Poems (Schiller)/To-morrow

by Rebecca Jane Schiller

For works with similar titles, see To-morrow.

TO-MORROW Respectfully dedicated to Miss T. M. Conser. "Boast not thyself of to-morrow, for thou knowest not what a day may bring forth."—Proverbs 27:1.

Boast not of to-morrow,
 O light heart of mine!
Thou know'st not what sorrow
 Ere then may be thine.

Untimely frost blackens
 Fair buds in a night,
And a woe all undreamed of
 As swiftly may blight.

Thy present is joyous,
 Thy future gleams fair,
Hope gilds every vision—
 Nor hinteth of care.

But think of that evening,
 When calm skies looked down
On fair Egypt's children,
 And wore not a frown;

And yet when the morning
 Dawned over the land,
Grim death claimed the eldest
 Of each household band.

Or picture that palace
 Of Chaldea's king
Where the hours were joyous
 With gay banqueting.

Where beauty smiled proudly,
 And wine sparkled bright;
While music enchanting
 Swelled out on the night.

And mark you, how sudden
 Upon the fair wall,
Was written the message
 Which terrified all.

And ere the morn's brilliance
 Made Luna's light wane,
The royal Belshazzar
 Was marked with the slain.

Then claim not the future,
 O proud heart of mine,
For only the present
 Thou mayest call thine.

To-morrow may find thee
 All pulseless and cold,
Or the prey of an anguish
 Too deep to be told.
June, 1870.