Small service is true service, while it lasts.
Not without hope we suffer and we mourn.
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain That has been, and may be again.
We Poets in our youth begin in gladness; But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.
There is a comfort in the strength of love; 'Twill make a thing endurable, which else would overset the brain, or break the heart.
Or shipwrecked, kindles on the coast False fires, that others may be lost.