William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. The Book of Georgian Verse. 1909.
TomorrowJohn Collins (17421808)
I
May my fate no less fortunate be,
Than a snug elbow-chair will afford for reclining,
And a cot that o’erlooks the wide sea;
With an ambling pad-pony to pace o’er the lawn,
While I carol away idle sorrow,
And blithe as the lark that each day hails the dawn,
Look forward with hope for Tomorrow.
As the sunshine or rain may prevail,
And a small spot of ground for the use of the spade too,
With a barn for the use of the flail:
A cow for my dairy, a log for my game,
And a purse when a friend wants to borrow;
I’ll envy no Nabob his riches or fame,
Or what honours may wait him Tomorrow.
Secured by a neighbouring hill;
And at night may repose steal upon me more sweetly
By the sound of a murmuring rill.
And while peace and plenty I find at my board,
With a heart free from sickness and sorrow,
With my friends may I share what Today may afford
And let them spread the table Tomorrow.
Which I’ve worn for three score years and ten,
On the brink of the grave I’ll not seek to keep hov’ring
Nor my thread wish to spin o’er again;
But my face in the glass I’ll serenely survey,
And with smiles count each wrinkle and furrow,
As this old worn-out stuff which is threadbare Today,
May become everlasting Tomorrow.