How beautiful the Earth is still

How beautiful the Earth is still

To thee–how full of Happiness;

How little fraught with real ill

Or shadowy phantoms of distress;

How Spring can bring thee glory yet

And Summer win thee to forget

December's sullen time!

Why dost thou hold the treasure fast

Of youth's delight, when youth is past

And thou art near thy prime?

When those who were thy own compeers,

Equal in fortunes and in years,

Have seen their morning melt in tears,

To dull unlovely day;

Blest, had they died unproved and young

Before their hearts were wildly wrung,

Poor slaves, subdued by passions strong,

A weak and helpless prey!

"Because, I hoped while they enjoyed,

And by fulfilment, hope destroyed

As children hope, with trustful breast,

I waited Bliss and cherished Rest.

"A thoughtful Spirit taught me soon

That we must long till life be done;

That every phase of earthly joy

Will always fade and always cloy--

"This I foresaw, and would not chase

The fleeting treacheries,

But with firm foot and tranquil face

Held backward from the tempting race,

Gazed o'er the sands the waves efface

To the enduring seas–

"There cast my anchor of Desire

Deep in unknown Eternity;

Nor ever let my Spirit tire

With looking for What is to be.

"It is Hope's spell that glorifies

Like youth to my maturer eyes

All Nature's million mysteries--

The fearful and the fair–

"Hope soothes me in the griefs I know,

She lulls my pain for others' woe

And makes me strong to undergo

What I am born to bear.

"Glad comforter, will I not brave

Unawed the darkness of the grave?

Nay, smile to hear Death's billows rave,

My Guide, sustained by thee?

The more unjust seems present fate

The more my Spirit springs elate

Strong in thy strength, to anticipate

Rewarding Destiny!

Sister Charlotte Brontë wrote "Never was better stuff penned." in the manuscript of this poem.