It brightens again, it brightens again,
And how clear is the blue serene!
The cloud passes on, the shadow is gone,
Was ever so placid a scene?
So is it with hope,—thus is it with hope,
For hope seems to me like the moon;
Its look is so soft, it changes so oft,
And it darkens and brightens as soon.
Hope saves from despair,—hope conquers despair,
And enlivens the surrounding gloom:
Its abiding ray fadeth not away,
But shines—even on to the tomb.
Then rouse thee my heart, and cheer thee my heart,
And let all thy hopes still be green;
For oh! thou shalt not by friends be forgot,
Though distance and time intervene.
But prepare to meet,—be ready to meet
What good or what ill may befall,
Whatever betide, be it still thy pride
To be calm and resign'd in all.
Are you as the dead? has all pleasure fled?
Are there no joys for those who roam?
Can no place on earth but the place of our birth
Be called by the sweet name of home?
From its native clay,—from its native clay
We transplant to a genial soil
The vigorous shoot, lo! it soon takes root,
And will amply repay our toil.
Though it pine at first—though it pine at first
With regret for its parent bed,
The bright sunny clime, and propitious time,
Will raise up its fallen head.
