Hope
C
Clara Ann Thompson
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The saddest day will have an eve,
The darkest night, a morn;
Think not, when clouds are thick and dark,
Thy way is too forlorn.
For ev’ry cloud that e’er did rise,
To shade thy life’s bright way,
And ev’ry restless night of pain,
And ev’ry weary day,
Will bring thee gifts, thou’lt value more,
Because they cost so dear;
The soul that faints not in the storm,
Emerges bright and clear.
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