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.

Tomorrow hopes we have learned something from yesterday.

Tomorrow hopes we have learned something from yesterday.

There's a fount about to stream,
There's a light about to beam,
There's a warmth about to read more

There's a fount about to stream,
There's a light about to beam,
There's a warmth about to glow,
There's a flower about to blow;
There's a midnight blackness changing
Into gray;
Men of thought and men of action,
Clear the way.

You pile up enough tomorrows, and you'll find you've collected a lot of empty yesterdays.

You pile up enough tomorrows, and you'll find you've collected a lot of empty yesterdays.

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.

A shining isle in a stormy sea,
We seek it ever with smiles and sighs;
To-day is read more

A shining isle in a stormy sea,
We seek it ever with smiles and sighs;
To-day is sad. In the bland To-be,
Serene and lovely To-morrow lies.

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."

To-morrow will give some food for thought.
[Lat., Aliquod crastinus dies ad cogitandum dabit.]

To-morrow will give some food for thought.
[Lat., Aliquod crastinus dies ad cogitandum dabit.]

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.