the future.
In tracing o'er those memories of the past,
Where joy and misery blend unto the last.
But, oh! there is a pleasure greater still,
When thought takes form 'neath man's creative will,
And, in the long futurity of years,
No sad distortion of our fate appears;
When each fond hope seems nursed by smiles of joy,
With not a trace of sadness to destroy;
When all is bright, and earth in gladness seems
The waking memory of our latent dreams.
'Tis the uncertainty of time that lends
The mystic charm that for ever blends
With all we know of Fate: if we but knew
The many heart-breaks, we would fain eschew
The dark misfortunes that for ever meet—
The few rejoicings we would fondly greet;
But hope, for ever buoyant, leaves behind
Whate'er of misery might oppress the mind,
And only trusts that future days may be
A wider field for its expectancy.
Oh, blessed thought! since man can never know
The coming joy, there's no expectant woe
Where joy and misery blend unto the last.
But, oh! there is a pleasure greater still,
When thought takes form 'neath man's creative will,
And, in the long futurity of years,
No sad distortion of our fate appears;
When each fond hope seems nursed by smiles of joy,
With not a trace of sadness to destroy;
When all is bright, and earth in gladness seems
The waking memory of our latent dreams.
'Tis the uncertainty of time that lends
The mystic charm that for ever blends
With all we know of Fate: if we but knew
The many heart-breaks, we would fain eschew
The dark misfortunes that for ever meet—
The few rejoicings we would fondly greet;
But hope, for ever buoyant, leaves behind
Whate'er of misery might oppress the mind,
And only trusts that future days may be
A wider field for its expectancy.
Oh, blessed thought! since man can never know
The coming joy, there's no expectant woe
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