Classic Poem

The children are a prophecy
Of what shall one day be,
When we a fairer land have gained
Beyond to-day's rough sea.

We weary, tugging at the oars:
Our hearts grow sick and faint:
Their younger arms the ship shall guide,
Their shouts drown our complaint.

We sigh, " The land is far away, "
And give the struggle o'er:
They'll bring the vessel into port,
And leap upon the shore.

The Christmas hope to us is dim,
And God seems far away:
Our children's songs shall usher in
The endless Christmas day.