OF TO-DAY.
Now, is the constant syllable ticking from the clock of time,
Now, is the watchword of the wise, Now, is on the banner of the prudent.
Cherish thy to-day and prize it well, or ever it be gulphed into the past,
Husband it, for who can promise, if it shall have a morrow?
Behold, thou art,—it is enough; that present care be thine;
Leave thou the past to thy Redeemer, entrust the future to thy Friend;
But for To-day, child of man, tend thou charily the minutes,
The harvest of thy yesterday, the seed-corn of thy morrow.
Last night died its day; and the deeds thereof were judged:
Thou didst lay thee down as in a shroud, in darkness and death-like slumber:
But at the trumpet of this morn, waking the world to resurrection,
Thou didst arise, like others, to live a new day's life:
Fear, lest folly give thee cause to mourn its passing presence,
Fear, that to-morrow's sigh be not, would God it had not dawned!
For, To-day the lists are set, and thou must bear thee bravely,
Tilting for honour, duty, life, or death without reproach:
To-day, is the trial of thy fortitude, O dauntless Mandan chief;
To-day, is thy watch, O sentinel; To-day, thy reprieve, O captive:
What more? To-day is the golden chance wherewith to snatch fruition,—
Be glad, grateful, temperate: there are asps among the figs.
For the potter's clay is in thy hands,—to mould it or to mar it at thy will,
Or idly to leave it in the sun, an uncouth lump to harden.
O bright presence of To-day, let me wrestle with thee, gracious angel,
I will not let thee go, except thou bless me; bless me, then, To-day:
O sweet garden of To-day, let me gather of thee, precious Eden;
I have stolen bitter knowledge, give me fruits of life To-day:
O true temple of To-day, let me worship in thee, glorious Zion;
I find none other place nor time, than where I am To-day:
O living rescue of To-day, let me run into thee, ark of refuge:
I see none other hope nor chance, but standeth in To-day:
O rich banquet of To-day, let me feast upon thee, saving manna;
I have none other food nor store, but daily bread To-day!
Behold, thou art pilot of the ship, and owner of that freighted galleon,
Competent, with all thy weakness, to steer into safety or be lost:
Compass and chart are in thy hand: roadstead and rocks thou knowest;
Thou art warned of reefs and shallows; thou beholdest the harbour and its lights.
What? shall thy wantonness or sloth drive the gallant vessel on the breakers?
What? shall the helmsman's hand wear upon the black lee shore?
Vain is that excuse; thou canst escape: thy mind is responsible for wrong:
Vain that murmur; thou mayst live: thy soul is debtor for the right.
To-day, in the voyage of thy life down the dark tide of time,
Stand boldly to thy tiller, guide thee by the pole-star, and be safe;
To-day, passing near the sunken rocks, the quicksands and whirlpools of probation,
Leave awhile the rudder to swing round, give the wind its heading, and be wrecked.
The crisis of man's destiny is Now, a still recurring danger;
Who can tell the trials and temptations coming with the coming hour?
Thou standest a target-like Sebastian, and the arrows whistle near thee;
Who knoweth when he may be hit? for great is the company of archers.
Each breath is burdened with a bidding, and every minute hath its mission;
For spirits, good and bad, cluster on the thickly-peopled air:
Sin may blast thee, grace may bless thee, good or ill this hour:
Chance, and change, and doubt, and fear, are parasites of all.
A man's life is a tower, with a staircase of many steps,
That, as he toileth upward, crumble successively behind him:
No going back; the past is an abyss; no stopping, for the present perisheth;
But ever hasting on, precarious on the foothold of To-day;
Our cares are all To-day; our joys are all To-day;
And in one little word, our life, what is it, but—To-day?
