HOPE THE HERMIT (17th Cent)

Anon

Once in a blythe greenwood 

Lived a hermit wise and good

Whom the folks from far and near

For his council sought,

Knowing well that what he taught 

The dreariest of hearts would cheer.

Though his hair was white 

His eye was clear and bright, 

And he thus was ever wont to say:

"Though to care we are born, 

Yet the dullest morn 

Often heralds in the fairest day!" 

"The very longest lane,

Has a turning, it is plain,

E'en the blackest of clouds will fly:

And what can't be cured

Must with patience be endured:

As cheaply can we laugh as cry."

And people gazed,

At words so deep amazed,

While the Sage went on to say:

"Though to care we are born, 

Yet the dullest morn 

Often heralds in the fairest day!" 

Pray, is the hermit dead?

From the forest has he fled?

No, he lives to counsel all

Who an ear will lend

To their wisest, truest friend,

And Hope the Hermit's name they call.

Still he sits, I ween,

'Mid branches ever green,

And cheerly you may hear him say:

"Though to care we are born, 

Yet the dullest morn 

Often heralds in the fairest day!" 

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