English poem
To-Morrow
My TO-MORROW is but a flitting Fancy of the brain; God's TO-MORROW an angel sitting, Ready for joy or pain. My TO-MORROW has no soul, Dead as yesterdays; God's—a brimming silver bowl Of life that gleams and plays. My TO-MORROW, I mock you away! Shadowless nothing, thou! God's TO-MORROW, come, dear day, For God is in thee now.
More by George MacDonald
- To S. F. S
- To The Clouds.
- TO THE LIFE ETERNAL.
- To The Same (Lady Noel Byron )
- Translations. - A Children'S Song, To Sing Against The Two Archenemies Of Christ And His Holy Church, The Pope And The Turks. (Luther's Song-Book.)
- Translations. - A Parable.(From Novalis.) (From The Disciples At Sais)
- Translations. - A Song Concerning The Two Martyrs Of Christ, Burnt At Brussels By The Sophists Of Loubaine, Which Took Place In The Year 1523. (Luther's Song-Book.)
- Translations. - A Song Of Praise For Easter. (Luther's Song-Book.)