Classic Poem

Year ain't been the very best; —
Purty hard by trouble pressed;
But the rough way leads to rest, —
Here's hopin'!

Maybe craps wuz short; the rills
Couldn't turn the silent mills;
But the light's behind the hills, —
Here's hopin'!

Where we planted roses sweet
Thorns come up an' pricked the feet;
But this old world's hard to beat, —
Here's hopin'!

P'r'aps the buildin' that we planned
'Gainst the cyclone couldn't stand;
But, thank God we've got the land , —
Here's hopin'!

Maybe flowers we hoped to save
Have been scattered on a grave;
But the heart's still beatin' brave, —
Here's hopin'!

That we'll see the mornin' light —
That the very darkest night
Can't hide heaven from our sight, —
Here's hopin'!