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