Morning is doffing her mantle of grey; <br />Up from the sod to the portals of day <br />The blithe lark is soaring-carolling free, <br />Musical spirit o'erflowing with glee. <br /> <br /> <br />Storm clouds may darken the fair brow of spring, <br />Hush the sweet songster and ruffle his wing; <br />When the bright sunshine comes after the rain, <br />The lark is soaring and singing again. <br /> <br /> <br />Buoyantly, brightly, in life's sunny morn, <br />Child of the Muses, we saw thee upborne, <br />Spreading thy pinions the white clouds among, <br />Pouring thy thrilling and rapturous song. <br /> <br /> <br />Thy song may be hushed, thy plumage be soiled, <br />Struck from the summit to which thou hast toiled: <br />Be hopeful, thy pinions may bear thee again <br />On high, and thy song be poured not in vain.<br /><br />Janet Hamilton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/be-hopeful-i-the-lark/
