Better trust all and be deceived, And weep that trust and that deceiving, Than doubt one heart that, if believed, Had blessed one’s life with true believing. O, in this mocking world too fast The doubting fiend o’ertakes our youth; Better be cheated to the last Than lose the blessed hope of truth.
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What shall I do with all the days and hours That must be counted ere I see thy face? How shall I charm the interval that lowers Between this time and that sweet time of grace? Shall I in slumber steep each weary sense, Weary with longing?—shall I flee away Into past days, and with some... |
Better trust all and be deceived, And weep that trust and that deceiving, Than doubt one heart that, if believed, Had blessed one’s life with true believing. O, in this mocking world too fast The doubting fiend o’ertakes our youth; Better be cheated to the last Than lose the blessed hope of... |
Silence instead of thy sweet song, my bird, Which through the darkness of my winter days Warbling of summer sunshine still was heard; Mute is thy song, and vacant is thy place. The spring comes back again, the fields rejoice, Carols of gladness ring from every tree; But I shall hear thy... |
