Hope in the storms of life

17 Jun 2022 | Holy Spirit | 0 comments

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul,

And sings the tune without 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 chilliest land,

And on the strangest sea;

Yet, never, in extremity,

It asked a crumb of me.


Emily Dickinson (1830-1886).

Notes from the Compiler

One of the best known poems of Emily Dickinson illustrates the resource of a spiritual recluse who in her inner turmoil, and in hanging in there, finds a hope that never leaves her.


Submit a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *