TO-MORROW
.
WRITTEN
DURING
SICKNESS
.
HOW
sweet
to
the
heart
is
the
thought
of
to-morrow
,
When
Hope's
fairy
pictures
bright
colours
display
;
How
sweet
when
we
can
from
Futurity
borrow
A
balm
for
the
griefs
which
afflict
us
to-day
!
When
wearisome
sickness
has
taught
me
to
languish
For
Health
,
and
the
blessings
it
bears
on
its
wing
;
Let
me
hope
(
ah
!
how
soon
would
it
lessen
my
anguish
)
,
That
to-morrow
will
ease
and
serenity
bring
.
The
pilgrim
sojourning
alone
,
unbefriended
,
Hopes
,
joyful
,
to-morrow
his
wanderings
shall
cease
;
That
at
home
,
and
with
care
sympathetic
attended
,
He
shall
rest
unmolested
,
and
slumber
in
peace
.
When
six
days
of
labour
each
other
succeeding
,
The
husbandman
toils
with
his
spirits
depress'd
;
What
pleasure
to
think
,
as
the
last
is
receding
,
To-morrow
will
be
a
sweet
Sabbath
of
rest
!
And
when
the
vain
shadows
of
Time
are
retiring
,
When
life
is
fast
fleeting
,
and
death
is
in
sight
,
The
Christian
believing
,
exulting
,
expiring
,
Beholds
a
to-morrow
of
endless
delight
!
The
Infidel
then
sees
no
joyous
to-morrow
,
Yet
he
knows
that
his
moments
must
hasten
away
;
Poor
wretch
!
can
he
feel
without
heart-rending
sorrow
,
That
his
joys
and
his
life
must
expire
with
to-day
!