THE MORROW.

OF all the tender guards which Jesus drew

About our frail humanity, to stay

The pressure and the jostle that alway

Are ready to disturb, whate’er we do,

And mar the work our hands would carry through,

None more than this environs us each day

With kindly wardenship—“Therefore, I say,

Take no thought for the morrow.” Yet we pay

The wisdom scanty heed, and impotent

To bear the burden of the imperious Now,

Assume the future’s exigence unsent.

God grants no overplus of power; ’tis shed

Like morning manna. Yet we dare to bow

And ask, “Give us to-day our morrow’s bread!”

—Selected.