OF TO-MORROW.
There is a floating island, forward on the stream of time,
Buoyant with fermenting air, and borne along the rapids;
And on that island is a siren, singing sweetly as she goeth,
Her eyes are bright with invitation, and allurement lurketh in her cheeks;
Many lovers, vainly pursuing, follow her beckoning finger,
Many lovers seek her still, even to the cataract of death.
To-morrow is that island, a vain and foolish heritage,
And, laughing with seductive lips, Delusion hideth there:
Often the precious present is wasted in visions of the future,
And coy To-morrow cometh not with prophecies fulfilled.
There is a fairy skiff, plying on the sea of life,
And charitably toiling still to save the shipwrecked crews;
Within, kindly patient, sitteth a gentle mariner,
Piloting, through surf and strait, the fragile barks of men:
How cheering is her voice, how skilfully she guideth,
How nobly leading onward yet, defying even death!
To-morrow is that skiff, a wise and welcome rescue,
And, full of gladdening words and looks, that mariner is Hope:
Often, the painful present is comforted by flattering the future,
And kind To-morrow beareth half the burdens of To-day.
To-morrow, whispereth weakness: and To-morrow findeth him the weaker;
To-morrow, promiseth conscience; and behold, no To-day for a fulfilment.
O name of happy omen unto youth, O bitter word of terror to the dotard,
Goal of folly's lazy wish, and sorrow's ever-coming friend;
Fraud's loophole,—caution's hint,—and trap to catch the honest,—
Thou wealth to many poor, disgrace to many noble,
Thou hope and fear, thou weal and woe, thou remedy, thou ruin,
How thickly swarms of thought are clustering round To-morrow!
The hive of memory increaseth, to every day its cell;
There is the labour stored, the honey or corruption;
Each morn the bees fly forth, to fill the growing comb,
And levy golden tribute of the uncomplaining flowers:
To-morrow is their care; they toil for rest to-morrow;
But man deferreth duty's task, and loveth ease to-day.
To-morrow, is that lamp upon the marsh, which a traveller never reacheth;
To-morrow, the rainbow's cup, coveted prize of ignorance;
To-morrow, the shifting anchorage, dangerous trust of mariners;
To-morrow, the wrecker's beacon, wily snare of the destroyer.
Reconcile convictions with delay, and To-morrow is a fatal lie;
Frighten resolutions into action, To-morrow is a wholesome truth:
I must, for I fear To-morrow; this is the Cassava's food;
Why should I? let me trust To-morrow,—this is the Cassava's poison.
Lo, it is the even of To-day,—a day so lately a To-morrow;
Where are those high resolves, those hopes of yesternight?
O faint fond heart, still shall thy whisper be, To-morrow,
And must the growing avalanche of sin roll down that easy slope?
Alas, it is ponderous, and moving on in might, that a Sisyphus may not stop it;
But haste thee with the lever of a prayer, and stem its strength To-day:
For its race may speedily be run, and this poor hut, thyself,
Be whelmed in death and suffocating guilt, that dreary Alpine snow-wreath.
Pensioner of life, be wise, and heed a brother's counsel;
I also am a beadsman, with scrip and staff as thou:
Wouldest thou be bold against the past, and all its evil memories,
Wouldest thou be safe amid the present, its dangers and temptations,
Wouldest thou be hopeful of the future, vague though it be and endless?
Haste thee, repent, believe, obey! thou standest in the courage of a legion.
Commend the Past to God, with all its irrevocable harm,
Humbly, but in cheerful trust, and banish vain regrets;
Come to Him, continually come, casting all the Present at His feet,
Boldly, but in prayerful love, and fling off selfish cares;
Commit the Future to His will, the viewless fated future;
Zealously go forward with integrity, and God will bless thy faith.
For that, feeble as thou art, there is with thee a mighty Conqueror,
Thy Friend, the same for ever, yesterday, to-day, and to-morrow;
That Friend, changeless as eternity, Himself shall make thee friends
Of those thy foes transformed, yesterday, to-day, and to-morrow.