Views of life : autograph manuscript signed of the last nine stanzas : Haworth, 1845 June
The Henry Houston Bonnell Brontë Collection. Bequest of Helen Safford Bonnell, 1969
Tell him, that earth is not our rest,
Its joys are empty – frail at best;
And point beyond the sky;
But gleams of light may reach us here,
And hope the roughest path can cheer,
Then do not f bid it fly.
Though hope may promise joys, that still,
Unkindly time will ne’er fulfil,
Or if they come at all;
We never find them unalloyed,
Hurtful perchance, or soon destroyed,
They vanish, or they pall;
Yet hope itself a brightness throws,
O’er all our labours, and our woes;
While dark foreboding care
A thousand ills will oft portend,
That Providence may ne’er intend,
The trembling heart to bear;
Or if they come it oft appears,
Our woes are lighter than our fears,
And far more strongly born.
Then let us not enhance our doom,
But e’en in midnight’s blackest gloom,
Expect the rising morn.
Text as published in Poems (1846)
Tell him, that earth is not our rest;
Its joys are empty–frail at best;
And point beyond the sky.
But gleams of light may reach us here;
And hope the roughest path can cheer:
Then do not bid it fly!
Though hope may promise joys, that still
Unkindly time will ne’er fulfil;
Or, if they come at all,
We never find them unalloyed,–
Hurtful perchance, or soon destroyed,
They vanish or they pall;
Yet hope itself a brightness throws
O’er all our labours and our woes;
While dark foreboding Care
A thousand ills will oft portend,
That Providence may ne’er intend
The trembling heart to bear.
Or if they come, it oft appears,
Our woes are lighter than our fears,
And far more bravely borne.
Then let us not enhance our doom;
But e’en in midnight’s blackest gloom
Expect the rising morn.