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Joy for the angels, but hope for man!
Pleasure for creatures of calmer clay;
We may rise or dip for a little span,
But the soul must live in its own old way.

 

Rest for the spirits whose fight is won,
Faith for the striving, and peace for the pure;
But hope for the sinners, all under the sun,
For worse, for better, the one thing sure.

 

Love for all hearts in His image made;
Fear he laid on the evil powers;
We may thrill with yearning, or shrink with dread,
Still we are the human and hope is ours.

 

Our life is brief and our work is low,
And our lot at best is a narrow scope;
But He loved--in our uttermost want we know
This world of men, for He gave it hope.

 

It was spreading a great sky full of stars,
Leaving His all in the search of desire;
It is Heaven that leans from her burning bars,
And draws her lovers through dark and fire.

 

And even beside the wonderful sea,
To the chant of its awful and unknown powers,
"Hail," we say, trembling, "Eternity!
For hope is forever and ever ours!"