POEMS.
117
TO-MORROW.
There is mingled joy and sorrow
In that oft repeated word,
Yet when we say "To-morrow"
How lightly it is heard!
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.
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.
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.
No brighter beacon hath,
Than that To-morrow's advent fair
May smoothe his thorny path.
