passion can.

This have thou and I been learning,
Lessons strange to young and old;
But while loving, shrinking, yearning,
Be it still the faith we hold.

154

Hope for the Hopeless.

For while woe is broad and patent,
Filling, clouding all the sight,
Ever MELIORA LATENT,

And a dawn will end the night.

MELIORA LATENT ever!

Better than the seen lies hid; Time the curtain's dusk will sever, And will raise the casket's lid.

This our hope for all that's mortal, And we too shall burst our bond; Death keeps watch beside the portal, But 't is Life that dwells beyond.

Still the final hour befriends us,
Nature's direst though it be;
And the fiercest pang that rends us
and sets us free.

Does its worst

While our seekings, lingerings, fleeings, Most inflame us, most destroy,

It is much for weakest beings

Still to hope, though not enjoy.

Then from earth's immediate sorrow
Toward the skyey future turn,

Hope for the Hopeless.

And from its unseen to-morrow
Fill to-day's exhausted urn!

Hope—with all the strength thou usest

In embracing thy despair;
Love the earthly love thou losest
Shall return to thee more fair;
Work-make clear the forest-tangles
Of the wildest stranger-land;
Trust-the blessed deathly angels
Whisper "Sabbath hours at hand!"

155

TU NE QUÆSIERIS!

ONLY the present is thy part and fee:

And happy thou,

If, though thou didst not beat thy future brow, Thou couldst well see

What present things required of thee.

God chains the dog till night: wilt loose the chain,

And wake thy sorrow?

Wilt thou forestall it, and now grieve to-morrow, And then again

Grieve over freshly all thy pain?

Either grief will not come, or if it must,
Do not forecast:

And while it cometh, it is almost past.
Away distrust!

My God hath promised: he is just.

ANTICIPATION.

How beautiful the earth is still

To thee, how full of happiness! How little fraught with real ill,

Or unreal phantoms of distress!
How spring can bring thee glory, yet,
And summer win thee to forget
December's sullen time!

Why dost thou hold the treasure fast
Of youth's delight, when youth is past,
And thou art near thy prime?
When those who were thy own compeers,
Equals in fortune and in years,

Have seen their morning melt in tears,

To clouded, smileless day:

Blest, had they died untried and young,
Before their hearts went wandering wrong,
Poor slaves, subdued by passions strong,
A weak and helpless prey!

"Because, I hoped while they enjoyed, And, by fulfilment, hope destroyed: