by Achsa White Sprague
I'll hope no more; -- 'tis all in vain!
For health can ne'er be mine again:
I've hoped and prayed through weary years,
I've craved the boon with bitter tears;
But'tis in vain, -- 'tis all in vain, --
It never can be mine again.
I'll think no more of joyous hours,
No more of life's bright sunny flowers;
For all that made my joy is fled,
And all life's flowers are torn and dead:
I've struggled on through pain and care,
But now I yield to dark Despair.
Yet I had hoped that life would be
A scene of active joy to me, --
I wished to do, to act, to give,
I wished for more than just to live:
It may not be; and I must still
My aching heart to do His will.
And now 'tis past! and I am left
Of all life's brightest joys bereft;
My spirit crushed, that fain would rise
With eagle pinion to the skies.
The world is dark! to hope were vain,
For health can ne'er be mine again.
An early poem, composed during sickness.
Source:The Poet And Other Poems.
Boston: William White And Co.,
158 Washington Street.