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.
SELF-CONQUEST
IT was no use, the sharp revolt,
The bitter protest of my soul
'Gainst destiny that seemed to mock
And hold me from my highest goal.
The bitter protest of my soul
'Gainst destiny that seemed to mock
And hold me from my highest goal.
I said that I would break the bonds,
That somehow I would master fate;
Beyond pain's winding labyrinth
New spheres of hope I would create.
That somehow I would master fate;
Beyond pain's winding labyrinth
New spheres of hope I would create.
Alas! I only bruised my hands
Nor found a clue from out the maze,
Nor found a clue from out the maze,
50
