To-morrow. By Richard Thomson, Esq. Author of “ Tales of an Antiquary,” &c. &c. “ Where shall I find him ? Angels ! tell me where : You know him ; he is near you ; point him out : Shall I see glories beaming from his brow ? Or trace his footsteps by the rising flowers ?” Young. Say, where shalt thou be found on earth ? Mysterious and sublime ! Imagined at Creation’s birth, But yet unborn in Time ! Albeit thy footsteps we can trace, As if thou wert but few hours’ space Before us—yet thy clime, Thy life, and course, remain to man, Unknown as when the world began. All other things of mortal aim Are seen, pursued, and caught ; But thou—the shadow of a name— Art ever vainly sought. The eagle, and the clouds that fly Before the morn’s nativity, Ere yet the sun is brought Above the earth, alone can say, “ We saw thee ere thou wert, To-day.” Riches and rank, ambition’s height, The love of female hearts, The Hero’s wreath of living light, This world full oft imparts : E’en worth and happiness have shed Their radiance round a mortal head ; But all of human arts To thine abode could never climb, Nor mark the approaching wheels of Time. Thy changing features oft have been Like those deceitful sands, On Mizraim’s wildest deserts seen, As cool and water’d lands ; Though vainly towards their blessed seat The pilgrim drags his wearied feet, For when he o’er it stands, The mist hath fled, the magic stream, Like thee, To-morrow, proves a dream ! Vain hope, then, for a child of dust, Art thou with all thy years ; Albeit, unto thy care we trust Our fondest hopes and fears. Yet fleeting time is hastening round A period when thou shalt be found To die when it appears ! For the last setting sun shall see To-morrow in eternity !