Power's a cheat, success but trying, 
 Even pleasure bears a sting; 
Still ?tis useless, useless sighing, 
Rather list to Hope replying? 
 ?The flowers must come again with spring; 
And in the trampled way we re going 
Streams of comfort yet are flowing? 
 Hark! I hear them murmuring.? 
Fame?s a liar in the nation! 
 Love hath oft a wayward wing; 
Still, hence seek not for occasion 
To impugn Hope?s sweet persuasion? 
 ?The flowers will come again with spring; 
And in the world-wide way we re going 
Streams of pure good yet are flowing? 
 Hark! I hear them murmuring.? 

Friendship turns, itself denying 
 Even Truth the heart may wring; 
Still, though trust be daily dying, 
Listen still to Hope replying? 
 ?The flowers will come again with spring: 
And in the blasted way we re going 
There?s yet one healing current flowing? 
 Hark! I hear it murmuring.?