Hope
- Frail children of sorrow, dethroned by a hue,
- The shadows are flecked by the rose sifting through,
- The world has its motion, all things pass away.
No night is omnipotent, there must be day.
- The oak tarries long in the depth of the seed,
- But swift is the season of nettle and weed.
- Abide yet awhile in the mellowing shade.
And rise with the hour for which you were made.
- The cycle of seasons, the tidals of man
- Revolve in the orb of an infinite plan.
- We move to the rhythm of ages long done,
- And each has his hour — to dwell in the sun!