Francis T. Palgrave, ed. (1824–1897). The Golden Treasury. 1875.
John Collins CLXIV. To-MorrowI
May my lot no less fortunate be
Than a snug elbow-chair can 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 To-morrow.
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 dog for my game,
And a purse when a friend wants to borrow,—
I’ll envy no Nabob his riches or fame,
Or what honours await him To-morrow.
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 To-day may afford,
And let them spread the table To-morrow.
Which I’ve worn for threescore 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 To-day,
May become Everlasting To-morrow.