O! that my soul could find repose
In Northern star and guide,
Ambitious cry and fancies throes
And in each hope abide.
So that my span 'twould be a youth
And taunt infirm old age
By spell untaught thus keep aloof,
And read her precious page.
But youth is like a snow-white cloud
And wish her n'bulous soul
And hope a sun her form enshroud
To vanish when we're old.
When youth has fled it seems to gleam
For all her days are weal,
And memory paints them like a dream,
When sorrow still is real.
Protect each joy and count a friend,
And share thy joys with him,
If sorrows thine to friend ne'er lend
And make his pleasures thin.
Each golden hope let be thy aim,
Yet still like tidal flood
Its steady current oft proclaims
The hasty stream hath mud.
You cannot spy a fellow's dream,
You cannot clutch your own,
So therefore build your hopeful theme
When Time's in satin gown.
The friend of sorrow is the gloom,
Both hide our joys save care,
The friend of joy, where sunshine looms
To gild our gifts down her.
True joy is when with not excess
We dote on ours below,
In lessing years 'twill have success
In parting here below.
Hope is a hand that never hides
Her guidance to the sky,
Hope is the soul that shall abide
Until we are on high.
Hope gives the wing again to soar
Above this sordid strife,
Hope smooths the path the lifetime o'er,
To gain eternal life.