THE FUTURE.
1844.
Oh! the glad Future, where our thoughts may range
In the wild wayward fantasy of change—
Careering onward, with untutored scope,
Through all the young imaginings of hope;
Leaving the dull sad cares of life behind—
The bygone sorrows of the anguished mind;
The chill of friendship gone, of love's decay,
And all the miseries of our weary day.
How sweet to soar on Hope's prophetic wing,
With the soft rapture of the thoughts that bring
A joy to life, a durance to the heart
That else had drooped and died.
There is a pleasure to the thinking soul
In conning o'er the deep events that roll
Their tideless current o'er the fate of men,
Rising and falling 'neath no human ken;
Oh! the glad Future, where our thoughts may range
In the wild wayward fantasy of change—
Careering onward, with untutored scope,
Through all the young imaginings of hope;
Leaving the dull sad cares of life behind—
The bygone sorrows of the anguished mind;
The chill of friendship gone, of love's decay,
And all the miseries of our weary day.
How sweet to soar on Hope's prophetic wing,
With the soft rapture of the thoughts that bring
A joy to life, a durance to the heart
That else had drooped and died.
There is a pleasure to the thinking soul
In conning o'er the deep events that roll
Their tideless current o'er the fate of men,
Rising and falling 'neath no human ken;
86
