"Hope" is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
Sings the tune without the words
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 the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
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