We speak with the lip, and we dream
in the soul,
Of some better and fairer
day;
And our days, the meanwhile, to
that golden goal
Are gliding and sliding away.
Now the world becomes old, now again
it is young,
But The better s
forever the word on the tongue.
At the threshold of life hope leads
us in-
Hope plays round the mirthful
boy;
Though the best of its charms may
with youth begin,
Yet for age it reserves its
toy.
© e-libr.com
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