Hast thou not seen when winter hath bound
In icy chains the river;
When not a flower adorn'd the ground,
And nature seem'd sleeping for ever;
When the earth had thrown off her robe of green
Hast thou not gazed on such a scene?

Hast thou not sometimes found a bud,
When that dark season prevaded,
That over the snow that lay round it stood,
Tho' every other was faded ? -
And did'st thou not prize it, in that dark hour,
More than if blown in a summer bow'r?

Hast thou not known an hour of woe,
When sorrow of peace had bereft thee;
When thy heart to the world was as cold as the snow,
And not one blessing seem'd left thee?-
Hath not a hope sprung up in thy mind
That still could bloom thro' the tempest unkind?

Yes ;-that heav'nly hope will still cling
Round the heart, and will never forsake it,
Prized far more than in life's young spring;
And tho' sorrow should well nigh break it,
Still would Hope's flower unblasted be placed -
A blossoming bud in a desolate waste.

Hast thou not, on a winter's night,
Oft on the stars been gazing?
Have they not seem'd to shed fairer light,
As if their orbs brighter were blazing? -
And hast thou not forgot, in their glow,
The stormy world that lay below?

Is it not thus with the broken heart,
That from earthly joy is riven?
Do not the thoughts of the world depart,
When that heart is fix'd on heaven? -
Yes ;- when the soul lies in sorrow and night,
Then is the prospect of heav'n most bright.