CCVI Tomorrow
In the downhill of life, when I find I’m declining,
May my fate no less fortunate be
Than a snug elbow-chair will 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 Tomorrow.
With a porch at my door, both for shelter and shade too,
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 may wait him Tomorrow.
From the bleak northern blast may my cot be completely
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 Today may afford,
And let them spread the table Tomorrow.
And when I at last must throw off this frail cov’ring
Which I’ve worn for three-score 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 Today,
May become Everlasting Tomorrow.
J. Collins