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Hope

Oh why should we seek to anticipate sorrow,
By throwing the flower of the present away;
And gather the dark rolling clouds of to-morrow,
To darken the generous sun of to-day?

How often we brood over misery, madly,
Till we murder the "hope that was sent to inspire,
And pleasure grown old and decrepid, turns sadly,
To shake his gray lock o'er the tomb of his sire.

Cherish Hope - and tho' life by affliction be shaded,
Still her ray shall shine lovely & gild the scene o'er,
Like the dew drops that glisten on leaves when they are faded [[good guess?]]
As bright, and as clear as it glistened before.

Oh breathe not his name.
Oh! breath not his name, let it sleep in the shade,
Where cold and unhonour'd his relics are laid;
Sad, silent, and dark be the tears that are shed,
As the night_dew that falls on the grass o'er his head;

But the night_dew that falls tho'in silence it weeps
Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he sleeps
And the tear that we shed though in silence it rolls,
Shall long keep his memory green in our souls.