While The Billy BoilsSearchA star above the stormy wrackOf all to-day’s distresses;A glint of gold that threads the blackOf thorny wildernesses!
We build our castles of desireO’er fens of black disaster:And bind our souls in bonds of hireUnto an alien master.
But o’er the dark horizon lineThat bounds our skies o’ dreaming,Still, still we see the lodestar shineWhere Faith’s far hills are gleaming.
To-morrow Hope will build againO’er shards of ancient sorrow,To-day we tread the vales of pain,We’ll climb the hills — to-morrow.