I was speaking at a retired ANZ (bankers) club the other day. And I was talking about the relentless hope of the gospel... God as a venture capitalists with all his deposits in high risk options like me! ;-)
a man who was there slipped me this poem by Emily Dickinson (circa 1863) as I left:
Hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul
and sings the tune
without the words
and never stops - at all.