Poems (Acton)/To-morrow
For works with similar titles, see To-morrow.
TO-MORROW.
There is mingled joy and sorrow In that oft repeated word,Yet when we say "To-morrow" How lightly it is heard!
Perchance, "To-morrow," on its wing May trouble bear away,Or to the sear'd in spirit bring A faint, yet cheering ray.
Perchance, To-morrow's coming light May tinge with health the cheek,Watch'd through the long and sleepless night With grief no words could speak.
The poor man bent with want and care, No brighter beacon hath,Than that To-morrow's advent fair May smoothe his thorny path.
And it is well for those whose hours Pass as a sunny dream,Who find no thorns among the flowers That round their pathway gleam.
'Tis well for those so blest—so bright! To think, 'mid scenes of mirth,To-morrow in its course may blight All that they prize on earth.
Ere, then, the present passeth by, Oh, child of fortune, cheerThe spirit bow'd by misery, And dry the falling tear.
A joy that fadeth not away Thy future course shall steep;Sow the good seed with care to-day, To-morrow shalt thou reap.H. A.