The church and clergy here, no doubt,
Are very near a-kin:
Both weather-beaten are without,
And empty both within.
Jonathan Swift, “Epigram IV,” (1726)
Alexander Pope was, I fear, taking some license when he wrote that “hope springs eternal in the human breast.”* Hope is a hardy and tenacious growth, and its root can send out green shoots after calamities of frost and fire, but it is not deathless, and there are times when a man awaits those green shoots in vain.
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