TOMORROW by JOHN COLLINS

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, blythe as the lark that each day hails the dawn,
Look forward with hope to To-morrow.

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 man wants to borrow,
I'll envy no nabob his riches or fame,
Or what honours may wait him To-morrow.

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 let me share what to-day may afford,

And let them spread the table To-morrow.

And when I, at last, must throw off this frail covering,
Which I've worn for three-score years and ten,
On the brink of the grave I'll not seek to keep hovering,
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 to-day,
May become everlasting To-morrow.

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