Poem by Joseph Addison

Hope

Our lives, discoloured with our present woes,
May still grow white and shine with happier hours.
So the pure limped stream, when foul with stains
Of rushing torrents and descending rains,
Works itself clear, and as it runs refines,
till by degrees the floating mirror shines;
Reflects each flower that on the border grows,
And a new heaven in it's fair bosom shows. 

1. To Sir Godfrey Kneller, on his Picture of the King
2. The Lord My Pasture Shall Prepare
3. An Ode for St. Cecilia's Day
4. A Song for St. Cecilia's Day, at Oxford
5. To Mr. Dryden

Mathilde Blind Hope ("All treasures of the earth and opulent seas")

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