John Collins
¶[d./8o8(?)~\
To-morrow
¶IN the downhill of life, when I find I'm declining,May my fate no less fortunate beThan a snug elbow-chair can 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 to-morrow.
¶With a porch at my door, both for shelter and shadeAs the sun-shine or rain may prevail;And a small spot of ground for the use of the spadeWith 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,Nor what honours may wait him to-morrow.[593]From the bleak northern blast may my cot be completelySecured by a neighbouring hill;And at night may repose steal upon me more sweetlyBy 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 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;And this old worn-out stuff which is threadbare today,May become everlasting to-morrow.