TOMORROW
TODAY is yours—
Its arch of overbending sky,
Its dream-filled cloud-ship sailing by,
Its drip of pearl-gray rain;
Its bloomy breath of rue or rose,
Its call of love, its hate of foes,
Its stab of jealous pain.
Its arch of overbending sky,
Its dream-filled cloud-ship sailing by,
Its drip of pearl-gray rain;
Its bloomy breath of rue or rose,
Its call of love, its hate of foes,
Its stab of jealous pain.
The day that's gone—
That Yesterday that comes not back,
But goes like peddler 'neath its pack
Of failures, hopes and fears—
That day to Memory belongs;
Its whimpered griefs, its cadenced songs
Are chattels of the years.
That Yesterday that comes not back,
But goes like peddler 'neath its pack
Of failures, hopes and fears—
That day to Memory belongs;
Its whimpered griefs, its cadenced songs
Are chattels of the years.
Tomorrow? Ah!—
A field untilled, a rose unblown,
Tomorrow is God's very own
To test your truth and power.
'Tis yours to spoil or spend it well,
To fill with peace or curse of hell
Each wondrous, wingèd hour.
A field untilled, a rose unblown,
Tomorrow is God's very own
To test your truth and power.
'Tis yours to spoil or spend it well,
To fill with peace or curse of hell
Each wondrous, wingèd hour.