To-Morrow
I
Mysterious One, inscrutable, unknown,
A silent Presence, with averted face
Whose lineaments no mortal eye can trace,
And robes of trailing darkness round thee thrown,
Over the midnight hills thou comest alone!
What thou dost bring to me from farthest space,
What blessing or what ban, what dole, what grace,
I may not know. Thy secrets are thine own!
Yet, asking not for lightest word or sign
To tell me what the hidden fate may be,
Without a murmur, or a quickened breath,
Unshrinkingly I place my hand in thine,
And through the shadowy depths go forth with thee
To meet, as thou shalt lead, or life, or death!
II
Then, if I fear not thee, thou veilèd One
Whose face I know not, why fear I to meet
Beyond the everlasting hills her feet
Who cometh when all Yesterdays are done?
Shall I, who have proved thee good, thy sister shun?
O thou To-morrow, who dost feel the beat
Of life’s long, rhythmic pulses, strong and sweet,
In the far realm that hath no need of sun—
Thou who art fairer than the fair To-day
That I have held so dear, and loved so much—
When, slow descending from the hills divine,
Thou summonest me to join thee on thy way,
Let me not shrink nor tremble at thy touch,
Nor fear to break thy bread and drink thy wine!