The Doubtful To-Morrow

January 3, 2008

Whenever I walk through God’s Acres of Dead
I wonder how often the mute voices said :
” I will do a kind deed or will lighten a sorrow
Or rise to a sacrifice splendid to-morrow.”
I wonder how many fine thoughts unexpressed
Were lost to the world when they went to their
rest;
I wonder what beautiful deeds they’d have done
If they had but witnessed to-morrow’s bright sun.
Oh, if the dead grieve, it is not for their fate,
For death comes to all of us early or late,
But their sighs of regret and their burdens of
sorrow
Are born of the joys they’d have scattered to
morrow.
Do the friends they’d have cheered know the
thoughts of the dead?
Do they treasure to-day the last words that were
said?
What mem’ries would sweeten, what hearts cease
to burn,
If but for a day the dead friends could return!
We know not the hour that our summons shall
come ;
We know not the time that our voice shall be
dumb,
Yet even as they, to our ultimate sorrow,
We leave much that’s fine for that doubtful
to-morrow.

Posted in The Path to Home