Boast not thyself of to morrow; for thou knowest not what a day
may bring forth.

Boast not thyself of to morrow; for thou knowest not what a day
may bring forth.

For, he that expects nothing shall not be disappointed, but he that expects much - if he lives and uses read more

For, he that expects nothing shall not be disappointed, but he that expects much - if he lives and uses that in hand day by day - shall be full to running over.

Yet, behind the night,
Waits for the great unborn, somewhere afar,
Some white tremendous daybreak.

Yet, behind the night,
Waits for the great unborn, somewhere afar,
Some white tremendous daybreak.

Listen to the Exhortation of the Dawn!
Look to this Day! For it is Life,
The very read more

Listen to the Exhortation of the Dawn!
Look to this Day! For it is Life,
The very Life of Life.
In its brief course lie all the Varieties
And Realities of your Existence;
The Bliss of Growth,
The Glory of Action,
The Splendor of Beauty;
For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And Tomorrow is only a Vision;
But Today well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every Tomorrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day!
Such is the Salutation of Dawn.

After the day there cometh the derke night;
For though the day be never so longe,
At read more

After the day there cometh the derke night;
For though the day be never so longe,
At last the belles ringeth to evensonge.

I will prepare and some day my chance will come.

I will prepare and some day my chance will come.

If you don't think every day is a good day, just try missing one.

If you don't think every day is a good day, just try missing one.

I still find each day too short for all the thoughts I want to think, all the walks I want read more

I still find each day too short for all the thoughts I want to think, all the walks I want to take, all the books I want to read, and all the friends I want to see.

Daughter of Time, the hypocrite Days,
Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes,
And marching single in an read more

Daughter of Time, the hypocrite Days,
Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes,
And marching single in an endless file,
Bring diadems and fagots in their hands;
To each they offer gifts after his will,
Bread, kingdom, stars, and sky that holds them all;
I, in my pleached garden watched the pomp
Forgot my morning wishes, hastily
Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day
Turned and departed silent. I too late
Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn.