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WEAK is the will of Man, his judgment blind; Remembrance persecutes, and Hope betrays; Heavy is woe;--and joy, for human-kind, A mournful thing, so transient is the blaze! Thus might 'he' paint our lot of mortal days Who wants the glorious faculty assigned To elevate the more-than-reasoning Mind, And colour life's dark cloud with orient rays. Imagination is that sacred power, Imagination lofty and refined; 'Tis hers to pluck the amaranthine flower Of Faith, and round the Sufferer's temples bind Wreaths that endure affliction's heaviest shower, And do not shrink from sorrow's keenest wind.
This work published before January 1, 1923 is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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