Anticipation
How
beautiful
the
earth
is
still,
To
thee—how
full
of
happiness?
How
little
fraught
with
real
ill,
Or
unreal
phantoms
of
distress!
How
spring
can
bring
thee
glory,
yet,
And
summer
win
thee
to
forget
December's
sullen
time!
Why
dost
thou
hold
the
treasure
fast,
Of
youth's
delight,
when
youth
is
past,
And
thou
art
near
thy
prime?
When
those
who
were
thy
own
compeers,
Equals
in
fortune
and
in
years,
Have
seen
their
morning
melt
in
tears,
To
clouded,
smileless
day;
Blest,
had
they
died
untried
and
young,
Before
their
hearts
went
wandering
wrong,—
Poor
slaves,
subdued
by
passions
strong,
A
weak
and
helpless
prey!
'Because,
I
hoped
while
they
enjoyed,
And
by
fulfilment,
hope
destroyed;
As
children
hope,
with
trustful
breast,
I
waited
bliss—and
cherished
rest.
A
thoughtful
spirit
taught
me
soon,
That
we
must
long
till
life
be
done;
That
every
phase
of
earthly
joy
Must
always
fade,
and
always
cloy:
'This
I
foresaw—and
would
not
chase
The
fleeting
treacheries;
But,
with
firm
foot
and
tranquil
face,
Held
backward
from
that
tempting
race,
Gazed
o'er
the
sands
the
waves
efface,
To
the
enduring
seas—
There
cast
my
anchor
of
desire
Deep
in
unknown
eternity;
Nor
ever
let
my
spirit
tire,
With
looking
for
WHAT
IS
TO
BE!
"It
is
hope's
spell
that
glorifies,
Like
youth,
to
my
maturer
eyes,
All
Nature's
million
mysteries,
The
fearful
and
the
fair—
Hope
soothes
me
in
the
griefs
I
know;
She
lulls
my
pain
for
others'
woe,
And
makes
me
strong
to
undergo
What
I
am
born
to
bear.
Glad
comforter!
will
I
not
brave,
Unawed,
the
darkness
of
the
grave?
Nay,
smile
to
hear
Death's
billows
rave—
Sustained,
my
guide,
by
thee?
The
more
unjust
seems
present
fate,
The
more
my
spirit
swells
elate,
Strong,
in
thy
strength,
to
anticipate
Rewarding
destiny!
