Desolate
Life may not all of sunshine be, we know
The clouds must sometimes gather overhead,
And tears, like rains, fall fast upon our hearts,
And hopes before keen sorrow's blast fall dead.
Like a lone house—as desolate it stands—
Our hearts seem oftentimes, alas! to be;
But Faith shall ope the doors and windows wide,
And Hope shall enter with sweet Charity.
And as the rain all nature doth refresh,
When earth's fair blossoms droop beneath the sun,
So we, refreshed, thro' mist of tears look forth,
And feel our joys re-blossom one by one.