Poems (Acton)/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 1s 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, cheer
The 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.