“Hope” Is The Thing With Feathers – a poem by Emily Dickinson
“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –
And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –
I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet – never – in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of me.
Hope is afforded to us whenever we are willing to let the spirit of love into our hearts. Hope is the radiant glow which illuminates the darkness of the future and warms the chilly morning air. Hope whispers: “peace, be still” to the weary and tender-hearted, while sparking the embers of our dreams.
Hold on to hope, but not with a tight-fisted grasp. Hold on to hope by yielding more completely to love, by letting go of debilitating fear and by letting the boundless enthusiasm which springs eternal in every heart find expression through you.