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 How oft my guardian angel gently cried,
 "Soul, from thy casement look, and thou shalt see
  How read more 
 How oft my guardian angel gently cried,
 "Soul, from thy casement look, and thou shalt see
  How he persists to knock and wait for thee!"
   And, O! how often to that voice of sorrow,
    "To-morrow we will open," I replied,
     And when the morrow came I answered still, "To-morrow." 
 Happy the man, and happy he alone,
 He, who can call to-day his own:
  He who, secure read more 
 Happy the man, and happy he alone,
 He, who can call to-day his own:
  He who, secure within, can say,
   Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have liv'd today. 
 To-morrow you will live, you always cry;
 In what fair country does this morrow lie,
  That 'tis read more 
 To-morrow you will live, you always cry;
 In what fair country does this morrow lie,
  That 'tis so mighty long ere it arrive?
   Beyond the Indies does this morrow live?
    'Tis so far-fetched, this morrow, that I fear
     'Twill be both very old and very dear.
      "To-morrow I will live," the fool does say:
       To-day itself's too late;--the wise lived yesterday. 
Tomorrow do thy worst, I have lived today.
Tomorrow do thy worst, I have lived today.
After all, tomorrow is another day.
After all, tomorrow is another day.
 Oh! to be wafted away
 From this black Aceldama of sorrow,
  Where the dust of an earthy read more 
 Oh! to be wafted away
 From this black Aceldama of sorrow,
  Where the dust of an earthy to-day
   Makes the earth of a dusty to-morrow. 
Of course, it's very easy to be witty tomorrow, after you get a chance to do some research and rehearse read more
Of course, it's very easy to be witty tomorrow, after you get a chance to do some research and rehearse your ad libs.
 In the downhill of life, when I find I'm declining,
 May my lot no less fortunate be
  read more 
 In the downhill of life, when I find I'm declining,
 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.