Explore "To-Morrow" by George MacDonald on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
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.