Poems (Temple)/To-Morrow

For works with similar titles, see To-morrow.

TO-MORROW.

"Begone thou busy crouding sigh!
Begone the tear that dims mine eye,
Begone the fears that wildly throb'd,
And Spring's fair smile of sweetness robb'd!
For peace and gladness dawn To-morrow."

Such is the language Hope inspires,
To feed the Lover's glowing fires;
Such are the charming lies she tells,
Such are the notes she gaily swells,
To sound the praises of To-morrow.

When dire Misfortune's nipping wind
Sweeps o'er the sad and shrinking mind;
Hope spreads her shield to ward the blow,
And chasing ev'ry spright of woe,
Whispers gay tidings of To-morrow.

Behold yon trembling hectic form,
Bowing to Fate; relentless storm,
E'en while Death's angel hovers near,
And ready waits th' expecting bier,
Hope gilds with smiles the coming Morrow.

Oh thou! that sleepest in the tomb
How did we watch thy dying bloom
How did we trace thy setting Sun,
Yet never dream its race was run!
Hope cried 'twill rise again To-morrow.

And rise it did—in Heav'n's bright sky,
Its glorious blaze will never die,
And Hope, too, whispers in my breast,
(For Hope's soft whisp'rings seldom rest,)
That I shall view its rays To-morrow.