361. To-Morrow

John Collins (d. 1808(?))

  IN the downhill of life, when I find I’m declining,

  May my fate no less fortunate be

  Than 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 shade too.

  As the sun-shine 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,

  Nor 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 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.