Page:Ethel Churchill Fragments I.pdf/37



We tremble even in our happiness; Hurried and dim, the unknown hours press Heavy with care or grief, that none may ever guess.

The future is more present than the past: For one look back a thousand on we cast, And Hope doth ever Memory outlast.

For Hope say Fear—Hope is a timid thing, Fearful, and weak, and born in suffering; At least, such Hope as human life can bring.

Its home, it is not here, it looks beyond; And, while it carries an enchanter's wand, Its spells are conscious of their earthly bond.