Page:Landon in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book 1839.pdf/33

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The stars went down amid the deep, The sun rose up at morn; There was no quiet for their sleep, The sounds of life were borne Far o’er the inhabitable main, Vexed for man’s warfare or man’s gain.

But here no tumult ever past, The wild wind brought no sound, Saving the mighty music cast By the dark pine-trees round; And Nature had one hour’s repose Amid the silence of the snows.

The foot of man these heights hath sought— What will his coming bring? What hath his coming ever brought The world where he is king? Cares, toils, the universal dower Both of his presence and his power

But yet those cares have high reward, Those toils a noble scope; Each year that passes has unbarred The gates of some great hope; Each height that man can gain brings near The shadow of a higher sphere.

Hope is a solemn creed and true, And still keeps looking on; We only judge what man can do   By that which he has done. Hope’s shadow is upon it cast— The prophet’s mirror is the past.

Let none despair, and say, How vain Man’s labour and man’s care! Each hour that passes must sustain The spirit that would dare. For not on an unthankful soil Has man bestowed his time and toil.