Tis 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.
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;
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.