Classic Poem

Hope! charmer of the human breast,
'Tis thine to comfort the distrest,
To smooth the wrinkled brow of care,
And hush the murmurs of despair.
How small the happiness assign'd
To glad the lot of human kind:
And, but for thee, man's little day
In one dull round would pass away.
What has the present hour to give?
It is in hope alone we live.
From ills we feel Hope turns our eyes,
And bids delightful prospects rise:
Th' imaginary scenes may ne'er
To our enraptur'd view appear;
But let us own th' illusion's pow'r,
Since it can charm the present hour.