TO-MORROW is a day too far To trust, whate'er the day be. We know, a little, what we are, But who knows what he may be? The oak that on the mountain grows A goodly ship may be, Next year; but it is as well (who knows?) May be a gallows-tree. 'Tis God made man, no doubt, -- not Chance: He made us, great and small; But, being made, 't is Circumstance That finishes us all. The Author of this world's great plan The same results will draw From human life, however man May keep, or break, His law. The Artist to his Art doth look; And Art's great laws exact That those portrayed in Nature's Book, Should freely move and act. The moral of the work unchanged Endures eternally, Howe'er by human wills arranged The work's details may be. "Give us this day our daily bread, The morrow shall take heed Unto itself." The Master said No more. No more we need. To-morrow cannot make or mar To-day, whate'er the day be: Nor can the men which now we are Foresee the men we may be. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...APPELLATE JURISDICTION by MARIANNE MOORE THE RUSSIAN ARMY GOES INTO BAKU by ALICIA SUSKIN OSTRIKER A LETTER FROM ITALY by JOSEPH ADDISON ODE TO THE CUCKOO by MICHAEL BRUCE MY LITTLE DREAMS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SONGO RIVER; CONNECTING LAKE SEBAGO AND LONG LAKE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW |