Hope and Optimism

You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is an ocean. If a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty.

When I despair, I remember that all through history the way of truth and love has always won.

I see my light come shining From the west unto the east Any day now, any day now I shall be released.

Where black is the color, where none is the number, And I’ll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it, And reflect from the mountain so all souls can see it, Then I’ll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin’, But I’ll know my song well before I start singin’, And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.

History says, Don’t hope On this side of the grave. But then, once in a lifetime The longed-for tidal wave Of justice can rise up And hope and history rhyme.

There is a crack in everything That’s how the light gets in.

Even damnation is poisoned with rainbows.

Mountainous, woman not breaks and will bend: sways God nearby: anguish comes to an end. Blossomed Sarah, and I blossom. Is that thing alive? I hear a famisht howl.

In a dark time, the eye begins to see.

A lively understandable spirit Once entertained you. It will come again. Be still. Wait.

I’ll see you again, Whenever spring breaks through again.

a hopeless case if—listen: there’s a hell of a good universe next door; let’s go

We, the rescued, Beg you: Show us your sun, but gradually. Lead us from star to star, step by step. Be gentle when you teach us to live again. 2

But fare forward, voyagers.

The white sails still fly seaward, seaward flying Unbroken wings. And the lost heart stiffens and rejoices In the lost lilac and the lost sea voices And the weak spirit quickens to rebel For the bent goldenrod and the lost sea smell.

Because I do not hope to turn again 5 Because I do not hope Because I do not hope to turn.

So always look for the silver lining And try to find the sunny side of life.

And nothing to look backward to with pride, And nothing to look forward to with hope.

O but we dreamed to mend Whatever mischief seemed To afflict mankind, but now That winds of winter blow Learn that we were crack-pated when we dreamed.

Something was dead in each of us, And what was dead was Hope.

Not, I’ll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee; Not untwist—slack they may be—these last strands of man In me or, most weary, cry I can no more. I can; Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.

So little cause for carolings Of such ecstatic sound Was written on terrestrial things Afar or nigh around, That I could think there trembled through His happy good-night air Some blessed hope, whereof he knew And I was unaware.

“Hope” is the thing with feathers— That perches in the soul— And sings the tune without the words— And never stops—at all—

Still nursing the unconquerable hope, Still clutching the inviolable shade.