Littell's Living Age/Volume 173/Issue 2235/To-morrow

will gather flowers to-morrow, When the mist of rain is o'er, When the air is warm and sunny, And the tempest howls no more." But the flowers are parched and faded,    For the clouds have passed away, And we leave them still ungathered,     Though to-morrow is to-day.

"We will climb the hills to-morrow,    In the morning cool and bright: Who could scale these rugged mountains     In the noontide's scorching light?" But the snow-wreaths clothe the summits, And the mists hang chill and gray, And we leave the slopes untrodden, Though to-morrow is to-day.

"We will lend an ear to-morrow    To our fallen sisters' woes; We can scarcely hear their voices     While the music comes and goes." But along the thorny highway Still with weary feet they stray, And we pass them by, unheeding, Though to-morrow is to-day.

"We will leave our work to-morrow,    And with eager hands and strong, We will lead the little children     Far away from paths of wrong." But our hands grow old and feeble, And the work goes on for aye, And the little children perish, Though to-morrow is to-day.

"We will raise our eyes to-morrow    To the cross on Calvary's brow; At our feet the gold is sparkling,     So we cannot heed it now." But we clutch the glittering fragments, 'Mid the dust, and mire, and clay, And we cannot raise our eyelids, Though to-morrow is to-day.