Life
Charlotte Brontë
1816 to 1855
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Life, believe, is not a dream
So dark as say;
Oft a little morning rain
Foretells a pleasant day.
Sometimes there are clouds of gloom,
But these are all;
If the shower will make the roses bloom,
why lament its fall?
Rapidly, merrily,
Life’s sunny hours by,
Gratefully, cheerily,
Enjoy them as they fly!
What Death at times steps in
And calls our Best away?
What though sorrow seems to win,
O’er hope, a sway?
Yet hope again elastic springs,
Unconquered, though she fell;
Still buoyant are her golden wings,
Still strong to us well.
Manfully, fearlessly,
The day of trial bear,
gloriously, victoriously,
Can courage quell despair!