Hope

I gathered shells upon the sand,Each shell a little perfect thing,So frail, yet potent to withstandThe mountain-waves' wild buffeting.Through storms no ship could dare to braveThe little shells float lightly, saveAll that they might have lost of fineShape and soft colour crystalline.

Yet I amid the world's wild surgeDoubt if my soul can face the strife,The waves of circumstance that urgeThat slight ship on the rocks of life.O soul, be brave, for He who savesThe frail shell in the giant waves,Will bring thy puny bark to landSafe in the hollow of His hand.