Rich _Hope_ of boundless bliss! Bliss, past man’s power to paint it; time’s to close! This _Hope_ is earth’s most estimable prize: This is man’s portion while no more than man: _Hope_, of all passions, most befriends us here; Passions of prouder name befriend us less. Joy has her tears, and transport has her death; _Hope_, like a cordial, innocent, though strong, Man’s heart at once inspirits and serenes; Nor makes him pay his wisdom for his joys; ’Tis all our present state can safely bear, Health to the frame, and vigour to the mind! A joy attempered! A chastised delight! Like the fair summer evening, mild and sweet, ’Tis man’s full cup, his paradise below. _Young._ _Hope_, with uplifted foot, set free from earth, Pants for the place of her ethereal birth; On steady wings, sails through the immense abyss, Plucks amaranthine joys from bowers of bliss, And crowns the soul, while yet a mourner here, With wreaths like those triumphant spirits wear. _Hope_, as an anchor, firm and sure, holds fast The Christian vessel, and defies the blast. _Cowper._ Reflected on the lake, I love To see the stars of evening glow; So tranquil in the heavens above, So restless in the wave below. Thus heavenly _hope_ is all serene, But earthly _hope_, how bright soe’er, Still flutters o’er this changeful scene, As false, as fleeting as ’tis fair. _Bishop Heber._ Whose was that voice, that whispering sweet, Promised methought long days of bliss sincere; Soothing it stole on my deluded ear, Most like soft music that might sometimes cheat Thoughts dark and drooping! ’twas the voice of _hope_. Of love and social scenes it seem’d to speak: Of truth, of friendship, of affection meek; That hand in hand along life’s downward slope, Might walk with peace and cheer the tranquil hours: Ah me! the prospect sadden’d as she sung, Loud on my startled ear the death-bell rung: Chill darkness wrapt the pleasurable bowers She built, while pointing to yon breathless clay, She cried, “No peace be thine, away, away!” _W. L. Bowles._