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Hope
by Alexander Pope
Hope humbly then; with trembling pinions soar,
Wait the great teacher, Death, and God adore:
What future bliss, He gives not thee to know,
But gives that Hope to be thy blessing now.
Hope springs eternal in the human breast;
Man never is, but always to be blest:
The soul, uneasy, and confin'd from Home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come.
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