Hope
Emily Dickinson
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
Keep Going
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Is the goal distant, and troubled the road,
  And the way long?
  And heavy your load?
Then gird up your courage, and say ‘I am strong,’
  And keep going.
Is the work weary, and endless the grind
  And petty the pay?
  Then brace up your mind
And say ‘Something better is coming my way,’
  And keep doing.
Is the drink bitter life pours in your cup—
  Is the taste gall?
  Then smile and look up
And say ‘God is with me whatever befall,’
  And keep trusting.
Is the heart heavy with hope long deferred,
  And with prayers that seem vain?
  Keep saying the word—
And that which you strive for you yet shall attain.
  Keep praying.
