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Poem by Janet Little

To Hope


HAIL meek-ey'd maid! of matchless worth!
Our best companion here on earth;
To thee sole pow'r is giv'n,
T' illume our dark and dreary way,
As through life's mazy path we stray,
And bend our steps to heav'n.
'Tis thine to smooth the rugged vale,
To stem the trickling tear;

Thy whispers, as the spicy gale,
Do drooping trav'llers cheer.
Incline thou, to shine now
Upon me as I go;
Thy favour shall ever
Alleviate my wo.


Thy presence calms the raging seas,
And to the throbbing breast gives ease
Amid the tempest's howl,
When waves appear as mountains high,
When swelling surges dash the sky,
And foaming billows roll;
When danger, with uplifted hand,
Proclaims th' approaching doom,
Thou gently dost the stroke withstand,
And dissipates the gloom.
When caring, despairing,
And deeming all as lost,
Thy rays will portray still
The long expected coast.


Thou animates the hero's flame;
To him presents a deathless name
In the ensanguin'd field:
Thou dost his nerves with valour brace,
Bids him, with bold undaunted face,
Destructive weapons wield.
War's trumpet, breathing rude alarms,
Strikes terror all around;
Thy voice of fame, and honour's charms,
Outvies the direful sound.
When falling, appalling
The tumults wild increase,
On wings then, thou brings then
The harbinger of peace.


Thy power elates the student's views;
The paths of science kindly strews
With never-fading flow'rs.
Depriv'd of thee, how lovers mourn
Dejected, restless and forlorn,
In unfrequented bow'rs!
Attending still on Hymen's rites,
Thou decorates the chain;
Thy smile the sprightly maid invites
And lures the youthful swain:
Still easing, and pleasing,
When stern misfortune stares,
'Mid losses, and crosses,
Thou lightens all their cares.


From life's fair dawn to liart eve,
We all thy flatt'ring tales believe,
Enamour'd of thy art:
Thy soft and salutary voice
Gives birth to unexpected joys,
And soothes the bleeding heart:
And even at our latest hour,
When earthly comforts fly,
Thou dost, by a superior Pow'r,
Death's terrors all defy.
Not grieving, when leaving
This scene of dole and care,
But viewing, pursuing
A more exalted sphere.

Janet Little

Janet Little's other poems:
  1. Written January First, 1792
  2. An Extemporary Acrostic
  3. The Rival Swans
  4. A Young LadyТs Lamentation
  5. A Poem on Contentment

Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • John Keats To Hope ("WHEN by my solitary hearth I sit")
  • Thomas Hood To Hope ("Oh! take, young Seraph, take thy harp")
  • Thomas Gent To Hope (" How droops the wretch whom adverse fates pursue")

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