Edward Henry Bickersteth

1825-1906 / England

The Future

The future—ah! why do we anxiously pine
To gaze o'er that veiled and shadowy line,
Where the sunshine—the hope—and the promise is found,
'Tis a beacon still leading us on—look around,
Is it here?—Is it here?
Oh no—we must pass through this valley of tears,
O'er the tide which has brought us our days and our years,
And gain that bright fount where the amaranth blows,
Where the river runs purple with hues of the rose.
It is there!—It is there!
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